Tools of Characterization
Characterization in An American in Paris
Direct Characterization
All of the characters in An American in Paris except Milo are given focused, voiceover introductions that tidily sum up their respective vitals.
First, the three main men in the movie introduce themselves via a first-person voiceover that weaves through their Paris neighborhood. Jerry kicks things off by telling us who he is and what he's all about:
JERRY: This is Paris, and I'm an American who lives here. My name? Jerry Mulligan, and I'm an ex G.I. In 1945 when the army told me to find my own job, I stayed on. And I'll tell you why: I'm a painter. All my life that's all I've ever wanted to do.
Well, that settles that. Next up: Adam. He, like Jerry, is a struggling artist, trying to eke out a living in Paris, and he introduces himself using his signature droll humor.
ADAM: I'm a concert pianist. That's a pretentious way of saying I'm unemployed at the moment.
Adam wastes no time in serving up the self-aware witticisms, and then passes the voiceover off to Henri, who tells us that he's a Frenchman and a singer. How old is he? We'll let Henri tell you:
HENRI: Let's just say I'm old enough to know what to do with my young feelings.
Henri has charm for days, and it's he who then introduces us to Lise, narrating a split-screen montage that illustrates her multi-faceted personality—according to Henri, at least. Lise is prim and proper, yet sultry. She's adventurous and modern, yet loves to bury her nose in a book.
Though its weaving voiceovers, An American in Paris profiles four of its five main players right after the credits. They directly characterize themselves, and by handing off the voiceover like a narrative football, they also cue us into their relationships with one another. Jerry knows Adam because they're neighbors and fellow American expatriates. Adam knows Henri through his work. Henri knows Lise because, well, he's in love with her.
Location
More than anybody else, Jerry and Milo are characterized by where they live. When we first meet Jerry, we watch him go through his morning routine in his tiny, yet charming apartment. The place is so small that he's set up a series of Rube Goldberg devices to maximize his space, and the way he navigates his cramped quarters is practically a form of dance in itself. We know Jerry's got this starving artist thing down cold.
Milo, on the other hand, calls a fancy hotel room home. The fact that she's an American who can afford to live in a super-swanky Parisian hotel for eleven months out of the year tells us, and Jerry, loads about who she is: namely, that she's wealthy, independent, and never has to make her own bed.
Occupation
Jerry, Adam, and Henri are all characterized by what they do—or in the case of Jerry and Adam, what they're trying to do. Jerry and Adam are both creative types struggling to eke out a living in Paris. For Jerry the painter and Adam the pianist, their jobs aren't just their occupations: they're their identities. Both men seem to love playing the part of the starving artist more than they love actually putting brush to canvas or giving a concert.
As a singer, Henri also has a job in the arts. Unlike Jerry and Adam, however, he's successful at it. We see him perform "I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise" before a large, rapt audience. We see him offered a gig touring overseas. The contrast between Henri's and Jerry's careers, and especially their successes (or lack thereof), serves to highlight the tough choice that Lise has to make when she finds herself caught between the charming slacker who paints, sometimes, and the charismatic winner who just caught his big break.
Social Status
With the exception of neighbors and best buds Jerry and Adam, all of the characters in An American in Paris occupy very different rungs on the social ladder. Let's start at the bottom with Jerry and Adam. They're artists, and they're broke. Check out this exchange:
JERRY: Hey, Adam, you wouldn't have 300 francs on you, would you? I'm going to Montmartre, and I need lunch money.
ADAM: Sorry, kid. Bought a postage stamp this morning, and it broke me.
See? Broke. They have to rely on ingenuity and the kindness of others to get by. Perched at the bottom of the social ladder, they have the least amount of clout.
Just above our starving artists is Lise, who's a shopgirl. Spraying perfume on strangers isn't the most glamorous gig, but she's getting by and can support herself and afford some fancy duds. We never see where she lives, but it's probably not in her parents' basement.
Then there's Henri. As our introduction to him on the streets of Paris proves, he's somewhat of a local celebrity thanks to his successful singing career. Everybody he passes recognizes him and is stoked to see him. We only get a glimpse of his pad, but it's a pretty swanky place. When Jerry needs a few francs for lunch, Henri's got the spare cash to offer him, even if Jerry makes him give it to Adam first. Ah, pride.
Milo sits at the top of the social status ladder, draped in extravagant clothes. She makes no bones about the fact that she inherited her wealth from dear old Dad. She lives in a fancy hotel room and has money to burn: on that aforementioned wardrobe, on building her art collection, and on Jerry.
In An American in Paris, just like pretty much everywhere else, social status is power. Henri, for example, can offer Lise stability and security in a way that Jerry can't. Meanwhile, Milo uses her social cache to try to buy Jerry's affection. It doesn't work, but from the moment we first lay eyes on Milo and her personal driver, we know that she's the biggest power player in the film.
Sex and Love
An American in Paris may be a romance, but its characters have some seriously twisted views on love. Jerry's characterized by his steamrolling approach to women. When Lise doesn't want to dance with him at the club, for example, he just drags her onto the dance floor and holds her hostage. When he calls her at the perfume shop, she tells him to lose her number. So what does our main man Mulligan do? He just shows up. Jerry may lack self-awareness, but he's got charm to spare (not to mention some pretty amazing dance skills) and he eventually wins Lise over. His surround-and-drown strategy isn't pretty, but it works.
If Jerry's a steamroller, Henri's a teddy bear. After Lise is orphaned during World War II, Henri protects her. As she grows up, his love for her grows. Sure, it's a little weird, but for Henri, the name of the game is kindness. He's characterized by his generous humanity and that's why, ultimately, he recognizes that, if he loves Lise, he has to let her go.
Then there's Milo the serial sponsor. Her interest in Jerry's artwork is shady from the jump. Jerry may be in denial about Milo's less-than-noble intentions, but, as an audience, we're fully aware that Milo's more interested in making Jerry her loverboy than she is in making him the next Toulouse-Lautrec. That idea gets cemented when Milo and her old friend Tommy cut a rug at the club:
TOMMY: Milo, you're going to have trouble with that one.
MILO: No, I'm not. He's just not housebroken yet that's all.
TOMMY: When are you going to stop getting yourself involved with young itinerant artists? It never works. If they're no good, you're ashamed. And if they are, they get too independent.
MILO: Now just dance, Tommy, please.
TOMMY: Alright, but I'm warning you: he'll be out in four months, just like the composer and the sculptor.
For Milo, love isn't earned, it's bought. How sad is that? We'll tell you how sad that is: Milo is rich, powerful, and independent, but her wallet-fueled approach to love characterizes her as a tragic character who doesn't think she can land a man without funneling funds into his art.