Let me begin by saying that I admire Fred Astaire as an actor, especially in comedies. Also, it is obvious that he spent many hours on the choreography. His partner, Ginger Rogers, was a fine actress as well as a beautiful lady. And I would never criticize anyone who can sing a verse of "We're in the Money" in Pig Latin with a straight face, which she does in Gold Diggers of 1933. It must be seen to be believed.
On a further positive note, George Stevens did an excellent job of directing this movie, given its script, story, and requisite production numbers. In the hands of a different director, all we would have is Astaire's camera mugging, which would partially redeem any material.
I am aware that many people love this movie in particular, and Astaire-Rogers films in general. I am more choosy: I enjoy The Barkleys of Broadway, Roberta, and Follow the Fleet. What those three films have in common is that there is more going on than just the romance between Astaire and Rogers. That is, the sense of formula isn't as overwhelming.
Formula is what is really going on with Swing Time. Boy meets girl, girl plays hard to get, boy wins girl, girl is angry over a misunderstanding, all seems lost, lovers reunite, happy ending. Insert corny songs and ballroom dance numbers, along with tap dance routines that don't really belong. Especially when they satirize black dancers who are the wrong color to appear in this movie, or for that matter, any wide release Hollywood movie of the era that doesn't star Shirley Temple.
There are a great many things about the Astaire-Rogers formula that annoy me. In particular, it annoys me that so many film fans take such pleasure from the formula. The formula admittedly has an ambience that is easily confused with screen magic. This ambiance creates the illusion that a short thin man with an ordinary face, an ordinary voice, and a dancing style that depends upon over-rehearsal is somehow a great romantic catch, deserving of Ginger Rogers.
She really likes him, since he is the star of the movie, but pretends she doesn't, just to see what outrageous thing he'll do next to try to win her. Meanwhile, he is trying to con her, which means he is really lying to her, but that is perfectly acceptable, since he is truly in love with her, even if he expresses it by continually trying to annoy her.
Would anyone buy a CD of Fred Astaire singing? Actually, yes, his "Steppin' Out: Astaire Sings" is a moderate bestseller at Amazon.com. Nonetheless, his singing, and the songs he sings, all seem transparently false to me. You can admire the craft of Tin Pan Alley romantic songwriting. But its concept is to take male lust and mask it with flowery images. "The Way You Look Tonight," the big song from Swing Time is really the thought, You're Hot and I Want You, completely watered down from primal man-think into empty flattery.
Research indicates that Swing Time cracked the AFI Top 100, at number 90. This despite a hoary plot that involves two weddings ruined by gullible grooms accepting the notion that trousers need cuffs, and a band orchestra that changes ownership three times due to rigged card games. The band leader refuses to conduct for Astaire (both petty and unprofessional), yet he does so anyway (which is inconsistent). A plot contrivance has Astaire refusing to become any more wealthy, because if he has a certain large sum, he feels obliged to return to Boston and marry the beautiful daughter of a wealthy businessman (such a dire fate). Why doesn't he act like an adult, and stop stringing along his long distance fiancée (Betty Furness), as well as withholding that relationship from his present girlfriend?
Add a sidekick (Victor Moore) who looks like he'd have trouble crossing the street, and a thick-accented and hopelessly stiff conductor (Georges Metexa) as a romantic rival to Astaire. This is not the plot of a great movie. Then there's the silly stuff: Astaire has a lucky quarter that always enables him to gamble his way into a large sum; Astaire is afraid to be alone with the red-hot Rogers; Rogers takes a bet to kiss Astaire, who backs away from her as if she intends to bite his nose instead; Victor Moore wins the heart of Mabel Anderson by eating her sandwich when she's not looking. I'm not making this stuff up.