Summer of Soul.

Review #1808: Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised)

Cast: 

Featuring the musical talents of Stevie Wonder, Mahalia Jackson, Nina Simone, The 5th Dimension, The Staple Singers, Gladys Knight & the Pips, Blinky Williams, Sly and the Family Stone, The Chambers Brothers, The Edwin Hawkins Singers, Billy Davis Jr, Marilyn McCoo, Greg Errico, Adrienne Kryor, B.B. King, and many more...

Featuring festival attendants Dorina Drake, Barbara Bland-Acosta, Darryl Lewis, Ethel Beatty, Musa Jackson & Roger Parris. Featuring festival participants/organizers/others as themselves: Al Sharpton, Allen Zerkin, Margot Edman, Alan Leeds, Cyril "Bullwhip" Innis Jr, Hal Tulchin, Greg Tate, Charlayne Hunter-Gault, Jesse Jackson, Jim McFarland, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Luis Miranda, Denise Oliver-Velez, Shelia E., Chris Rock, Raoul Roach, Sal Masekela, etc.

Directed by Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson.

Review: 

You might wonder why I decided to cap the month off of film featuring black actors and directors with a documentary. Well, I will admit that this film was a last-minute choice, but my reasoning is two-fold: it features several noted musicians of the 1960s in soul, jazz, gospel, and Latin music that range from icons like Stevie Wonder to groups such as Sly and the Family Stone, for which I hadn't heard a number of before. It is also the debut feature film for its directing Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson. The musician/director was born in 1971 in Philadelphia to a family versed in music, and he graduated at the Philadelphia High School for the Creative and Performing Arts, where he founded a band with The Roots, which has done a handful of albums over nearly three decades. Of course, the history covered in this documentary is the foundation for the music that came from it. The 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival, sometimes referred to as the "Black Woodstock", was actually comprised of six concerts, with the first one being on June 29 and the last being on August 24 (Woodstock ran from August 15-18 in Bethel, while the fifth concert of the Cultural Festival played on the 17th), all of which would be hosted at Mount Morris Park [now known as Marcus Garvey Park] in Harlem, New York, complete with free admission. It was organized and hosted by Tony Lawrence, while Hal Tulchin recorded the footage on videotape. Portions were broadcast for two one-hour TV specials in 1969 but afterwards were not seen for decades. The original tapes ran for forty hours, and the process of restoring the tapes alongside editing them down from forty to 24 to two took five months. Of course, the footage wasn't really obscure for so long, since it attracted the interest of film archivist Joe Lauro, a friend of Karl Knudsen (a jazz record label owner), who had in his collection a 16-mm print of "Harlem Festival" that the latter showed the former in 2003 (this was a TV print that was offered to foreign distributors in the early 1970s, which had Tulchin's name on the reel). At any rate, Lauro and his company (Historic Films) came to an agreement with Tulchin to truck out copies of the tapes to digitize and catalog that resulted in licensed clips that could be released on DVD. The idea of turning the footage into a film like what happened with Woodstock (1970) was attempted by Lauro, Morgan Neville, and Robert Gordon but plans to close a deal on finding funding were scuttled by Tulchin and his increasing demands (the two played out their agreement to the end in 2007, and Tulchin died in 2017). Lauro was not mentioned in the film, but at least one can be comforted to note his key place in the long story that saw footage turn into something workable for a film. It was released in both theaters and Hulu (never heard of them) and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature in 2022.

Of course, it isn't exactly just a musical concert, because there were plenty of presences there besides musicians, whether that involves reverends, ventriloquists, or the Black Panthers, which makes this an interesting time capsule into the close of a decade as vibrant as the sixties were. Tony Lawrence is briefly mentioned when it comes to his entertainer roots that helped in his efforts with the Parks Department of New York City to help with organizing the festival (starting in 1967), although one might not know of his fade into obscurity after the festival (save for accusing the white organizers of fraud that went nowhere). In fact, searching for Lawrence (not stalking, obviously) might have been just as curious as the fact that one doesn't have much information to present about him. This festival had the benefit of being sponsored by General Foods’ Maxwell House Coffee. Further festivals would come and go until 1974, but none were as prolific as this one was. There is a number of highlights to present when it comes to captivating music, such as with the 5th Dimension and their presentation, for which surviving members talk about them being proud to have a stage to play music to help dispel the idea that they had a "white sound". Of course, there are other perspectives to consider from performers who aren't alive to provide further, such as with the dynamic Simone or with the energetic Family Stone (perhaps it isn't surprising that the director's next planned project is about the group). Of course, one can't forget about Stevie Wonder and his distinct talents either, so there is plenty to unpack from a musical standpoint that makes it quite curious. With this being a perspective from 1969, one would not be surprised to see a small part of the film mentioning the moon landing, since it took place during the festival (July 20). Whatever one feels about the momentous occasion (which, you know, is one of the greatest achievements of the past sixty years), at least it is interesting to see the voices of people free to express their opinion with the context of where and what they are dealing with (and, since it isn't just a festival for one particular brand of music, one gets a bit of perspective into music genres such as Latin - for example). Granted, the music is never too far away from one's mind, but it is generally interesting to see what seems different fifty years removed from a moment where music ruled the day(s) in one little spot in Harlem. As a whole, this is a fairly well-done documentary that weaves music and perspective to make a solid debut effort from its director that would be worth viewing for any music aficionado or one curious in documentation of history.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

As always, I am appreciative of having the time required to deliver a month full of interesting films to cover from various decades and doing Black History Month for a second year in a row is no exception. I hope you enjoyed the month in all the varying perspectives, and I hope to have another complete list for next February. Suggestions are always open. As such, it is time for Women's Month for March, so be on the lookout, folks.

Baby Boy.

Review #1807: Baby Boy.

Cast: 

Tyrese Gibson (Joseph "Jody" Summers / Baby Boy), Omar Gooding (Sweetpea), Taraji P. Henson (Yvette), Snoop Dogg (Rodney), Adrienne-Joi Johnson (Juanita), Ving Rhames (Melvin), Mo'Nique (Patrice), Angell Conwell (Kim), Tamara LaSeon Bass (Peanut), and Candy Ann Brown (Ms. Herron) Written, Directed, and Produced by John Singleton (#545 - Shaft (2000) and #1640 - Boyz n the Hood)

Review:

John Singleton had a vision to tell stories for black audiences, and he did what he could with the nine movies he made in twenty years. Granted, Boyz n the Hood (1991) always will be mentioned first in the discussion, but one can't really forget about the films he made besides that one when it comes to depicting the experience on the street. After the success of the film, he directed four films in the next seven years: Poetic Justice (1993), Higher Learning (1995), Rosewood (1997), and Shaft (2000), which resulted in varying levels of appreciation (he wrote/produced all but one of them). Incidentally, this was the motion picture debut of Tyrese Gibson, a Los Angeles native who started in music in 1998 after receiving notice in acting within advertisements and roles on TV. Singleton wants to make his point about it clear from the opening, which takes an observation from Frances Cress Welsing involving the infantilization of the "black man in America", one that refers to how folks would use "crib" to describe their home to go along with imagery depicting a birth that sets the tone early for a movie that basks in authenticity. 

Admittedly, the movie does fine with what it wants to say about masculinity within a 130-minute run-time that squeezes just about as much as one could expect from a movie with a perspective that really could be said about anyone: there is a time to play and there is just a time to grow up. In other words: point a finger at oneself before trying to point it at others for one's situation, particularly ones self-created. One has seen self-determination in plenty of movies before, but one is interested to see it play out here with Singleton seemingly reacting to his previous film spent in the neighborhood with an older and wiser perspective (ten years, if you will). Gibson carries the film and the plight that comes with trying to have life both ways between man and "baby boy" with a natural style that generates curiosity in the dilemma presented without being used as a tool for easy blame. Henson proves to be a compelling match with Gibson in terms of gripping charm and interest that threads the needle of the determination angle with that waver in passion in trying to build the edges of a defined family. Snoop Dogg was not too unfamiliar with film, as he had appeared in a handful of roles over the past decade before release while being more known as a rapping icon. At any rate, he does well with a menacing role that comes into focus after everyone else has been introduced and makes the most of it. True, Gibson is interesting as the star. But honestly the highlight is Rhames, who practically steals the show away with his charisma that glows in well-meaning care that has engaging chemistry with Johnson. Each shows the presence of weary folks who only hope to see at least one youth spring from their parental nest without having to rip them out the hard way. Gooding provides the withered edge of a man trying to find redemption that pairs nicely with Gibson. By the time the film maneuvers itself towards resolution, it generally has managed to stick the landing points in confrontation (of course, one can see where the film touches on some of the same beats as Boyz n the Hood, particularly with having climatic decisions with two adults featuring a wordless conversation). It sometimes veers a bit in repetition, but it never dulls the senses with cheap tricks or moments that take you away from its neighborhood. The film was a fair hit on release, making $30 million on release (on a $16 million budget); two decades later, one can still see where the appeal still lies when it comes to this film, because it deserves a proper following with the success it manages to have by the efforts of a director rooted firmly in telling a story for black Americans to engage firmly with.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Black History Month ends with Summer of Soul (2021).

Friday (1995).

Review #1806: Friday.

Cast: 

Ice Cube (Craig Jones), Chris Tucker (Smokey), Nia Long (Debbie), Bernie Mac (Pastor Clever), Tom Lister Jr (Deebo), John Witherspoon (Willie Jones), Anna Maria Horsford (Betty Jones), Regina King (Dana Jones), Paula Jai Parker (Joi), Faizon Love (Big Worm), DJ Pooh (Red), Anthony Johnson (Ezal), Tony Cox (Mr. Parker), Kathleen Bradley (Mrs. Parker), Yvette Wilson (Rita), and Angela Means (Felisha) Directed by F. Gary Gray (#517 - Be Cool)

Review: 

"I didn’t grow up studying Orson Welles. All the greats, I learned about them after the fact, because I had already started making movies, and I was embarrassed to do interviews where they would bring up these great filmmakers and I wouldn’t know any of them."

It's interesting to consider the trajectory of a film director when it comes their debut features, black or white. Of course, this is a bit of window dressing to demonstrate the interesting lines one can take with showing the talents of a fresh director that made their debut in their mid-twenties about growing up in Los Angeles. Last year we covered John Singleton and his debut with Boyz n the Hood (1991), but now we turn our eyes to another side of a film set in the neighborhoods of Los Angeles and the debut of F. Gary Gray. He had been born in New York City, but he was raised in South Los Angeles. Strangely enough, when he planned to become a filmmaker at the age of 16, he thought it would take him until he was 45 to make his first feature. He started work as a camera operator right out of high school (he also had a bit role in Major League (1989)) before getting his chance to hone directing skills with music videos, most notably directing the 1993 video for "It Was a Good Day" (sung by Ice Cube). Friday would be the first of ten films that Gray has directed, ones with varying genres (on purpose) that have generally been audience favorites, such as Set It Off (1996) and Straight Outta Compton (2015). The film was written by Ice Cube and DJ Pooh, both natives of Los Angeles. Pooh was a record producer and mixing engineer, producing albums with several legendary rappers (such as LL Cool J and 2Pac). Cube had starred in Boyz n the Hood (1991), and he wanted to make what he called a "hood classic", one that would take experiences he had growing up in his block that would serve as a counter-act to the perception of South Central as just a violent place to live in, depicted in films such as the aforementioned Boyz and Menace II Society (1993). Cube, who grew up with films such as the Cheech and Chong films, Car Wash (1976) and Hollywood Shuffle (1987), had his choices of inspiration when it came to wanting to make a comedy (incidentally, Singleton was the one who encouraged him to take up writing scripts), and Gray expressed interest before the script was even done; New Line Cinema was interested in making the film with Cube as a star, although they wanted someone with more experience for the second lead role (Pooh was initially slated to play the role) - Chris Rock and Tommy Davidson were initially considered the role before Tucker (who had exactly one film credit with House Party 3 and performances on Def Comedy Jam) was tapped to do the film.

The twenty-day shoot for $3.5 million turned out a hit on release. It would inspire two sequels: Next Friday (2000) and Friday After Next (2002) alongside an animated series that ran for a couple of months in 2007. Gray and Cube managed to make a buddy film of the hood with 91 minutes of casual warmth that has a resourceful cast (either experienced in film or not) and the right type of atmosphere fit for a coming-of-age movie. It lounges around without becoming a shell for cheap jokes (i.e. saying vulgar words is fun, but it isn't just one roll of them for a movie), which works well for a film with a majority of improvisation. Cube and Tucker make a capable pair together, since they match each other well when it comes to repertoire that is free-flowing, with Cube's casual engagement mixing in with the high-laced energy from Tucker (who elected not to star in the sequels for religious reasons). Lister (nicknamed "Tiny" but also known as "Zeus" when dabbling in wrestling) had been a shot-put champion in college before turning to acting, primarily as a "heavy", with this being his most noted role, and he makes the most of it with an imposing goon nature that can draw a chuckle or a curious eye. Long provides the soothing contrast to some of the proceedings. Even the folks with one or two scenes are still interesting. Bernie Mac plays a pastor with the right sense of flighty hypocrisy, while Cox chases him with zippy energy to go with a briefly electric Bradley to make one amusing triangle for a scene. Witherspoon pulls in the eccentric angle with the right touch of familiarity that makes his moments with Cube just right. The climax is a bit sudden, for which Gray reflected grounds the film but done with "inelegant" execution, but the movie manages to stay on the level when it comes to showing the different degrees of what one defines is a man when it comes to confronting a challenge with a choice that doesn't need a soapbox. Whether one is interested in the sequels or not is fine, because the film holds well on its own. As a whole, Friday is an engaging comedy with plenty of interesting moments spent in a neighborhood that Cube and Gray have re-created from their memories to result in a casual classic. 

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Baby Boy.

The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings.

Review #1805: The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings.

Cast: 

Billy Dee Williams (Bingo Long [P]), James Earl Jones (Leon Carter, All-Star [C]), Richard Pryor (Charlie Snow, All-Star [RF] / "Carlos Nevada" / "Chief Takahoma"), Stan Shaw ("Esquire Joe" Calloway, An All-Star [CF]), Tony Burton (Issac, All-Star [CF]), Rico Dawson (Willie Lee Shively, All-Star [RF]), Sam "Birmingham" Brison (Louis Keystone, All-Star [SS]), Jophery Brown (Emory "Champ" Chambers, All-Star [3B]), Leon Wagner (Sam "Fat Sam" Popper, All-Star [1B]), John McCurry (Walter Murchman, All-Star [LF]), DeWayne Jessie (Rainbow, All-Star [Batboy]), Ted Ross (Sallison Potter [Owner]), Mabel King (Bertha Dewitt [Owner]), Ken Foree (Honey), and Carl Gordon (Mack) Directed by John Badham (#088 - Short Circuit, #1293 - Dracula (1979), #1456 - Saturday Night Fever, #1610 - WarGames)

Review: 

If you didn't already know about the Negro leagues when it comes to baseball, you really should. Oh sure, I will get to the review of the film soon, but I figured that this matched perfectly with this particular month in black history. Baseball, as we all know, is a great game. However, it was not a perfect game when it came to handling color, as the line between white and black players arose in the late 19th century that excluded the latter from league play. In 1887, the first black league was created, but independent play was the norm until the 20th century. In 1920, the Negro National League was formed by the legendary pitcher/manager Rube Foster, and it became the first definitive major league for black baseball. Six other leagues would come and go in the next two decades that featured many great players and managers all across the country, such as Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Willie Wells, Turkey Stearnes, Candy Jim Taylor, Vic Harris, and plenty more. Integration of Major League Baseball occurred in 1947 with Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby, which turned the Negro leagues into a barnstorming unit (most notably with the Indianapolis Clowns); Robinson would be the first black player to become a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962, but it was only nine years later that a committee was formed to induct players that were involved in the Negro leagues, starting with Paige. Although numerous great players have been honored from this era, it was only in 2021 that MLB made a decision to recognize those seven leagues as major leagues. To tie all this together with how Negro league baseball inspired folks, consider the fact that John Badham grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, where the Black Barons played in the era. Badham (in his directorial debut) seemed like the ideal director to adapt the 1973 novel of the same name that was written by William Brashler. Hal Barwood and Matthew Robbins did the screenplay for the film, while Berry Gordy (known for his work in Motown Records) served as one of the producers.

Honestly, there are ingredients for a great piece of entertainment, one that could have really been a tremendous period comedy that took inspiration from the famous names that starred in the Negro leagues. Some of this is present here when it comes to antics reminiscent of players such as Paige (who liked to call in the outfield in an inning to strike out the side on occasion) and Gibson (a power-hitting catcher) with a little bit of Jackie Robinson (of course, the film is set in 1939, which makes the ending of the film curiously out-of-place). Of course, by the time one finishes its 110-minute runtime, they will find a film that is...more of a long single rather than a home run, shall we say. It might sound dissapointing, but one does want a bit more from a baseball movie than just one that plays for a few laughs. There is something begging to be told about the story of players who toil to make a few bucks while dealing with both the realities of that time in America, but one seems to see more antics than foundational points. The baseball action is also just okay, since a good deal of it is meant to be charming in the style of the Harlem Globetrotters than say, The Pride of the Yankees. Charming, sure, but one can see where perspective might have helped when it comes to seeing people struggle to make a living within segregated baseball. 

At least one can say Williams and Jones are at their best here. Incidentally, Williams, who grew up in New York City, used to watch Negro league (and Cuban) players play in Central Park before he developed dreams of becoming a painter and actor. He proves engaging in a charming role filled with confidence that is quite infectious. Jones accompanies him with solid chemistry while essentially playing the straight man in a film with a handful of chuckles to go around, which works fine for him. Pryor is technically the third star of the film, even if he really only has four scenes to show for it, with two of them involving him impersonating a Cuban and Native American. He does fine schtick, I guess. Shaw does fine as the essential leader of the supporting cast (which includes a dwarf ballplayer), while Ross seems suited for more scenes to chew on as the heel (King is also interesting, but she is mainly used for a one-note joke). To me, the movie is most interesting when one sees the baseball diamond and the history it invites more than a few sly jokes (the firecracker bit being the best), but it generally manages to be charming enough to make the final result worth it. With a suitable cast and a fair foundation behind it, I would say this makes for a decent baseball movie and decent one to pick out for encouraging further research in black history.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Friday.

The Spook Who Sat by the Door.

Review #1804: The Spook Who Sat by the Door.

Cast:

Lawrence Cook (Dan Freeman), Janet League (Joy), Paula Kelly (Dahomey Queen), J. A. Preston (Dawson), Paul Butler (Dean "Do-Daddy Dean"), Don Blakely ("Stud" Davis), David Lemieux (Willie "Pretty Willie"), Jack Aaron (Carstairs), Joseph Mascolo (Senator Hennington), Elaine Aiken (Mrs. Hennington), Beverly Gill (Willa), Bob Hill (Calhoun), and Martin Golar (Perkins) Directed by Ivan Dixon.

Review: 

In the end, some movies are just star-crossed. Ivan Dixon made only two films as a director, and this was the last one. Trouble Man (1972), a blaxploitation thriller, had been his debut feature after having started acting in the 1950s, where he worked it theater, television, and film. He is best known for his role in the film Nothing But a Man (1964) and his role in the TV series Hogan's Heroes (1965-70). From 1970 until his retirement in 1993, he would serve as a television director for a number of television shows; he died in 2008 at the age of 76. The film is adapted from the 1969 novel of the same name by Sam Greenlee. The Chicago native had studied political science at the University of Wisconsin-Madison before serving as an officer in both the United States Army and the United States Information Agency (1957-1965) before quitting to dedicate his time to writing. However, with this book, he went through a bit of trouble in getting the book published (he described the experiences in the USIA as identical to the ones depicted to the main character in his book). Apparently, years later he was told by a former FBI recruit that the book was now required reading at the FBI Academy. Greenlee believed that the film was pulled from theaters shortly after its release as a suppression by the FBI (United Artists did not exactly take kindly to it either as distributor); he wrote one further novel before spending time around the world along with teaching screenwriting and talk-radio before his death in 2014 at the age of 84. He lived long enough to see the film finally get a proper release on home video, since it did not receive a release on home video (DVD) until 2004, for which one can thank Tim Reid for finding the negative (packed under a false name by Dixon). Even finding a location to film was a trouble, since the novel was set in Chicago, Illinois, which at that time had Richard J. Daley as Mayor, five years removed from his dubious attempt at presenting the city as a shining achievement with the 1968 Democratic National Convention (incidentally, only his son would exceed his 21-year run as mayor, complete with allegations of corruption just like his father), so Gary, Indiana was chosen for filming. One might be curious about the meaning of "spook", and it is a slang word for espionage alongside a racial slur. The film was written by Melvin Clay and Sam Greenlee while Herbie Hancock (a famed jazz pianist) provided the music.

Keep in mind, Greenlee wanted to show a message of how urban guerilla warfare could be utilized to protect black communities. In fact, most of the $1 million budget would come from black investors. Dixon would only direct one other film before he retired from filmmaking, but he was proud about the film for expressing everything he felt about race. It is a strange thing that this film did not become more popular in a decade when Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song (1971), a film lauded by the Black Panthers as the "first truly revolutionary Black film made" was allowed to flourish (incidentally, that film was rated X while this was given a PG rating). Of course, one may be able to make a film about militancy but making one with anti-establishment ideals to go with that...is not as easy; of course, a television adaptation of the book is planned for release, so there is that. I applaud the efforts of Dixon when it comes to making a fascinating and provocative film in the power of community that strikes with careful precision in building its radical foundation without becoming a pastiche of cliches with easy outs (i.e. it is quite diverting without becoming melodrama-orama). As it would stand, this ended up being the most notable film credit for Cook amidst a handful of film roles. He does quite well in terms in pressurized charm that works the tight rope of determination and restraint. Kelly proves the curiosity in a role that is present for just the start and near-climax, which results in quality moments with Cook (League on the other hand is there to show just what one is missing in chemistry between two adults). Preston is the authority figure destined for conflict that we know is inevitable, but it doesn't make his scenes with Cook any less engaging, since they make a quality pair between the parallels in friends with distinct beliefs. The movie hits most of its marks when it comes to carefully planned moments of satire with regards to the reaction to hypocrisy in the name of affirming action by white people. Of course, the film presents the best way to get back at the system by turning it into a guerilla nightmare, one not just based on hatred for white people (as mentioned in one scene with Cook and Lemieux, who is utilized as "white-passing" member of their group for propaganda). The 102-minute run-time is efficient enough without becoming outright fantasy while having a punching end-sequence to go with it. As a whole, movies like this deserve a look because of just what manages to land in terms of impact in terms of viewpoints and execution, particularly ones that did not get a fair shake back in its day. Nearly a half-century, one can see where we have moved from in the 1970s and where we still have to go in the 2020s when it comes to what it means to be free.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings (1976)

Ganja & Hess.

Review #1803: Ganja & Hess.

Cast: 

Marlene Clark (Ganja Meda), Duane Jones (Dr. Hess Green), Bill Gunn (George Meda), Sam Waymon (Reverend Luther Williams), Leonard Jackson (Archie), Candece Tarpley (Girl In Bar), Richard Harrow (Dinner Guest), John Hoffmeister (Jack Sargent), Betty Barney (Singer In Church), and Mabel King (Queen of Myrthia) Written and Directed by Bill Gunn.

Review: 

"I've liked every script I've ever written, and I've hated every movie made from them."

Bill Gunn made his mark as a writer in the time he had to do it. The son of a musician/poet and an actress/theater director, Gunn was born in 1934 in Philadelphia. He first studied acting as a sixteen-year-old after moving to New York. He starred in a handful of acting performances over the next couple of years (such as his main role in Losing Ground (1982), the first film directed by an African American woman in sixty years), but his truest passion was as an author and playwright in order to escape the frustration of having a lack of creative control as an actor. He wrote 29 plays, two novels, and several screenplays (most notably with The Landlord (1970)). Gunn directed three films in his lifetime, but only this one received any substantial distribution (however, Personal Problems (1980) has had notice); Stop (1970) would have been the second studio film by a black director, but its X rating and premise caused Warner Bros. to shelve it. Gunn died at the age of 54 in 1989 of encephalitis, but his papers live on for archivers to research for themselves. The story of this film is sadly one familiar to those who know of filmmakers who were both ahead of their time and screwed over by flaky producers. Kelly-Jordan Enterprises wanted to make a black vampire film, since Blacula (1972) was quite a hit with audiences. The original print received fair notice from the Cannes Film Festival, but a preview audience screening in New York doomed the film. The distributor, perhaps believing that it needed to cash in on straight horror tastes, sold it to Heritage Enterprises for them to cut the negative (under Fima Noveck), which resulted in a 110-minute movie being cut into one of 78 minutes, complete with a different score and dubbing; this version on VHS went under several titles: Black Evil, Black Vampire, Blackout: The Moment of Terror, Blood Couple, Double Possession, and Vampires of Harlem. The original cut did survive, for which one is fortunate to be available to see under a recent restoration that was done through the help of Kino, the Museum of Modern Art, and The Film Foundation. A remake (with a few imitated scenes shot-for-shot) was done in Da Sweet Blood of Jesus (2014) that was directed by Spike Lee.

It isn't exactly a horror film in the defined sense. For one, the vampire legend is treated more as an addiction alongside spiritualism than one shown through the usual proceedings (i.e., there is blood sucking but not a danger of being killed by sunlight or a stake) - the word vampire is never used. It involves an anthropologist/museum archivist who contracts a blood lust from an African artifact he collected, and he ends up seeing his new assistant do a murder-suicide attempt on him before he arises to drink the blood of the dead body that he stores in his freezer; his wife shows up later, ends up wooed by him and develops a craving for blood. Of course, it's not easy to be someone who has to taste blood to survive, but you get the picture. In that sense, it isn't going to be the clear winner for every horror viewer, but it is definitely deserving to be seen to be believed (especially among the arthouse favorites). It is the kind of movie you might have to see a few times to really absorb its curiosity and daring sense of strangeness, and Gunn should be applauded for having the audacity to make the film the way he did. Jones (in his second and last starring film role, owing to his interests in theater work) and Clark are the ideal pair when it comes to offbeat eroticism when it comes to seeing two folks get in touch with the spiritual side of the desire for blood and long-lasting life. Oh sure, the movie is very evidently a low-budget movie at times, but there is a searing movie here by Gunn to be captivated anyway, if only because it is off-putting enough to inspire further curiosity regardless of limitations or its open ending (well, as open as can be...). In the end, the best thing that can be said about the film is that it can be seen the way it was intended to be seen for folks to seek out. It deserved better, pure and simple, and I think it deserves a place as a cult classic among both black cinema and horror for its verve and capable execution. For a film that will turn fifty next year, there has never been a better time to seek this one out.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: The Spook Who Sat by the Door (1973).

Black Girl (1972)

Review #1802: Black Girl. 

Cast: 

Brock Peters (Earl), Claudia McNeil (Mu'Dear), Leslie Uggams (Netta), Louise Stubbs (Mama Rosie), Peggy Pettitt (Billie Jean), Gloria Edwards (Norma Faye), Loretta Greene (Ruth Ann), Ruby Dee (Netta's Mother), and Kent Martin (Herbert) Directed by Ossie Davis (#1635 - Cotton Comes to Harlem)

Review: 

Admittedly, it might be surprising that not only are there two films called Black Girl (1966, 1972), it is the non-American feature that is the well-known film (one that would likely be suitable for another time among its world cinema counterparts). But the 1972 film shouldn't be forgotten in the discussion of black family dramas, one that features a fairly solid group cast in a film wrapped in complications. This was the second feature film directed by Ossie Davis, who ended up doing five features all in the decade of the 1970s (this one, unlike Cotton Comes to Harlem, was made independently with distribution by Cinerama Releasing Corporation). The film is an adaptation of the television production/play of the same name by J. E. Franklin. It was made on television first by WGBH Boston '(for On Being Black, a PBS television show) in 1969 before it premiered Off-Broadway in New York City theater in 1971 (Uggams, Stubbs, Edwards, and Greene reprise their roles from the production); Franklin wrote the screenplay for the film, shot in Venice in Los Angeles County. Incidentally, one of the stars of this film in McNeil was featured prominently in the famous stage/film production A Raisin in the Sun (1959/1961).

One has to consider the consortium of castmates involved with varying levels of film experience. Peters had the most film role experience among the main group of actors, since he had acted in a handful of films since 1954 while also dabbling into singing. McNeil acted primarily in television, with this being the last of her four film roles in a career that spanned a few decades (in a strange coincidence that seems to tie the month together, she was inspired to get into acting by Ethel Waters). This was the first major film role for Uggams, a Harlem native who had been involved in show business since she was a child that had resulted in starring roles on Broadway (with a Tony Award in 1967) and television. Stubbs & Edwards appeared in just three films while Greene had two roles (obviously there is Dee, but her role is silent). The result for the film is a fairly effective experience of seeing all the emotions spill out of a family wrapped by self-hatred (or if you want to put it bluntly, losers). Black, white, whatever color one is, the experience of a family wrapped in turmoil is not something limited to just one view when it comes to cinema (television too, but there are differences), because the suffering of life is universal. It is a bit shaky, but the actors are fairly adept at keeping it just above theater-level in useful tension despite a foundation that is sometimes uneven (in getting to the point, mostly). I guess if you prefer movies with feminine leads in a non-action/comedic genre, this might be just up your alley (I'm fine with most stuff, but I can understand the preference for something like Coffy when it comes to black female-lead 70s films).

As it stands, this is the first and only film for Pettitt. She graduated from Antioch College with a bachelor's degree the year after this film and soon moved to London under a fellowship grant. She has continued to work on the stage and as a playwright. It is a tough role for any actress to consider, since it is comprised of reacting to the three-woman front of doubt and indignity and dance, and she makes the best of it. Peters may be billed first, but in reality, he is only in the film for twenty minutes, for which the scene with Stubbs in the park is probably the highlight scene when it comes to the power of showing the fractured family dynamic within memories. Stubbs is a quality foil to Pettitt when it comes to strong parental presences. McNeil is the underlying tie full of crisp charm, while Edwards & Greene serve as tools of spite that work to a point while Uggams has a wedge-size of time that goes okay in serving as the contrast between the others without becoming a high-and-mighty snob. As a whole, the film presents its drama with cloying accuracy when it comes to seeing sniping on screen between people mired in the muck of broken families without finding easy resolutions. It makes for a decent movie (complete with an appropriately ambiguous ending) that deserves a curious look for those in the mindset for that kind of movie with a serviceable director at the helm.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Ganja & Hess.

Come Back, Charleston Blue

Review #1801: Come Back, Charleston Blue.

Cast: 

Godfrey Cambridge (Detective "Gravedigger" Jones), Raymond St. Jacques (Detective Ed "Coffin Ed" Johnson), Peter Deanda (Joe Painter), Percy Rodriguez (Bryce), Jonelle Allen (Carol), Maxwell Glanville (Caspar), Minnie Gentry (Her Majesty), Dick Sabol (Jarema), and Leonardo Cimino (Frank Mago) Directed by Mark Warren.

Review: 

If you remember, Cotton Comes to Harlem (1970) was an interesting film for its time, one that is debatably one of the first blaxploitation films made. It was an adaptation of the Chester Himes novel of the same name that was the sixth of a series of novels Himes made involving two Harlem detectives (Grave Digger Jones & Coffin Ed) in the 1950s/1960s, one that dealt with tough cops trying to combat violent criminals, drug dealers, and pimps in their own ways (this is a trope one could identify in a variety of "loose cannon" detective media). Ossie Davis directed a fairly effective piece of entertainment with a crop of worthy talent and some interesting moments that generated some thrills and amusement. Two years later, a sequel would follow. Serving as sequel director is Mark Warren, primarily known for his television work rather than his three features, for which this was his first one (the most prevalent show he directed was Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In from 1969 to 1972). It was the time where black action movies had the chance to have follow-up films, with examples ranging from They Call Me Mister Tibbs! (the 1970 sequel to In the Heat of the Night, which had another follow-up the next year), Shaft's Big Score! (1972, followed by another film the next year), Super Fly T.N.T. (the 1973 sequel to Super Fly), while other films decided to avoid the sequel route due to the belief that sequels made less money than if one simply retained the lead actor and just did a similar story (Coffy followed by Foxy Brown, for example). The film was an adaptation of the book The Heat's On. This film was written by Ernest Kinoy and Peggy Elliott (the former is listed as "Bontche Schweig", incidentally).

You may be wondering what exactly is "Charleston Blue". Well, the film states he was a famed Harlem gangster that liked to cut throats with elegant razors made in Charleston that apparently went missing when he tried to take down gangster Dutch Schultz in the late 1930s (as told by a fortune-teller and numbers "Majesty", naturally)...and four decades later someone is taking mobsters down while leaving those razors at the crime scene. Well, really it is a ploy by someone to take over the drug trade from the Mafia, but that sometimes gets forgotten when you are seeing a variety of odd moments, such as one guy playing basketball and dunking the ball...right before he gets machine gunned to death. Oh, and folks getting killed by bombs thrown at them. And a man dressing up in a nun costume. I think it is played more for comedy this time around, although one knows the earlier film did play itself for comedy at times (the last one had Redd Foxx, remember), with the easiest example being the slapstick sequence involving a fight at a place with newly installed ping pong tables. Granted, it does have cynicism over the pursuit of advancement for certain figures trying to drive out white figures only so they can have it for themselves. The lead characters are tough on certain crime, particularly when it comes to people in their community being used. Cambridge and St. Jacques are in quality form in relation to how they handle the procedural action alongside sly comic lines or visual moments like having to dispose of their guns to the police captain (all of them). It's a shame that this was the last one they made together (more sad that Cambridge died a couple of years later of a sudden heart attack). Deanda makes for a fair adversary in terms of casual craven hypocrisy that isn't too overshadowed by the rest of the eccentric characters (but hey, who isn't when it comes to procedurals with distinct characters). By the time it gets to its climax involving graveyards (well, the second one with graves), it makes for fair action that doesn't waver too much in believability or in the aspect of depicting Harlem with an assortment of characters worth seeing. While the film is a notch below the original in terms of overall composition, it does handle its 100-minute run-time with enough charm to make it worth a viewing for folks who admire hard-boiled entertainment with both tension and humor.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Black Girl.

The Learning Tree.

Review #1800: The Learning Tree.

Cast: 

Kyle Johnson (Newt Winger), Alex Clarke (Marcus Savage), Estelle Evans (Sarah Winger), Mira Waters (Arcella Jefferson), George Mitchell (Jake Kiner), Richard Ward (Booker Savage), Malcolm Atterbury (Silas Newhall), Russell Thorson (Judge Cavanaugh), Zooey Hall (Chauncey Cavanaugh), Dana Elcar (Sheriff Kirky), Felix Nelson (Jack Winger), and Joel Fluellen (Uncle Rob) Written, Producted, and Directed by Gordon Parks (#610 - Shaft (1971) and #1045 - Shaft's Big Score!)

Review: 

It should only makes sense that the summer of '69 would see the first studio film to be directed, written, produced, and composed by an African American director, one released by Warner Bros.-Seven Arts (as the company was known from 1967-69) with Gordon Parks being the key man for the job, and he would hire as many black technicians as he could to do the film (as opposed to utilizing all-white unions in Hollywood) in a decision supported by the studio. It is an adaptation of his 1963 novel of the same name, one that was loosely based on his upbringing in Fort Scott, Kansas (the son of a farmer, one of a group of African Americans that migrated to Kansas that is referred to as the "Exodusters"). Elements of the novel/his life are present here, such as the fact that one of his high school teachers told him that going to college would be a waste of money (he was the youngest of fifteen children, incidentally). Parks was born in 1912, and he had to fend for survival after he moved to Minnesota shortly after his mother's death at the age of fourteen, which led him to work in various positions such as piano player, singer and bus boy. It was at the age of 25 that he became interested in his first career: photography. He would work in a variety of positions from freelance work to fashion to work with the government (such as the Farm Security Administration and the Office of War Information). Consider that Parks did not become a film director until he was nearly sixty years old. In the course of his life, he would be noted as a pioneer for black filmmakers (one who made five feature films from 1969 to 1976) alongside his other talents in photography and music before his death in 2006 at the age of 93.

Within its coming-of-age story is a tender experience that manages to tell a worthwhile story without falling prey to turning into sentimental goo; it wasn't the first black film based on one's personal experience (The Homesteader (1919) is one example, although Oscar Micheaux's film is lost), but it certainly has a key place when it came to the next phase of American cinema in regards to black filmmaking when talking about facing harsh realities and developing self-determination (which would be done over and over again in later years with other memoir films). As one might expect, this film was shot in his home state of Kansas, with principal location shooting being done around his own hometown; of course, Warner Bros.-Seven Arts did send studio folks out to check on the production from time to time to keep things on track, and there was lingering friction between some of his contemporaries in the town and Parks before it was shot in 1968. As the lead actor Johnson (the son of Nichelle Nichols) had been acting for nine years before he was cast in this film, which would be his first main starring role as a seventeen-year-old actor, and Parks had him undergo four screen tests that actually gauged the abilities of the other actors as opposed to him (as it would turn out, this ended up being the role he is best known for). He works quite well here, as we see him carry a story of learning with an earthy charm that keeps the film working through its episodic pace with no bumps in the road. Clarke (also in a key role that he is remembered for more than anything) makes a fair adversary, one who represents the other side of the coin in terms of differing points when it comes to growing up as a black man facing the realities of the time (Kansas in the 1920s) that makes the inevitable confrontation all the more interesting. Evans, Nelson, and Ward all represent distinct parental figures to the characters in worthy effectiveness. The film manages to roll with a story of hard learning with bittersweet effectiveness that works to viewers familiar with stories that had been told for decades prior (this time with a black voice) without falling prey to corny cliches. As such, it manages to hold up well after five decades as both a worthy debut for Parks and a worthy piece of African American cinema that should be seen at least once.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Come Back, Charleston Blue.

Carib Gold.

Review #1799: Carib Gold.

Cast:  

Ethel Waters (Mom), Coley Wallace (Ryan), Peter Dawson (Neely), Cecil Cunningham (Barb), William T. Hill (Cap), George Renna (Bartender), Cicely Tyson (Dottie), Diana Sands (Bar Girl), Richard Ward (Lechock), Ruth Sawyer (Baby), Henry Hayward (Willie), and Geoffrey Holder (Voo Doo Dancer) Directed by Harold Young (#511 - The Three Caballeros)

Review: 

Admittedly, this film might have slipped through the cracks in any other time of day, partly because it is quite obscure. In fact, it was believed to have been lost for decades, since it was a B-movie that had a limited release (playing to segregated audiences in Key West, Florida). The screenplay and story were done by Charles Gossett and D. Lyle Kretsinger, their first and only screenplay; it was the last film directed by Harold Young, a system director if there ever was one (of course, he did direct the live-action sequences of The Three Caballeros, but still). It was shot independently by the Splendora Corporation. But there is something to discover in the curiosity of an integrated cast that features the film debut of four actors: Diana Sands, Cicely Tyson, Diana Sands, Richard Ward and Geoffrey Holder (the latter two had previous experience in television). Ethel Waters is likely the most notable name among the experienced cast, if only because she was a notable presence among Broadway and concerts for jazz and swing to go with acting roles for numerous decades. Of course, Tyson would have a lengthy career of seven decades in film and television, while the detective-turned-actor in Ward had two decades of film/TV roles with his distinct voice, and Holder was just as distinct. Wallace was more known for his amateur boxing career than as an actor, as this was his second of six overall roles (half of them had him play Joe Louis).

Well, there isn't exactly much to grapple with this movie, to be honest. It barely makes the best of its hour, since the story could really be told in probably less than half the time, one mostly shot at the Miami Seaquarium (recently built in 1955, one of the oldest oceanariums still running) and Key West, Florida. All that happens in the film is a mild expedition for gold, a title song done by Waters, one "action scene", a brief chase, voodoo, and a brief confrontation. At least one can't say the film is exploitative, if only because there is barely anything to really exploit in a film that seems lacking in suspense. Even the title song seems more like an obligation than anything. You would think a movie about sunken treasure and greed would be something else, but it is telegraphed very, very, very easily, with one-note folks everywhere you go. Tyson is the character with a mysterious disease, while Ward has an obvious chip on the shoulder, while others are just "there" (Dawson in particular). Heck, the voodoo part seems unnecessary, since it really seems like the chase segment comes to a close by sheer coincidence of the fact that town seems really small to begin with. I suppose the message of the film is something about greed...or fate? Hell, I love that there is a brief scene after the one fight sequence where two characters debate if one should stay inside (having beaten up the villain)...right before an off-screen arrest. Depth is one thing the film has exactly zero of, unless one counts sea action, but it amuses me that you can sometimes see fish swim right by the camera. Honestly, if the film hadn't languished in obscurity to the point of being thought to be lost, it might have just slipped by the radar with nary an objection, because it is really, really average. If you need an hour to kill with a few curious young presences, one could probably do better or worse, so take that for what it is worth.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: The Learning Tree.

No Way Out (1950).

Review #1798: No Way Out (1950).

Cast: 

Richard Widmark (Ray Biddle), Linda Darnell (Edie Johnson), Stephen McNally (Dr. Dan Wharton), Sidney Poitier (Dr. Luther Brooks), Mildred Joanne Smith (Cora Brooks), Harry Bellaver (George Biddle), Stanley Ridges (Dr. Sam Moreland), and Dots Johnson (Lefty Jones) Directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz (#750 - All About Eve and #1378 - People Will Talk)

Review:

“If the fabric of the society were different, I would scream to high heaven to play villains and to deal with different images of Negro life that would be more dimensional. But I’ll be damned if I do that at this stage of the game. Not when there is only one Negro actor working in films with any degree of consistency.”

There were film noirs that also existed within the realm of social consciousness. Boomerang! (1947) dealt with following the rule of law, Crossfire (1947) was a mystery that gradually revealed a message against antisemitism, Panic in the Streets (1950) dealt with trying to stop the plague. What we have here is a film of blind rage...specifically, racist rage, complete with a hallmark film debut for Sidney Poitier. Born in 1927, Poitier grew up in the Bahamas before moving to the United States as a teenager, where he would serve in the United States Army during World War II. Right after the war ended, he applied twice to the American Negro Theatre, where he would study acting - he broke into Broadway in 1946. He was under contract for a play when he decided to take a screentest for this film, not expecting to actually receive the part. However, director Joseph Mankiewicz saw something he liked in Poitier (who actually fibbed his age to say he was five years older than his actual age). Poitier became a star in the next two decades in his way to becoming the first major African American film star, one who became the second black actor to win an Academy Award before he shifted focus to directing in later years; Poitier passed away this year at the age of 94, and he is generally remembered as an icon who made a difference with his integrity as a filmmaker. 

The script was done by Lesser Samuels and Mankiewicz, as the former had a son-in-law doctor (Philip Yordan provided uncredited contract script work). Mankiewicz modified the story to be more of a noir with the viewpoint of Poitier rather than an observation of black medical hopefuls. Darryl F. Zanuck, the head of 20th Century Fox (the studio that released the antisemitism expose Gentlemen's Agreement three years prior), personally supervised production of the film. Of course, the original script apparently ended with a gruesome murder, but the studio did not want to leave audiences with a hopeless feeling (which honestly seems like a good decision). Seven decades later, this 106-minute film certainly pulls enough punches within an outspoken flair for useful storytelling and a message that still stings curiosity without turning into predictable mush on any count. It is the story of a man trying to dig his way out of an awful situation: trying to prove themself when a racist is breathing down their neck (complete with inciting a riot). The unshakable object meets the immovable force when the facts are not enough to stop rage, and this still seems like something that could be seen today.

You have to remember that Widmark had captivated the screen with Kiss of Death (1947), so to see him in a scuzzy role filled with venom is not too surprising. He proves startling effective as the simmering bully, one who balances the line between caricature and terror, since he serves as a reflection of people who would rather blame race rather than confronting themselves for why their lives are the way they are (in that sense, he makes the audience uncomfortable and thus does it right). Of course, Poitier can't be forgotten, even if he is billed fourth despite having the brunt of screentime. Filled with self-doubt and pride, he makes an astonishing debut here (incidentally, Widmark and Poitier became friends during production, and he would even go so far as to apologize to him after certain takes), with the enmity between the two leads being quite palpable when it comes to a match of pride. McNally is fine here, although one can see the seams of a character that could've seeped into self-righteousness. Darnell fares better in the conflict of which strife matters most to her (i.e. the scuz-ball saying things in her ear or her crappy life) that makes the climax (and its fateful last words) fairly worth it.

The supporting cast is nicely assembled, revolving from the warm presence of Smith to the tense Johnson. Additionally, this is the onscreen debut of Ossie Davis (in a brief uncredited role), and he appears with wife Ruby Dee briefly for the first time of numerous occasions where they were paired together on screen. The film was not a major success, likely owing to objections from select censor boards due to its content (what with the whole race riot and all, although I wonder if they were totally fine with all the racial epithets), with Chicago fearing it would incite riots (which as we all know is bullshit) before cuts were made regarding the riot. Of course, Mankiewicz already had another film ready to release later that year with All About Eve (1950), while this film is less well-known (incidentally, each film would have their script nominated for Academy Awards). At any rate, this is a film anybody would be proud to have been a part of, and it is definitely one worth seeing for what it manages to do for the time as a socially conscious movie with a worthwhile debut from an actor that was just getting started.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Carib Gold.

Home of the Brave (1949).

Review #1797: Home of the Brave.

Cast: 

Jeff Corey (Doctor), James Edwards (Private Peter Moss), Lloyd Bridges (Finch), Douglas Dick (Major Robinson), Frank Lovejoy (Sergeant Mingo), Steve Brodie (T.J. Everett), and Cliff Clark (Colonel Baker) Directed by Mark Robson.

Review:

1949 was an interesting year for showing Black Americans. A quartet of features came out with varying levels of interest from Hollywood in telling an interesting story involving African Americans that differed from previous years (i.e. roles percieved as demeaning): Intruder in the Dust (1949), Lost Boundaries (1949), Pinky (1949), and this film. The first film was a crime drama adaptation of a William Faulkner novel, while the second one was based on a nonfiction account of a doctor who had passed for white in the 1930s/1940s, and the third was a drama adaptation incolving a woman passing for white that finds purpose in the South while re-claiming her identity. It should be mentioned, of course, that the latter two featured white actors in the starring roles. Home of the Brave (1949) does not do that here, if only because it is a film with a small cast that utilizes James Edwards with enough screen time to essentially make him the star focus in a medical war drama, filmed on modest sets over the course of a month.  The film is adapted from the 1945 play of the same name, which had been written by Arthur Laurents. He had served in the United States Army under the Pictoral Service. While the play did not run well with audiences to merit a long run, critics liked it and its themes of friendship, loyalty, and dealing with antisemitism. Producer Stanley Kramer latched onto making a film about the play, although it was the decision of screenwriter Carl Foreman to change the main character from being a Jewish person to an African American in an attempt to avoid comparisons to recent films such as 1947's Gentlemen's Agreement and Crossfire (ironically, that movie only had a theme of racism/anti-Semitism because the novel's theme of homophobia was not allowed to be shown for a film). Mark Robson had started directing with Val Lewton's unit at RKO Radio Pictures in 1943 before he directed Foreman's script in Champion (1949).

Of course, one thing that seemed to slip by at the time was the fact that the U.S. Army was segregated until 1948. At any rate, I should not be surprised that Kramer and Foreman were behind this film, because they would do another film involving the plight of recovering from the scars of war with The Men (that film dealt with paralyzed veterans as opposed to psychoanalysis), particularly when stuff like The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) was an audience favorite. Atbany rate, this film ended up being a modest success by making over $2.5 million. This was the first starring role for James Edwards (who had appeared in The Set-Up earlier in the year); the Indiana native had studied psychology at Knoxville College before moving onto Northwestern University in drama, and he served in the Army as a first lieutenant. While it ended up being his most well-known role, Edwards would appear in over two dozen feature films while also writing a number of books before his untimely death in 1970 at the age of 51. Edwards proves to be the highlight of the film, wrapped with encompassing sensitivity and tension that doesn't buckle when with a crowd (read: group of five). Basically, he makes a solid lead to follow with for a war movie with semi-effective accuracy in trying to draw raw emotion onto the screen when it comes to treating folks the way one wants to be treated (particularly in war). Bridges is the warmest presence around the group (as one would expect from a sentimental favorite), but he still pulls attention without soft depth, at least when compared to the hard nosed guys like Lovejoy or the heavy in Brodie. Corey makes a decent figure in the "analysis" parts, which don't drag the film longer than it needs to go in flashback before its 88 minute runtime is up. One could see why this certainly seemed more fitting for the stage than film (setting aside one character reading poetry at times), but it manages to be just entertaining enough with its sense of interest in making a worthwhile hard-hitting story that doesnt fall prey to soapbox moments. Among a year filled with attempts at telling different stories involving African Americans, this is a solid winner that tackles prejudice with dutiful conviction and a solid lead in Edwards to make it work.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars. 

Next Time: No Way Out (1950)

Two Gun Man from Harlem.

Review #1796: Two Gun Men From Harlem.

Cast: 

Herb Jeffries (Bob Blake/The Deacon), Margaret Whitten (Sally Thompson), Clarence Brooks (John Barker), Mantan Moreland (Bill Blake), Stymie Beard (Jimmy Thompson), Spencer Williams, Jr. (Butch Carter), Mae Turner (Mrs. Ruth Steel), Jesse Lee Brooks (Sheriff), Rose Lee Lincoln (Dolores), and Tom Southern (John Steel) Written and Directed by Richard C. Kahn.

Review: 

"A good entertainer, a man with a vision and the fortitude to make it a reality, is an inspiration to all children, of any color, and he's a man we all can look up to."

Admittedly, some movies are more obscure than others. Two Gun Man from Harlem isn't exactly the "first" of anything, since the Western was quite prevalent for several decades. But the story of Herb Jeffries is the most curious. He had been born Umberto Alexander Valentino in Detroit, Michigan in 1913 to an Irish mother and a father of mixed origin (later stated by Jeffries as Sicilian); he did not know his father, and he listed Howard Jeffrey (his black stepfather) in census documents as his father, going so far as to take his last name while adopting an African American identity. He had an interest in singing from a young age, even dropping out of high school to earn a living as one. He had a good word put in by Louis Armstrong, who inspired him to move to Chicago. The reason he is known as Herb Jeffries springs to a recording he made in 1940 with Duke Ellington, as the hit record credits mistakenly called him by that name (leading him to him re-naming himself to fit the typo). He would have a lengthy career in jazz to go with a varied career in film and television. There were a few inspirations listed for why he wanted to make an all-black Western, either ranging from his appreciation of the silent Western films in his heyday, wanting to see black youths get their own cowboy icon...or seeing The Terror of Tiny Town (produced by Jed Buell that had starred little people). The latter inspiration is probably the most accurate, since Buell funded and co-directed the first Jeffries vehicle Harlem on the Prairie (1937). He would do four more afterwards: Two Gun Man from Harlem (1938), Rhythm Rodeo (1938), The Bronze Buckaroo (1939) and Harlem Rides the Range (1939). Referred to as both "The Bronze Cowboy" and the "Bronze Buckaroo", he also once described himself as a "chameleon", and he would do eighteen roles in film/television before his death in 2014 at the age of 100. He may not have been the Western icon of singing like Gene Autry for example, but Jeffries at least deserves a mention of curiosity in the Western lexicon, and his story seems quite suitable to mention for this particular month.

Keep in mind, Harlem on the Prairie was a fair hit, and time is surely not one thing to waste. Richard C. Kahn wanted to do features with Jeffries, and three of the four films he made in the late 1930s was under the character of "Bob Blake", with Kahn being responsible for all of the "Blake" films, which were done at Murray's Dude Ranch in Apple Valley, California that received distribution by Sack Amusement Enterprises (coincidentally, Sack was also behind distribution of a number of Oscar Micheaux features). Kahn would also do the first all-black science fiction horror film with Son of Ingagi (1940). So yes, the singing cowboy is a curious part of the Western. Jeffries sings "I’m a Happy Cowboy" accompanied by The Cats and the Fiddle while The Four Tones also appears for a song. This film is a minor entry in that genre, since the singing part is in the beginning before the real plot steps in: a cowboy assumes the identity of a preacher/gangster lookalike trying to infiltrate a gang that framed him for murder. As a B-movie, it is quite average, but at least one can see that there is an hour worth spending here when it comes to light entertainment. Jeffries might be the best part of the film, in that he makes the material at least seem better than "surface level", keeping the proceedings going with a fair amount of charisma that is required in a film that could burst with how ridiculous the proceedings get (cowboys turning into gangsters that happen to look like each other). Incidentally, this is one of the first film roles for Mantan Moreland, who had spent a number of years in vaudeville and nightclubs before he became a film actor in the late 1930s (his particular comic style would be scrutinized in the 1950s, but he did maintain work until his death in 1973). His comic relief does fine here, in that he gives a bit of levity to an otherwise staid movie (the same is true for Beard, but adults are usually funnier than kids anyway). As a whole, while the production values are mild at best, it proves serviceable for anyone who is curious about low budget quickies made in a time long ago that does exactly what you think it will do without question.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Home of the Brave (1949)

Body and Soul.

Review #1795: Body and Soul.

Cast: 

Paul Robeson (Reverend Isaiah T. Jenkins / His brother Sylvester), Mercedes Gilbert (Sister Martha Jane - Isabelle's Mother), Julia Theresa Russell (Isabelle - the Girl), Lawrence Chenault (Yello-Curley' Hinds - the Phony Reverend's Former Jailmate), Marshall Rogers (Speakeasy proprietor), Lillian Johnson ("Sis" Caline, a Pious Lady), Madame Robinson ("Sis" Lucy, a Pious Lady), Chester A. Alexander (Deacon Simpkins, a Church Elder), and Walter Cornick (Brother Amos, a Church Elder) Written, Directed, and Produced by Oscar Micheaux (#1633 - Within Our Gates)

Review: 

I'm sure you already know that Oscar Micheaux was a distinct man of his time as director. After all, we already saw how well Within Our Gates (1920) went with audiences, serving as the second of his ventures into filmmaking, for which he aimed to tell interesting stories for black audiences. He made over forty features in the span of 29 years, but of the silent portion in his filmography (which he did until 1930), only three survive (Within Our Gates, The Symbol of the Unconquered, Body and Soul). This was adapted from his novel of the same name, as was the case for a number of his films. Of course, the true story to tell is the fact that this is the debut starring role of Paul Robeson. He was born in Princeton, New Jersey in 1898 to a Presbyterian minister and a descendant of the Bustills. He excelled in both acting and sports as a youth, and he wound up winning a state contest for a scholarship to Rutgers College, which he would attend in 1915. He excelled as a member of the football team, the debate team, and singing and graduated (as with high school, he graduated as valedictorian). He then studied law at the New York University School of Law in 1919 and Columbia Law School in 1920 before making his first venture into acitng into the theater in 1920. In 1921 and 1922, he played football in the freshly-created National Football League for Akron and Milwaukee before he graduated. However, he elected to move into acting as opposed to law due to encountering racism at the firm he was hired to work. It was his wife Eslanda that insisted on driving him towards becoming an actor, for which he would excel with performances such as the 1925 revival of the play The Emperor Jones, and it was his wife that negotiated him into this film (incidentally, the two would star together once in Borderline (1930)). Robeson would do various acting performances in the theater and in film, most notable with Othello and Show Boat (1936) while serving as a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance; until his death in 1976, he dedicated himself to a "worldwide cause of humanity for freedom, peace and brotherhood" that advocated for several causes (such as the Council on African Affairs) despite dealing with being investigated in the 1950s for his support of certain causes and policies. In total, he acted in a dozen feature films before disputes on the production of the anthology film Tales of Manhattan (1942) with stereotyping caused him to cease association with Hollywood, but he had a long-running career in concert (spent primairly in Europe) that sealed his reputation as a great African American icon of his time.

Robeson did not exactly take kindly to the film in later years, referring to The Emperor Jones (1933) as his true screen debut. Micheaux was a dilligent filmmaker when it came to getting them done with the budget he had that led to a few "mistakes" being kept in the final version of the film that was shown wherever it could be shown for Black audiences (of course, trying to pass a 31-year old as someone's mother despite being just four years older than their on-screen daughter is its own story), complete with distinct intertitles for characters in grammar. If you thought Within Our Gates had tendancies of a soap opera within its attempts to tell a story involving the dual nature of man: specifically a corrupt preacher and the people that are affected by his actions, one where pictures of Abraham Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, and Booker T. Washington are seen on the wall. Of course, there also is a love triangle involving Robeson playing both the evil preacher and his twin-brother inventor that each have their own trials and tribulations with trying to earn money (and a Bible with money hidden in it!). He may have been a melodrama-man, but he was also a story-teller that wanted to show sensitive topics on screen (lynching was present in Gates, for example), so this isn't too different. You may be wondering just what is with the ending. Well, apparently making a 1925 film about a priest who is portrayed as sinister is just too much for some censor boards, most notably with the New York board, which disagreed with the original nine reel version. With a lack of time to make reshoots, Micheaux had to come up with a quick ending that made the events...a dream, for which the film was now at five reels (a screenplay for the film is not intact, therefore making it hard to see exactly what was lost). Robeson is obviously the highlight of the film, one who gets to engage with the screen for two distinct performances that work out for tremendous effect, with the sly shuffling between the two being interesting enough to show just where the line goes in the pursuit of better living in that time and place. Gilbert isn't forgotten here, however, as she manages well with careful timing that makes her the heart of the film when it comes to well-meaning folks trying to maintain themselves in a world of doubt for folks that certainly valued their Sundays like no other. Russell does fine as the pawn in the middle, wrapped with shaky grace. As a whole, Micheaux and Robeson each ended up getting what was best for them. The director continued to make movies on the circuit with quick drive while the actor got to be involved in the process of what it means to make movies. It should be mentioned that of all the movies Robeson made, this one was the only one made by an black director. In that regard, Body and Soul (1925) is a fair achievement for both of them.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Well, February is here again. It shouldnt surprise you to see Movie Night honor Black History Month for the second year in a row, seeing how the first one turned out. There will be a handful of new and familiar faces seen this month in black stars and directors, and the next film up is Two Gun Man from Harlem.