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)
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