Cast:
Paul Robeson (Brutus Jones), Dudley Digges (Smithers), Frank H. Wilson (Jeff), Fredi Washington (Undine), Ruby Elzy (Dolly), George Haymid Stamper (Lem), Jackie "Moms" Mabley (Marcella), Blueboy O'Connor (Treasurer), Brandon Evans (Carrington), and Rex Ingram (Court Crier) Directed by Dudley Murphy.
Review:
Paul Robeson was a talent among himself, but this film was a curious one to look through. In 1920, Eugene O'Neill's play of tragedy in The Emperor Jones premiered on the New York stage. The play was inspired by the occupation of Haiti by the United States (which happened from 1915 to 1934), which had resulted in bloodshed and discourse about its level of imperialism. It was the first successful play for O'Neill, who would win his first Pulitzer Prize for Drama (adding three more in the next number of years); the character of Jones when it came to certain aspect of personality was inspired by Adam Scott, a close friend of O'Neill. Charles Sidney Gilpin was the original actor to play the role of Jones on the stage, which he did for the original performances before disagreements with O'Neill (specifically with the use of a racial slur) led to changes. Robeson (who had studied law after a noted college career in football at Rutgers) was brought in for the revival a few years later, and he also did the play for a radio adaptation. This is the only film adaptation of the play, but there have been several other adaptations in various media, such as a 1933 opera (as done by Louis Gruenberg) along with several TV productions (with one starring Ossie Davis). Only in a certain era would people see rushes for a film and think that an actor (Washington) needs makeup in reshoots to make them darker so that they did not look light-skinned next to Robeson. It was the only film screenplay for author DuBose Heyward, best known for his work on the 1925 novel Porgy and his adaptation alongside his wife to a play in 1927 (years later it was adapted against into an opera in Porgy and Bess); he was recruited by director Dudley Murphy to do a screenplay with background applied to an adaptation after convincing O'Neill about getting a film project off the ground. Contentiously, it is stated that Murphy had a hand in the film Ballet Mécanique, a collaboration he worked with Fernand Léger as a "Dadaist post-Cubist art film" (in 1924) to go with two 1929 short films featuring music in St. Louis Blues (featuring Bessie Smith) and Black and Tan (featuring Duke Ellington and His Orchestra). William C. deMille apparently did un-credited work on the film in supervising direction. The film had John Krimsky and Gifford A. Cochran as producers, who had previously helped Madchen in Uniform (1932) reach American audiences.
The movie probably doesn't have the power that a long soliloquy has on the stage, but it is still pretty easy to see just how good Robeson can make a film work when it is his show to cut loose. He wouldn't have that many chances to do this in America, which led to him taking on roles abroad (such as King Solomon's Mines [1937]) prior to his final feature role in 1942, but he was quite busy in activism in a variety of fields. Studio sets doubling for the jungle work out pretty well in a tale of hubris and the ever-growing drumbeat of doom. This was a film shot by Ernest Haller, who you might recognize as the future cinematographer of Gone with the Wind (1939), which worked with the sets designed by art designer Herman Rosse. The film is in the public domain, although finding a good print would be ideal, since a restored print by Criterion was only done in 2006. It is a tale of exploitation in that rise to power that is shaped by a man's failure to run away fully from their past. Granted, it is a fairly dated film when it comes to overall execution, because the two halves of the film (rise and fall) don't exactly mesh as well as one might hope they would (of course there was a bit of censorship done depending on the audience, such as not including a certain slur when playing to black audiences to go with trimming a pivotal moment of rebellion). Robeson stands out the best, with Digges and his observations as a fellow exploiter being second among a general row of bluster impressing among ordinary observers (well, aside from the first segment that involves hucksters, buy you get the idea). As a whole, Robeson maneuvers the act of a man gripped with craving an image all for himself in better things that means greed and brutality before eventually moving to a conclusion of fear and, well, being swallowed whole. It isn't particularly great, but it generally works out in entertainment on the basis of one gripping performance and a bit of ingenuity in stretching a cheap production into something with enough curiosity to make it a worthwhile show. It may not have been a tremendous success at the time, but the decades have been more kind to it for pretty easy reasons.
Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.
