The Negro Soldier - 1944

The Negro Soldier (1944) – was a groundbreaking film for its almost astonishing portrayal of Black Americans as just Americans, with as deep a sense of responsibility for fighting a war against fascism and as profoundly courageous as their so-often portrayed white fellow citizens in inspirational films of this period.

The “inspirational films” are, of course, commonly referred to as “propaganda,” but since that word has an obvious negative connotation, I prefer to separate the wheat from the chaff and state simply that many of these World War II films were actually less about the evil enemy (propaganda) and more about our resolve to stand for integrity and justice (inspiration).

That the portrayal of Black Americans without stereotype in this movie is astonishing is, just as obvious, due to the overwhelming stereotype and often outright negative imagery of African Americans since the start of cinema.  We know that, while prejudice did not end with the conquering of our enemies in World War II, the end of the war nevertheless did mark a beginning of a more introspective examination in movies of racial injustice that slowly began to change the mood in this country.  Many historians would point to the fact that Black Americans, having contributed to the victory, were not willing to continue being treated as second-class citizens and a foolish, even ugly, stereotype.

I think, however, part of the change in society had seeds that were sewn not only by returning Black veterans but by movies of this type.  Though The Negro Soldier was not the only one of this genre, it was, and is, a fine movie that left a positive impression with the white civilian population.   It was not originally meant for them but meant only for Black recruits to inspire them to be good soldiers, but so pleased were they with the representation of themselves, that it was decided to show it to white soldiers as well, and then to the general public.  It was received very well, and in its own quiet way, made, I think, an important contribution not only to the war effort, but to the peace that followed.  Today, it is part of the National Film Registry in the Library of Congress.

Produced by Frank Capra as a follow-up to his Why We Fight series, this short documentary was made under the auspices of the War Activities Committee of the Motion Pictures Industry, commissioned by the U.S. War Department.  It was directed by Stuart Heisler and the script was written by Carlton Moss, who also appears in the role of a minister.

Mr. Moss came from the theatre.  After college he was one of the leaders of the Negro Theatre Unit of the Federal Theatre Project, one of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration endeavors to employ writers, artists, directors, actors during the Great Depression.  Moss was recommended to help run the Negro Theatre Unit by John Houseman, who was leaving that role.

The Negro Soldier begins with a Black congregation singing in a packed downtown church, and Carlton Moss is the minister who addresses them from the pulpit.  He is not fiery or emotional, but quiet, professorial, and those of us who are fans of Mrs. Miniver (1942) (a much more famous film roundly referred to as “propaganda”) may recall the vicar played by Henry Wilcoxon.  His “Wilcoxon speech” at the end of the movie has a different tone that the words of Preacher Moss, but Moss’s sermon is just as important and necessary to hear.  Like the “Wilcoxon speech,” it is good for the soul.

First he gestures to the service flag hung in church with stars for members who are now in the military and he points out members of the congregation who are in uniform, welcoming them and including among them, a woman who is a WAC.  There is a sense of equity here not only for African Americans but for Black women, in particular.

Heavyweight champion Joe Louis is recalled for his symbolic trouncing of the German Max Schmeling in the ring, and both were now in the uniform of their respective countries “fighting for the real championship of the world.”

Jesse Owens, likewise, is recalled for his triumphs, along with Ralph Metcalfe and other team members, over the track and field German competitors at the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games.  Having thus far made the connection between the phony declarations of the superiority of the Aryan race,  Preacher Moss then quotes from Hitler’s memoir, Mein Kampf.

Moss refers to it as “The gospel according to Hitler.”  He reads a passage wherein Hitler outlines his desire to conquer by force, and as regards to themselves as Black Americans, of the folly of America to “train a born half-ape.”

This is perhaps the most startling image, to hear the vile words of an evil man read calmly from the pulpit in a house of worship, insulting to the congregation, but this has an even greater effect than angry outcry.  It is as if the evidence is put on display in court.  The camera shows us closeups of many faces in the congregation.  Here, too, is a kind of judicial proof.  They are human beings and they are not stereotypes

Then the minister takes us through United States history and Black participation in every major event from the Boston Massacre, the Battle of Lexington-Concord, Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, battles of the War of 1812, pointing out with images perhaps revelatory to those in the theater audience who were unaware of the longstanding and unbroken involvement of African Americans in the history of the nation.  We catch a glimpse of Black faces peering out from broad-brimmed hats and bonnets on covered wagons heading West as pioneers.  These people are part of history but were not part of history books for likely a majority of the theater audience.

Moving closer to the present day, Black soldiers are seen in the Spanish-American War and in World War I.  Then Moss moves on to images of notable Black Americans in fields of science, literature, art, finance, medicine. 

In the present war, Dorie Miller, who was awarded the Navy Cross for heroism at Pearl Harbor, and who died in battle the year before this film was released, is briefly mentioned, as well as the Tuskegee pilots, but the film shifts at this point from these noble images to the equally noble if mundane review of a new recruit’s experiences.

A mother in the congregation reads aloud a letter from her son, who recently entered the Army.  She is Mrs. Bronson, played by Bertha Wolford or Woolford (who seems to have had uncredited parts in only three other films, including Night and Day, covered here). 

The flashback scenes show her son arriving on the train platform with other men, including white recruits, as they shed civilian dress and go through the process of induction.  They are interviewed, taught military courtesy, yelled at by sergeants, stumble around marching, until they finally become soldiers.  

On leave, he attends a dance and there is the romantic image of him dancing with a lovely young woman.  He also observes WACs in training and offers his admiration for them in his letter to his mother.

His next post, he hopes, will be officer’s candidate school.  He is no stereotype, nor is his quietly proud mother, nor is anyone in the congregation.  Over 900,000 African Americans served in the military in World War II all over the globe.  One of the few complaints of the film is it does not stress the injustice of a segregated military.  Nevertheless, the film leaves its audience, as all good films should, with something to think about and to broaden their minds.

Have a look at The Negro Soldier here on YouTube.

*******************

Our greatest gift from the Greatest Generation was freedom from fascism. Relive, and celebrate, how evil was faced, discussed, dramatized...and fought. Classic films were Hollywood's weapon.

Get your copy of my book Hollywood Fights Fascism here at Amazon in print or eBook, or here at Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and a variety of other online shops.

  ************

Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Movies in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century and Hollywood Fights Fascism and Christmas in Classic Films. TO JOIN HER READERS' GROUP - follow this link for a free book as a thank-you for joining.

Herb Jeffries - the Bronze Buckaroo

This is Herb Jeffries singing “Flamingo”, in his silky baritone as only he can do it.

Mr. Jeffries, still with us at 98 years of age, holds a unique place in film history. He is considered the first black singing cowboy. He rode fences on a most curious range, an industry sitting on the fence about a nation divided by race.

Born Herbert Jeffrey of mixed-race African and European ancestry, he was a band vocalist with Duke Ellington in the 1940s. In “Bright Boulevards, Bold Dreams - the Story of Black Hollywood” by Donald Bogle (One World-Ballantine Books, NY, c. 2005), he is described as a bit of a nightclub heartthrob who headed to Gower Gulch like so many others looking for a back door into Hollywood (see this previous post on Gower Gulch), and the B-westerns.

His “Harlem on the Prairie”, shot in ten days, was touted by Variety as having much “box office promise… as a novelty, for the colored theaters, it’s surefire.” It was called the first Negro musical western, and that would launch a new genre. Below, we have Herb Jeffries from “Harlem Rides the Range”.



A strange, surreal prairie it was for a light-skinned mixed race man, the forerunner of a new genre that was meant to play only to what Variety called “colored theaters”. Black audiences were given a singing cowboy hero at last. He sang better than Gene Autry, but would not reach Autry’s iconic and financial stature.

There were few blacks in the other B-westerns that played to mainstream (non-segregated theaters), though as mentioned in this previous post on Autry’s “The Singing Cowboy”, the blacks in his movies were usually not demeaned by stereotype. However, seeing few African-Americans in westerns may have left audiences of the day, and for a generation afterward, with the impression that the Old West was a homogenous place, as segregated a place as the schools in Little Rock before the showdown of 1957.

In her memoir “To See the Dream” (Harcourt, Brace and Company, NY, 1957) by Jessamyn West on the filming of “Friendly Persuasion” (which was discussed in this previous post on books on movies), the author ponders the reaction of a little white girl about black cowboys. When two teenaged boys, one white and one black, visit Miss West and excitedly discuss their future dreams, the black teen declares he wants to be a cowboy.

Miss West is especially interested in the reaction of the little girl, who is her neighbor. The child dismisses this young man’s goal in life as silly because, as she declares with authority, there are no Negro cowboys. Jessamyn West gently plays devil’s advocate and ruminates that cows do not care about the color of the skin of whoever rides herd. But, the little girl is adamant. It makes no sense to her. There just are no Negro cowboys.

Will Rogers, famed “Ziegfeld Follies” self-styled cowboy comedian and folk hero, and movie star in his own set of B-films, was taught how to be a ranch hand by a former slave. The little girl, and much of America, probably didn’t know that.

At that time, tales of African-American pioneers in the west, and the Buffalo Soldiers in the U.S. Cavalry got little play in the history books, and not a much of even a footnote in the movies.

But, Herb Jeffries, called The Bronze Buckaroo after the title of one of his films, represented the possibility of there being such a thing as a black hero in the wild west, if only to segregated audiences.

When he was in his 80s, Mr. Jeffries recorded an album of cowboy songs in Nashville, called “The Bronze Buckaroo (Rides Again)”, and continued to perform live even into his 90s at jazz festivals, and at benefits to raise money for autism research. That surely makes him a hero.

In 2004, he was inducted into the Western Performers Hall of Fame at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City.

Below, we have the Bronze Buckaroo singing “Payday Blues” from “The Bronze Buckaroo” (1939). For more on Herb Jeffries, have a look here at his website.

City Lights (1931)

“City Lights” (1931) is one of the most fascinating films of Charlie Chaplin’s career and of that era of filmmaking, on the awkward cusp between silent and sound. The Little Tramp evolves to a multi-dimensional character, no longer just the vaudevillian scamp, but an Everyman. It is also one of the last times we see him, because sound, as Chaplin himself feared, would be the end of this perhaps most recognizable icon of the young movie industry.

His silence, not the films being silent, but the character’s silence made him easily to identify with by people of different cultures all over the world. Speech would make him less universal, and Mr. Chaplin knew that.

Chaplin made a slight concession to the new sound film industry by adding a musical score he had composed for this film, and a few sound effects, but he drew the line at the spoken word. There was none of that to intrude on The Little Tramp’s world.

It is the story of how he befriends a blind flower girl. He also helps out a drunken millionaire about to commit suicide. “Be brave! Face Life!” Played by Harry Meyers, the character, An Eccentric Millionaire, is pals with The Little Tramp only during bouts of drunkenness. Sober, he doesn’t even recognize him. Chaplin exhibits his usual athletic grace while slipping on the waxy floor of a nightclub, and when he swallows a whistle, the blowing of the whistle is one of the few sound effects we hear.

When the millionaire takes off for Europe, The Little Tramp has no extra handouts to help him care for the lovely street flower seller, played by Virginia Cherrill. At their first meeting, she mistakes his character for a wealthy man, and he tries to uphold that image for her, lying to her and passing on what money he can to her. When she is sick, he gets jobs to help out her and her elderly grandmother, including a famous scene as a boxer when he takes on the champ for a share of the purse.

There are some cute bits in the film, such as when he furtively whispers to someone in the fighter’s dressing room and we are meant to assume he is asking for the men’s room, when he really only wanted was to get a drink of water from the water cooler. He sizes up his formidable opponent, and fearful he will be killed in the ring, he coyly tries to befriend the stern prizefighter, who sizes Charlie up and immediately retires behind a curtain away from Charlie’s prying eyes, to change for the fight.

An African-American fighter also makes ready to take on his next fight, and refreshingly there are no stereotype caricatures of the day for this actor. He is just another fighter waiting for his turn in the ring. Like many athletes, he has a good luck ritual before the contest, and allows The Little Tramp to use his lucky rabbit’s foot and horseshoe to get luck for his own upcoming fight. Charlie feels reassured after using the good luck charms, until the boxer returns unconscious, carried from the ring. Then Charlie’s heart sinks. Inevitably, he will also be carried off after losing his own boxing match.

Eventually, The Little Tramp unwittingly becomes accused of robbing the millionaire, but runs away and gives the money he has received to the blind girl, so that she may have an operation to restore her sight. He knows he will go to prison, but makes the sacrifice for her sake.

In the final scene, one of the most powerful Chaplin ever filmed, we see that his famous character is no longer just the smart aleck, lucky fellow who always lands on his feet. Here, he is just released from prison, downtrodden and his carefree attitude seems lost forever. He looks beaten and bitter. There is a chance meeting with the blind girl, now with her vision restored and the owner of her own flower shop. She takes pity on The Little Tramp, whom she does not know, and tries to give him a coin. When she touches him, she realizes it is her old friend, and the bemused pity she felt a moment before for an odd-looking stranger becomes a heartbreaking mixture of sorrow and gratitude to her friend.

Their roles are reversed; he is no longer the benefactor and she the object of pity. It is now the opposite, and both feel a sense of wonder and humility. His joy at discovering she can see makes his prison time worthwhile. His frozen expression of delight is priceless.

We get no wedding bells type of happily ever after from this movie, only that pure moment when two human beings cross paths, each of them reaching a personal, and yet shared, destiny.

Here is that final scene.

Haunted Spooks (1920)

“Haunted Spooks” is a two-reeler where Harold Lloyd, dumped by his wealthy girlfriend for another man, marries a complete stranger instead and spends the wedding night in a haunted house. As with most silent comedies, the plot is thin but never-ending, at least until the film runs out.

Harold Lloyd has a remarkable modern quality to him, as noted before (see June 21st and June 27th entries), perhaps it is as much to do with his simple costume of a regular suit and nerdy glasses, and his manner of occasionally looking directly into the camera, as if to gauge our reaction to what he is doing. When Chaplin or Keaton look in the direction of the camera, it is to gaze beyond it, as if it is not there. Lloyd knows we are there every step with him, and he seems to want to know what we think.

The action takes place in the South, as the caption tells us, “Go down the Mississippi River several miles and turn to the right.” The 1920s college boy wit continues with the explanation that “A southern gentleman has died for the first time,” and his heir, The Girl, must live with her husband in the family mansion for a year, or the whole inheritance will fall to The Uncle.

However, The Girl, played by Mildred Davis, is not married. She tells the lawyer, “But I have no husband -- nothing but a Ford and a phonograph.” With such dialogue, we get the feeling the roaring, carefree 1920s has begun with this film.

Her ambitious lawyer tells her he will round up a husband, and finds Lloyd failing at a series of unsuccessful suicide attempts after losing out his best girl to another. He does not look terribly despondent, however, just frustrated that nothing works, not jumping off a bridge into ankle-deep water, nor standing in front of an oncoming trolley which switches tracks right before it hits him, nor throwing himself, backside first, into the oncoming car driven by the lawyer. This is quite a funny sequence with the lawyer’s car moving backward and forward and side to side, desperately trying to miss Lloyd, who perseveres and stubbornly sticks his bum out in front of the bumper wherever he can find it.

Lloyd agrees to marry The Girl in a hasty ceremony, after which a comic automobile ride in the Girl’s previously mentioned Ford out to the mansion gives us a sensation of being in a fast-moving Ford ourselves, as we trail the happy couple behind a road hog.

Meanwhile, at the mansion the Uncle, wanting to plant a trap and warn off the couple so he can inherit the mansion himself, tells tales of ghosts haunting the mansion on this night of nights to the assembled servants. All played by African-American actors and not white actors in blackface as was common before the 1920s, the staff are so upset by the ghost stories that they practically trample the happy couple on arrival in their haste to get away. Remaining is the dignified but anxious butler, who explains to Lloyd about the ghosts and the staff problem, and a young boy, played by Ernest Morrison. Young Morrison appeared in many silent films as a child and is probably the first black child star. Very popular, he worked for Hal Roach, and later appeared as one of the Dead End Kids in his teens.

Here, he is comic relief, when his unfortunate hiding place from the ghosts, a flour bin, covers him all in white powder and makes him appear ghost-like. He spends much of the film freaking out, and unavoidably freaking out others. This is the film of the famous shot of Lloyd with his hair standing on end in fright, as if from static electricity.

The mansion itself is an interesting set, very heavily ornamented, richly furnished, decorated with different wallpapers and wainscoting as to appear quite realistic and not like a slapped-together set.

Eventually the butler discovers the Uncle’s ruse and ghostly tricks, and he muscles him out. The other servants return, and Lloyd and The Girl proceed with their wedding night. As they enter their room, night clothes over their arms, she coyly asks him, “Say, what’s our name?”

Before all this chaos, there had not been time for a proper introduction.

Sponsored Link:
Harold Lloyd Movies

Best Years of Our Lives - PT 2

The minor actors in “The Best Years of Our Lives” tell us even more about the three veterans. Fred’s father, played by Roman Bohnen, has a very brief but exceptionally moving scene as he reads aloud his son’s war citations. Homer’s younger sister, not uncomfortable with his hooks, stares openly fascinated at them as children will. Ray Collins is both pompous and subtly sinister as Al’s hypocritical boss. Hoagy Carmichael plays the easygoing Uncle Butch, who gives Homer a sense of perspective.

It is left to the minor characters of Butch and Al’s son, Rob, to introduce the post-war world for us by discussing the atom bomb. The central characters are too preoccupied with jobs, and fitting into their families and fitting into their clothes to care about the new geopolitical realities. Rob refers to the recent enemy as “Japanese” with a delicacy that eludes his veteran father, who persists in referring to them as “Japs.”

Wyler, with subtle observation even manages to put a toe across Hollywood’s color bar by training the camera’s eye on the African-American ex-GI who waits to go home just as Al, Homer and Fred must wait at the ATC depot. A black soldier brings his family into Fred’s drug store and is seen buying candy for his two children. The man standing in line next to Fred at the unemployment office is an African-American. It is as if Wyler hints there is a parallel story here to the one of Al, Homer, and Fred, but we only get a peek.

Another legacy to us comes from the man with the flag pin on his lapel who challenges Homer to consider that a left-wing conspiracy brought the nation to war. Al, played by Oscar winner Fredric March, chides the stuffy bankers at his welcome home banquet of their suspicion of “do-gooders” and “radicals.” Today, these salvos between right and left have been diminished to a cliché about blue states and red states. We are a nation at war today, and many of us wear flag pins on our lapels, or magnetic ribbons on our cars, but the civilian population has not been called upon to make sacrifices. Only civilians who have loved ones in the military have made sacrifices. The rest are untouched, and uninvolved. It was not so in World War II.

More on "The Best Years" tomorrow.