"Paul Robeson: Portraits of the Artist" is a boxed set which contains seven feature films: "The Emperor Jones," "Body and Soul," "Borderline," "Sanders of the River," "Jericho," "The Proud Valley," and "Native Land."
What a voice.
Paul Robeson (1898-1976) was many things in his life: a stage actor, a movie star, a political activist, and an international icon. Foremost, though, he was an amazing singer gifted with a thunderous basso profundo that provided its own surround sound effect. His speaking voice was no less booming; had the word "stentorian" not already existed, surely the word "Robesonian" would have soon entered the lexicon. Combine that voice with a barrel-chested frame that dwarfed virtually any actor standing near him and you have one of the most striking physical presences ever to grace the big screen. Robeson was so big, in fact, that no single country could contain him. He was one of the first prominent African-American leading men both in Hollywood and in Britain, and even Russian director Sergei Eisenstein wanted to work with him (though the planned film was never realized).
Paul Robeson´s film output is fairly modest. He acted in just 13 films, and retired from motion pictures for good in 1942 due both to his dissatisfaction with the stereotypical roles he was given and to devote more time to political activism. Still, it is through films that he is generally best remembered, a testament both to his performances and to the far-reaching and enduring power of a recorded medium like cinema. This boxed set from Criterion collects seven of Robeson´s films, covering a diverse range of his work from Hollywood to London, from the silents to the talkies, from the avant-garde to documentaries.
Though it seems almost a criminal waste for a voice like Robeson´s due to be muffled by silent films, two of the films included predate are silent: "Body and Soul" (1925) and "Borderline" (1930). "Body and Soul" is historically significant not only because it was Robeson´s first screen role, but also because it represents his only collaboration with Oscar Micheaux, the most famous and successful of all early African-American directors. In "Body and Soul," Robeson plays a dual role as an ex-con who masquerades as a minister (the not-so-righteous Reverend Jenkins) and as the dreamy inventor Sylvester. Both men duel for the heart of the lovely Isabelle (Julia Theresa Russell) who is torn between her love for Sylvester and her mother´s pressure to marry the far more "respectable" minister. Oddly enough, Robeson, given to plenty big emotive gestures in his career, delivers one of his most restrained performances in this silent film, a stark contrast to the histrionic acting style of the time. Micheaux´s script employs an irritating dream structure that seems confusing and awkward today, but the melodrama is powerful. Only a handful of Micheaux´s silent films survive in full-length prints today ("Within Our Gates," a caustic response to Griffith´s "Birth of a Nation" is probably the best-known one) and it is quite a treat to have one now available on a good DVD transfer.
"Borderline" (1930) sees Robeson venturing into the strange territory of the 1920s British avant-garde. "Borderline" is nominally an interracial melodrama in which Pete (Robeson) finds himself in the center of a love triangle, or perhaps it´s a love rectangle. It´s hard to tell since "Borderline" eschews any conventional attempt to show clear transitions or even provide clear psychological motivation. An unabashedly experimental work by film theorist Kenneth MacPherson, the film appears to be more an exercise in geographical relationship than interpersonal relationship, with complex editing patterns substituting for any clear narrative thread. It´s a difficult film to grasp on a single viewing, and I have to reserve judgment for now.
Robeson was an immensely popular draw both on stage and on screen, but even his popularity with audiences didn´t allow him the control he wanted over his film career. He was constantly disappointed by the depiction of blacks in the films he worked on, including the roles he played, and the films in this set provide some vivid examples of his frustrations. In "The Emperor Jones," Robeson reprises the role he made famous on-screen, as Brutus Jones, the protagonist of Eugene O´Neill´s hit play. The film describes Jones´ trajectory from a humble god-fearing man to the self-serving emperor of his own island nation. The story contains many troubling elements in its depiction of Jones´ corruption, none more so than the embarrassing array of "dems" and "deys" that constitute most of Jones´ speeches. It´s fascinating (if a bit squirm-inducing) to watch Robeson struggle with this dialogue, eventually choking it into submission. Brutus Jones is rotten to the core, but he´s also brilliant and fully self-actualized. He´s a man who does exactly what he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it, right up to the bitter end.
Far more shocking by today´s standards is "Sanders of the River" (1935), a film with fundamental flaws that aren´t exactly difficult to spot. Let´s start with the opening title card: "AFRICA – Tens of millions of natives under British rule, each with its own chieftain, governed and protected by a handful of white men whose everyday work is an unsung saga of courage and efficiency." It gets worse from there. Robeson (who gets top billing over the title character Sanders, played by Leslie Banks) portrays Bosambo, an aspiring chieftain who chooses wisely in hitching his wagon to "Lord Sandi´s" star. The other feuding tribes are kept in check only by the good will (and iron discipline) of Lord Sandi. Once he turns his back for just a moment (heading back home to get married), his children immediately turn savage. Only good Bosambo, who remains loyal to his white master, holds the peace among his people. The imperialist and racist tone of the film renders it difficult to watch, and not only by today´s standards. Robeson was embarrassed when we saw the film´s premiere, and other prominent black critics attacked the movie as well. It is worth noting, however, that as appalling as the film´s content is, it also features some of Robeson´s best screen songs of all-time. Bosambo´s war song is downright infectious.
Even in a vastly superior film like "The Proud Valley" (1940), Robeson couldn´t escape the burden of big screen stereotyping. Robeson portrays the amiable David Goliath who ambles into a Welsh mining town and makes fast friends with (most of) the local workers. The film wonderfully evokes a sense of place and of workers´ solidarity; Robeson´s socialist inclinations certainly inform the role. But for all the film´s bonhomie, David Goliath is still called upon in the end to sacrifice himself for the good white folk of the town. David is a heroic character, but it´s clear that being the only black man in town leaves one with the same life expectancy as the typical "red shirt" on an original "Star Trek" episode.
I´ve left my two favorite films in the boxed set for last. After "Sanders of the River" left a bitter taste in his mouth, Robeson vowed he would exert more creative control over his films in the future. While this wasn´t necessarily the case with the blockbuster "King Solomon´s Mines" (1937, not including in the boxed set), it was certainly true of "Jericho" (1937). As Jericho Jackson, Roberson begins the film as a gung ho WW1 soldier who, as the result of an accident in the heat of battle, winds up on trial for killing a fellow officer. Though Captain Mack (Henry Wilcoxon) promises everything will be alright if he just plays by the rules: Jericho understands that might be true for a white captain, but not for a black corporal; he soon engineers his own escape. In an echo of "Emperor Jones," Jericho forges a new destiny in the African desert where he becomes a respected chief. Unlike Brutus Jones, Jericho is a well-spoken, well-educated man, trained better as a doctor than a soldier. He also picks up a wisecracking white sidekick named Clancy (Wallace Ford) who plays a content second fiddle to the big man. Jericho to Clancy: "Take care of the camels, boy." In the desert, Jericho´s color doesn´t prove a hindrance, and even the long arm of U.S. military law can´t reach him.
What a voice.
Paul Robeson (1898-1976) was many things in his life: a stage actor, a movie star, a political activist, and an international icon. Foremost, though, he was an amazing singer gifted with a thunderous basso profundo that provided its own surround sound effect. His speaking voice was no less booming; had the word "stentorian" not already existed, surely the word "Robesonian" would have soon entered the lexicon. Combine that voice with a barrel-chested frame that dwarfed virtually any actor standing near him and you have one of the most striking physical presences ever to grace the big screen. Robeson was so big, in fact, that no single country could contain him. He was one of the first prominent African-American leading men both in Hollywood and in Britain, and even Russian director Sergei Eisenstein wanted to work with him (though the planned film was never realized).
Paul Robeson´s film output is fairly modest. He acted in just 13 films, and retired from motion pictures for good in 1942 due both to his dissatisfaction with the stereotypical roles he was given and to devote more time to political activism. Still, it is through films that he is generally best remembered, a testament both to his performances and to the far-reaching and enduring power of a recorded medium like cinema. This boxed set from Criterion collects seven of Robeson´s films, covering a diverse range of his work from Hollywood to London, from the silents to the talkies, from the avant-garde to documentaries.
Though it seems almost a criminal waste for a voice like Robeson´s due to be muffled by silent films, two of the films included predate are silent: "Body and Soul" (1925) and "Borderline" (1930). "Body and Soul" is historically significant not only because it was Robeson´s first screen role, but also because it represents his only collaboration with Oscar Micheaux, the most famous and successful of all early African-American directors. In "Body and Soul," Robeson plays a dual role as an ex-con who masquerades as a minister (the not-so-righteous Reverend Jenkins) and as the dreamy inventor Sylvester. Both men duel for the heart of the lovely Isabelle (Julia Theresa Russell) who is torn between her love for Sylvester and her mother´s pressure to marry the far more "respectable" minister. Oddly enough, Robeson, given to plenty big emotive gestures in his career, delivers one of his most restrained performances in this silent film, a stark contrast to the histrionic acting style of the time. Micheaux´s script employs an irritating dream structure that seems confusing and awkward today, but the melodrama is powerful. Only a handful of Micheaux´s silent films survive in full-length prints today ("Within Our Gates," a caustic response to Griffith´s "Birth of a Nation" is probably the best-known one) and it is quite a treat to have one now available on a good DVD transfer.
"Borderline" (1930) sees Robeson venturing into the strange territory of the 1920s British avant-garde. "Borderline" is nominally an interracial melodrama in which Pete (Robeson) finds himself in the center of a love triangle, or perhaps it´s a love rectangle. It´s hard to tell since "Borderline" eschews any conventional attempt to show clear transitions or even provide clear psychological motivation. An unabashedly experimental work by film theorist Kenneth MacPherson, the film appears to be more an exercise in geographical relationship than interpersonal relationship, with complex editing patterns substituting for any clear narrative thread. It´s a difficult film to grasp on a single viewing, and I have to reserve judgment for now.
Robeson was an immensely popular draw both on stage and on screen, but even his popularity with audiences didn´t allow him the control he wanted over his film career. He was constantly disappointed by the depiction of blacks in the films he worked on, including the roles he played, and the films in this set provide some vivid examples of his frustrations. In "The Emperor Jones," Robeson reprises the role he made famous on-screen, as Brutus Jones, the protagonist of Eugene O´Neill´s hit play. The film describes Jones´ trajectory from a humble god-fearing man to the self-serving emperor of his own island nation. The story contains many troubling elements in its depiction of Jones´ corruption, none more so than the embarrassing array of "dems" and "deys" that constitute most of Jones´ speeches. It´s fascinating (if a bit squirm-inducing) to watch Robeson struggle with this dialogue, eventually choking it into submission. Brutus Jones is rotten to the core, but he´s also brilliant and fully self-actualized. He´s a man who does exactly what he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it, right up to the bitter end.
Far more shocking by today´s standards is "Sanders of the River" (1935), a film with fundamental flaws that aren´t exactly difficult to spot. Let´s start with the opening title card: "AFRICA – Tens of millions of natives under British rule, each with its own chieftain, governed and protected by a handful of white men whose everyday work is an unsung saga of courage and efficiency." It gets worse from there. Robeson (who gets top billing over the title character Sanders, played by Leslie Banks) portrays Bosambo, an aspiring chieftain who chooses wisely in hitching his wagon to "Lord Sandi´s" star. The other feuding tribes are kept in check only by the good will (and iron discipline) of Lord Sandi. Once he turns his back for just a moment (heading back home to get married), his children immediately turn savage. Only good Bosambo, who remains loyal to his white master, holds the peace among his people. The imperialist and racist tone of the film renders it difficult to watch, and not only by today´s standards. Robeson was embarrassed when we saw the film´s premiere, and other prominent black critics attacked the movie as well. It is worth noting, however, that as appalling as the film´s content is, it also features some of Robeson´s best screen songs of all-time. Bosambo´s war song is downright infectious.
Even in a vastly superior film like "The Proud Valley" (1940), Robeson couldn´t escape the burden of big screen stereotyping. Robeson portrays the amiable David Goliath who ambles into a Welsh mining town and makes fast friends with (most of) the local workers. The film wonderfully evokes a sense of place and of workers´ solidarity; Robeson´s socialist inclinations certainly inform the role. But for all the film´s bonhomie, David Goliath is still called upon in the end to sacrifice himself for the good white folk of the town. David is a heroic character, but it´s clear that being the only black man in town leaves one with the same life expectancy as the typical "red shirt" on an original "Star Trek" episode.
I´ve left my two favorite films in the boxed set for last. After "Sanders of the River" left a bitter taste in his mouth, Robeson vowed he would exert more creative control over his films in the future. While this wasn´t necessarily the case with the blockbuster "King Solomon´s Mines" (1937, not including in the boxed set), it was certainly true of "Jericho" (1937). As Jericho Jackson, Roberson begins the film as a gung ho WW1 soldier who, as the result of an accident in the heat of battle, winds up on trial for killing a fellow officer. Though Captain Mack (Henry Wilcoxon) promises everything will be alright if he just plays by the rules: Jericho understands that might be true for a white captain, but not for a black corporal; he soon engineers his own escape. In an echo of "Emperor Jones," Jericho forges a new destiny in the African desert where he becomes a respected chief. Unlike Brutus Jones, Jericho is a well-spoken, well-educated man, trained better as a doctor than a soldier. He also picks up a wisecracking white sidekick named Clancy (Wallace Ford) who plays a content second fiddle to the big man. Jericho to Clancy: "Take care of the camels, boy." In the desert, Jericho´s color doesn´t prove a hindrance, and even the long arm of U.S. military law can´t reach him.
"Paul Robeson: Portraits of the Artist" is a boxed set which contains seven feature films: "The Emperor Jones," "Body and Soul," "Borderline," "Sanders of the River," "Jericho," "The Proud Valley," and "Native Land."
What a voice.
Paul Robeson (1898-1976) was many things in his life: a stage actor, a movie star, a political activist, and an international icon. Foremost, though, he was an amazing singer gifted with a thunderous basso profundo that provided its own surround sound effect. His speaking voice was no less booming; had the word "stentorian" not already existed, surely the word "Robesonian" would have soon entered the lexicon. Combine that voice with a barrel-chested frame that dwarfed virtually any actor standing near him and you have one of the most striking physical presences ever to grace the big screen. Robeson was so big, in fact, that no single country could contain him. He was one of the first prominent African-American leading men both in Hollywood and in Britain, and even Russian director Sergei Eisenstein wanted to work with him (though the planned film was never realized).
Paul Robeson´s film output is fairly modest. He acted in just 13 films, and retired from motion pictures for good in 1942 due both to his dissatisfaction with the stereotypical roles he was given and to devote more time to political activism. Still, it is through films that he is generally best remembered, a testament both to his performances and to the far-reaching and enduring power of a recorded medium like cinema. This boxed set from Criterion collects seven of Robeson´s films, covering a diverse range of his work from Hollywood to London, from the silents to the talkies, from the avant-garde to documentaries.
Though it seems almost a criminal waste for a voice like Robeson´s due to be muffled by silent films, two of the films included predate are silent: "Body and Soul" (1925) and "Borderline" (1930). "Body and Soul" is historically significant not only because it was Robeson´s first screen role, but also because it represents his only collaboration with Oscar Micheaux, the most famous and successful of all early African-American directors. In "Body and Soul," Robeson plays a dual role as an ex-con who masquerades as a minister (the not-so-righteous Reverend Jenkins) and as the dreamy inventor Sylvester. Both men duel for the heart of the lovely Isabelle (Julia Theresa Russell) who is torn between her love for Sylvester and her mother´s pressure to marry the far more "respectable" minister. Oddly enough, Robeson, given to plenty big emotive gestures in his career, delivers one of his most restrained performances in this silent film, a stark contrast to the histrionic acting style of the time. Micheaux´s script employs an irritating dream structure that seems confusing and awkward today, but the melodrama is powerful. Only a handful of Micheaux´s silent films survive in full-length prints today ("Within Our Gates," a caustic response to Griffith´s "Birth of a Nation" is probably the best-known one) and it is quite a treat to have one now available on a good DVD transfer.
"Borderline" (1930) sees Robeson venturing into the strange territory of the 1920s British avant-garde. "Borderline" is nominally an interracial melodrama in which Pete (Robeson) finds himself in the center of a love triangle, or perhaps it´s a love rectangle. It´s hard to tell since "Borderline" eschews any conventional attempt to show clear transitions or even provide clear psychological motivation. An unabashedly experimental work by film theorist Kenneth MacPherson, the film appears to be more an exercise in geographical relationship than interpersonal relationship, with complex editing patterns substituting for any clear narrative thread. It´s a difficult film to grasp on a single viewing, and I have to reserve judgment for now.
Robeson was an immensely popular draw both on stage and on screen, but even his popularity with audiences didn´t allow him the control he wanted over his film career. He was constantly disappointed by the depiction of blacks in the films he worked on, including the roles he played, and the films in this set provide some vivid examples of his frustrations. In "The Emperor Jones," Robeson reprises the role he made famous on-screen, as Brutus Jones, the protagonist of Eugene O´Neill´s hit play. The film describes Jones´ trajectory from a humble god-fearing man to the self-serving emperor of his own island nation. The story contains many troubling elements in its depiction of Jones´ corruption, none more so than the embarrassing array of "dems" and "deys" that constitute most of Jones´ speeches. It´s fascinating (if a bit squirm-inducing) to watch Robeson struggle with this dialogue, eventually choking it into submission. Brutus Jones is rotten to the core, but he´s also brilliant and fully self-actualized. He´s a man who does exactly what he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it, right up to the bitter end.
Far more shocking by today´s standards is "Sanders of the River" (1935), a film with fundamental flaws that aren´t exactly difficult to spot. Let´s start with the opening title card: "AFRICA – Tens of millions of natives under British rule, each with its own chieftain, governed and protected by a handful of white men whose everyday work is an unsung saga of courage and efficiency." It gets worse from there. Robeson (who gets top billing over the title character Sanders, played by Leslie Banks) portrays Bosambo, an aspiring chieftain who chooses wisely in hitching his wagon to "Lord Sandi´s" star. The other feuding tribes are kept in check only by the good will (and iron discipline) of Lord Sandi. Once he turns his back for just a moment (heading back home to get married), his children immediately turn savage. Only good Bosambo, who remains loyal to his white master, holds the peace among his people. The imperialist and racist tone of the film renders it difficult to watch, and not only by today´s standards. Robeson was embarrassed when we saw the film´s premiere, and other prominent black critics attacked the movie as well. It is worth noting, however, that as appalling as the film´s content is, it also features some of Robeson´s best screen songs of all-time. Bosambo´s war song is downright infectious.
Even in a vastly superior film like "The Proud Valley" (1940), Robeson couldn´t escape the burden of big screen stereotyping. Robeson portrays the amiable David Goliath who ambles into a Welsh mining town and makes fast friends with (most of) the local workers. The film wonderfully evokes a sense of place and of workers´ solidarity; Robeson´s socialist inclinations certainly inform the role. But for all the film´s bonhomie, David Goliath is still called upon in the end to sacrifice himself for the good white folk of the town. David is a heroic character, but it´s clear that being the only black man in town leaves one with the same life expectancy as the typical "red shirt" on an original "Star Trek" episode.
I´ve left my two favorite films in the boxed set for last. After "Sanders of the River" left a bitter taste in his mouth, Robeson vowed he would exert more creative control over his films in the future. While this wasn´t necessarily the case with the blockbuster "King Solomon´s Mines" (1937, not including in the boxed set), it was certainly true of "Jericho" (1937). As Jericho Jackson, Roberson begins the film as a gung ho WW1 soldier who, as the result of an accident in the heat of battle, winds up on trial for killing a fellow officer. Though Captain Mack (Henry Wilcoxon) promises everything will be alright if he just plays by the rules: Jericho understands that might be true for a white captain, but not for a black corporal; he soon engineers his own escape. In an echo of "Emperor Jones," Jericho forges a new destiny in the African desert where he becomes a respected chief. Unlike Brutus Jones, Jericho is a well-spoken, well-educated man, trained better as a doctor than a soldier. He also picks up a wisecracking white sidekick named Clancy (Wallace Ford) who plays a content second fiddle to the big man. Jericho to Clancy: "Take care of the camels, boy." In the desert, Jericho´s color doesn´t prove a hindrance, and even the long arm of U.S. military law can´t reach him.
What a voice.
Paul Robeson (1898-1976) was many things in his life: a stage actor, a movie star, a political activist, and an international icon. Foremost, though, he was an amazing singer gifted with a thunderous basso profundo that provided its own surround sound effect. His speaking voice was no less booming; had the word "stentorian" not already existed, surely the word "Robesonian" would have soon entered the lexicon. Combine that voice with a barrel-chested frame that dwarfed virtually any actor standing near him and you have one of the most striking physical presences ever to grace the big screen. Robeson was so big, in fact, that no single country could contain him. He was one of the first prominent African-American leading men both in Hollywood and in Britain, and even Russian director Sergei Eisenstein wanted to work with him (though the planned film was never realized).
Paul Robeson´s film output is fairly modest. He acted in just 13 films, and retired from motion pictures for good in 1942 due both to his dissatisfaction with the stereotypical roles he was given and to devote more time to political activism. Still, it is through films that he is generally best remembered, a testament both to his performances and to the far-reaching and enduring power of a recorded medium like cinema. This boxed set from Criterion collects seven of Robeson´s films, covering a diverse range of his work from Hollywood to London, from the silents to the talkies, from the avant-garde to documentaries.
Though it seems almost a criminal waste for a voice like Robeson´s due to be muffled by silent films, two of the films included predate are silent: "Body and Soul" (1925) and "Borderline" (1930). "Body and Soul" is historically significant not only because it was Robeson´s first screen role, but also because it represents his only collaboration with Oscar Micheaux, the most famous and successful of all early African-American directors. In "Body and Soul," Robeson plays a dual role as an ex-con who masquerades as a minister (the not-so-righteous Reverend Jenkins) and as the dreamy inventor Sylvester. Both men duel for the heart of the lovely Isabelle (Julia Theresa Russell) who is torn between her love for Sylvester and her mother´s pressure to marry the far more "respectable" minister. Oddly enough, Robeson, given to plenty big emotive gestures in his career, delivers one of his most restrained performances in this silent film, a stark contrast to the histrionic acting style of the time. Micheaux´s script employs an irritating dream structure that seems confusing and awkward today, but the melodrama is powerful. Only a handful of Micheaux´s silent films survive in full-length prints today ("Within Our Gates," a caustic response to Griffith´s "Birth of a Nation" is probably the best-known one) and it is quite a treat to have one now available on a good DVD transfer.
"Borderline" (1930) sees Robeson venturing into the strange territory of the 1920s British avant-garde. "Borderline" is nominally an interracial melodrama in which Pete (Robeson) finds himself in the center of a love triangle, or perhaps it´s a love rectangle. It´s hard to tell since "Borderline" eschews any conventional attempt to show clear transitions or even provide clear psychological motivation. An unabashedly experimental work by film theorist Kenneth MacPherson, the film appears to be more an exercise in geographical relationship than interpersonal relationship, with complex editing patterns substituting for any clear narrative thread. It´s a difficult film to grasp on a single viewing, and I have to reserve judgment for now.
Robeson was an immensely popular draw both on stage and on screen, but even his popularity with audiences didn´t allow him the control he wanted over his film career. He was constantly disappointed by the depiction of blacks in the films he worked on, including the roles he played, and the films in this set provide some vivid examples of his frustrations. In "The Emperor Jones," Robeson reprises the role he made famous on-screen, as Brutus Jones, the protagonist of Eugene O´Neill´s hit play. The film describes Jones´ trajectory from a humble god-fearing man to the self-serving emperor of his own island nation. The story contains many troubling elements in its depiction of Jones´ corruption, none more so than the embarrassing array of "dems" and "deys" that constitute most of Jones´ speeches. It´s fascinating (if a bit squirm-inducing) to watch Robeson struggle with this dialogue, eventually choking it into submission. Brutus Jones is rotten to the core, but he´s also brilliant and fully self-actualized. He´s a man who does exactly what he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it, right up to the bitter end.
Far more shocking by today´s standards is "Sanders of the River" (1935), a film with fundamental flaws that aren´t exactly difficult to spot. Let´s start with the opening title card: "AFRICA – Tens of millions of natives under British rule, each with its own chieftain, governed and protected by a handful of white men whose everyday work is an unsung saga of courage and efficiency." It gets worse from there. Robeson (who gets top billing over the title character Sanders, played by Leslie Banks) portrays Bosambo, an aspiring chieftain who chooses wisely in hitching his wagon to "Lord Sandi´s" star. The other feuding tribes are kept in check only by the good will (and iron discipline) of Lord Sandi. Once he turns his back for just a moment (heading back home to get married), his children immediately turn savage. Only good Bosambo, who remains loyal to his white master, holds the peace among his people. The imperialist and racist tone of the film renders it difficult to watch, and not only by today´s standards. Robeson was embarrassed when we saw the film´s premiere, and other prominent black critics attacked the movie as well. It is worth noting, however, that as appalling as the film´s content is, it also features some of Robeson´s best screen songs of all-time. Bosambo´s war song is downright infectious.
Even in a vastly superior film like "The Proud Valley" (1940), Robeson couldn´t escape the burden of big screen stereotyping. Robeson portrays the amiable David Goliath who ambles into a Welsh mining town and makes fast friends with (most of) the local workers. The film wonderfully evokes a sense of place and of workers´ solidarity; Robeson´s socialist inclinations certainly inform the role. But for all the film´s bonhomie, David Goliath is still called upon in the end to sacrifice himself for the good white folk of the town. David is a heroic character, but it´s clear that being the only black man in town leaves one with the same life expectancy as the typical "red shirt" on an original "Star Trek" episode.
I´ve left my two favorite films in the boxed set for last. After "Sanders of the River" left a bitter taste in his mouth, Robeson vowed he would exert more creative control over his films in the future. While this wasn´t necessarily the case with the blockbuster "King Solomon´s Mines" (1937, not including in the boxed set), it was certainly true of "Jericho" (1937). As Jericho Jackson, Roberson begins the film as a gung ho WW1 soldier who, as the result of an accident in the heat of battle, winds up on trial for killing a fellow officer. Though Captain Mack (Henry Wilcoxon) promises everything will be alright if he just plays by the rules: Jericho understands that might be true for a white captain, but not for a black corporal; he soon engineers his own escape. In an echo of "Emperor Jones," Jericho forges a new destiny in the African desert where he becomes a respected chief. Unlike Brutus Jones, Jericho is a well-spoken, well-educated man, trained better as a doctor than a soldier. He also picks up a wisecracking white sidekick named Clancy (Wallace Ford) who plays a content second fiddle to the big man. Jericho to Clancy: "Take care of the camels, boy." In the desert, Jericho´s color doesn´t prove a hindrance, and even the long arm of U.S. military law can´t reach him.
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