As Black as Steel and Twice as Strong

Hattie McDaniel as she looked
when she wasn't playing a maid.

The old Hollywood studio system of the 1930s and '40s thrived on typecasting, molding actors into archetypal roles. There were the suave men-about-town, the rugged cowboys, urban gangsters, blue collar guys, and so on. The white female stars were usually cast as the hard-boiled dame, the good girl next door, the spoiled socialite, etc.

If a studio needed a British elder statesman type, they had someone under contract to fill that role. If they needed a stuffy mother-in-law, they had plenty of middle-aged women under contract that would fit the bill. Comical Irish drunk? Check. Greasy Italian right off the boat? Check. Mexican spitfire? Check.

But when it came to typecasting, African Americans had it even worse. Hollywood’s “Golden Age” of the 1930s and ‘40s, the studio-dominated era, was a rich period for white actors as long as they didn’t mind the typecasting; but it was not particularly fulfilling for black actors. (One could argue that it was still worse for Asians, since many of those roles were actually played by white actors in heavy makeup.)

Most black actors were stoic about the narrow definition they were given on film at the time; it was work in an industry that paid much better than work they could get outside of Hollywood—maids, shoe shines, man servants, porters or other menial jobs. As Hattie McDaniel—the movies’ first black Oscar winner—famously said, "Why should I complain about making $700 a week playing a maid? If I didn't, I'd be making $7 a week being one.”

In this blog post, I’m looking at four black actors and a single film in their repertoire that made a strong impression on me personally, for one reason or another. They range in style from modest to towering; but above anything else is the characterization, comic timing, and presence each of them project—whether they dominate just a single scene, several scenes, or play a prominent part throughout the film that augments an ensemble cast.

Louise Beavers
"I am only playing the parts. I don't live them.”  

Beavers holds Lombard's hand as she 
dispenses sage advice. White girl better listen.

In 1934, Louise Beavers co-starred opposite one of the biggest white actresses of the time, Claudette Colbert, in the original, ground-breaking “Imitation of Life.” She plays the mother of a girl who goes to extreme lengths to pass for white—even at the expense of her relationship with her mother. Beavers was a heartbreaking revelation in the film.

But despite the movie’s success, it was the very prominence of Beavers’ role—relating as an equal to Colbert—which caused controversy for some in the white community. And the black community reacted negatively to what they still viewed as a stereotyped role. After all, she was still playing more or less a maid.

Aside from this pseudo-success, there is another title in Beavers’ filmography that stands out. In 1939's “Made for Each Other,” she plays Lily, a cook hired by a young married couple, played by Carole Lombard and James Stewart. While the couple have advantages (they can afford a cook), their marital struggles are the crux of the film.

There is nothing earth-shaking about “Made for Each Other,” or Beavers’ role in it. What stands out for me is the dynamic that plays out between Lombard and Beavers. They are not only employer and employee, but friends. The film contains one of the only scenes in a film of this era in which a white person and a black person relate to each other as adult equals. They actually have a conversation with each other.

In that scene, they sit on a park bench as Beavers gives Lombard sage advice and, understanding Lombard’s current struggles, stands up behind her and rubs her head to soothe her worry. The scene is played in a way in which two real people who respect each other, despite their racial and economic differences, would behave.

In a later scene, set at New Year’s Eve, Lily stops by to drop off a gift, and Lombard embraces her. When I first saw this scene, it struck me that I’d never seen another film of this period in which black and white adults touch each other with such genuine affection. Today the gesture would seem negligible, but it was a definite first in film, to my eyes.

Unbelievably, even after her triumph in “Imitation of Life” five years earlier, Beavers’ role in “Made for Each Other” went uncredited. Despite the seeming carelessness of her lack of billing, she imbues Lily with great warmth, and makes a lasting impression.

As a footnote, the remainder of Beavers’ career—30 years—had her relegated to a succession of maid roles. However, she broke ground by being the first black star of a television series, “Beulah,” in which she played—you guessed it—a maid.

Canada Lee
“I had the ambition…to work like mad and be a convincing actor.”  

It seems bizarre that Canada Lee
doesn't even appear on the poster.

Orson Welles gave Canada Lee his first acting break, auspiciously appearing as Banquo in the 1936 all-black stage production of Macbeth. It's on the stage that Lee really made his mark.

However, he did make a handful of feature films between 1939 and 1951, all of which gave him significant supporting roles.

For me, one stands out in particular. “Lifeboat” is Alfred Hitchcock’s 1944 film about a group of disparate individuals who must band together after their ship has been sunk by a German U-boat. Lee, as the bombed ship’s cook, joins British and U.S. service members, a merchant marine, a haughty white female journalist, a delusional British woman, an Army nurse and a wealthy industrialist.  Also aboard the lifeboat is a German survivor, on whom the group takes pity. (They regret it later.)

At first, the survivors work together in an effort to make it to safety in Bermuda. But as time passes, conditions worsen, rations run out, and drinkable water becomes scarce. They become desperate and eventually resort to violence in the cause of self-preservation.

The film is really an examination of the disparities and inequalities of wealth, class, race, gender and nationality. Tallulah Bankhead, as the regal journalist who initially appears on screen wearing a fur coat and surrounded by luggage, is the nominal star of the picture; but she's really just part of an ensemble cast. And if Lee’s character isn’t fully developed, this is still a film that depicts him as a three-dimensional human being—something that movies of the 1940s didn’t often do.
 
As Joe Spencer, he brings a dignity not often seen by black actors in films of this time. He relates as a human being with the other characters—not as a servant. It helps that everyone on this tiny lifeboat is now equal.
 
Still, author John Steinbeck, who wrote the original screenplay, didn’t like how Lee’s character was depicted, calling the role a "stock comedy Negro." In viewing the film today, I disagree—perhaps it was Lee’s natural dignity that rises to the surface despite any limitations placed upon him by the film’s producers or studio. “Lifeboat” is a fascinating combination of wartime propaganda, filmic experiment, and social commentary.

Hattie McDaniel
“I'd rather play a maid than be one.”


As Malena, Hattie McDaniel steals this scene from 

Katharine Hepburn and Fred MacMurray.

Hattie McDaniel is legendary for being the first black actor to win an Oscar, as Mammy in 1939’s “Gone with the Wind.” While her role and the film itself have been controversial for decades due to seemingly racist depiction of blacks who didn’t really mind being slaves, my feeling is that the epic remains a brilliantly-mounted spectacle about a divisive period in American history.

And, by the way, McDaniel’s Mammy is the only character in the film with any common sense. And that makes her the heart of the film--not Scarlet, not Rhett, not any of the other white folk who fight or flee, give in or give up as the Civil War tears their world apart.

But it’s another role, in a much smaller film from 1935, that I want to focus on.
 
“Alice Adams” examines a middle-class girl’s efforts at social climbing in small-town America. Katharine Hepburn is Alice, whose ambition exceeds her means. When she meets a wealthy young man (Fred MacMurray), she falls for him hard.

In an attempt to impress him, she invites him to dinner at her parents’ modest home, scrambling to pull together a meal of what she imagines rich people eat, insisting that her parents wear formal wear, and hiring a maid named Malena (McDaniel) to serve the dinner just for that night. Everything that could go wrong does, including Malena’s incompetence in both the kitchen and the dining room.

Forget for a moment that McDaniel is playing a maid, and watch her brilliant comic timing. The scene during dinner is played almost wordlessly and with no background music to tell us when to laugh—but McDaniel owns it, squeezing every ounce of hilarity out of her seemingly menial role.

Her timing is impeccable, as are her movements and gestures. Her balletic balancing of a dish and the door, the perfectly timed slipping of her wilted maid's hat, and her sidelong glances never belie an expression of abject boredom. Malena clearly does not care whether these silly people impress their guest or not.

I’d like to think that director George Stevens—who knew from comedy—grasped that he was working with a brilliant professional. After all, by 1935, McDaniel was a respected actor and comedienne, a veteran of vaudeville, the legitimate stage, radio and film.

I mentioned Louis Beavers' television show "Beaulah." It was Hattie McDaniel who originated the character, but in the earlier radio version.

Rex Ingram
“I was persuaded that I was just what was needed to play a native of the jungles in the first Tarzan pictures."

Unlike Canada Lee, Ingram is the
most prominent person on the movie poster.
(And rightly so.)

In the 1930s and ‘40s, anything produced by the Korda brothers of England (Alexander, Vincent, and Zoltán) guaranteed prestige. They worked with large budgets to create spectacles, often in expensive Technicolor, with beautiful sets, scenery, and stars.

In 1940, they released “The Thief of Bagdad,” a spectacular Arabian fantasy that starred Sabu as Abu, the young thief of the title. (Sabu was the only "out" Indian actor to achieve mainstream success in British or American films during this era.) While the rest of the main cast of “Arabian” characters is populated by a German (Conrad Veidt as the villain Jafar) and young and beautiful white English actors John Justin and June Duprez, the actor of color I’m recognizing here is the singular Rex Ingram.

Like Canada Lee, Ingram was a respected stage actor by the time this film was made, but had dabbled in films dating from 1918. (That's when he was cast in an early "Tarzan" movie.) In “The Thief of Bagdad,” he gives a literally towering performance, and steals the film as the remarkable special effects create a giant Djinn, or genie, whose hearty laugh fills the screen as much as Ingram’s physical presence.

Abu finds a bottle and inadvertently sets free the Djinn, who roars with anger at having been confined for milennia. Abu puts the Djinn back in the bottle; but, the Djinn agrees that, for letting him back out, he will grant the boy three wishes. From there, the Djinn becomes Abu’s friend and guardian.

Ingram has a field day with this role, and it’s thrilling to watch him dominate the movie, both in presence and characterization. He is literally bigger than life.

Ingram made only a handful of film appearances over a career that spanned nearly 50 years, but in his sporadic appearances, he made the moments count. Two standout roles include runaway slave Jim in 1939’s “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” and Sgt. Major Tambul in one of the best war movies made during WWII, 1943’s ensemble drama “Sahara,” which starred none other than Humphrey Bogart. Ingram also featured prominently in several all-black movies of the pre- and post-war years, such as “The Green Pastures” in 1936 and “Anna Lucasta” in 1949.

Ingram revisited genie territory in the American-made adventure film “A Thousand and One Nights” in 1945, this time billed as The Giant. Obviously the role was hardly a stretch for him. Perhaps in another era, we could have seen more of Ingram in roles that played up his soaring voice, magnetic presence, and considerable talent, rather than limiting him due to his skin color.

When I watch old movies, I always take note of how minorities are represented. It’s just one of the many layers of details I observe to help me understand the time in which they were made. Sometimes black actors are merely part of the backdrop—a porter placing a suitcase on a train as a pretty white lady boards, for example. Other times, yet rarely, they have a more prominent role.

And I pay attention to those black actors and how they present themselves, understanding how they were limited by circumstances that were likely beyond their control at the time.

While many of the roles for black actors during the 1930s and ‘40s were subservient, I still respect the actors themselves, for their dedication, professionalism, humor and talent. They were making their way in a world that was mostly stacked against them, yet worked in an industry in which they could advance in ways not available to them most anywhere else.

Perhaps Louise Beavers, Canada Lee, Hattie McDaniel, and Rex Ingram had to be the ones to go through this period, either playing a succession of one-dimensional parts or limiting their own careers to avoid those types of parts. In any case, they paved the way for better opportunities for future generations. Whatever the case may be, I love them for being the ones that were there at the start.