Dorothy Dandridge
Dandridge with Harry Belafonte
CARMEN JONES B-
USA (105 mi) 1954
‘Scope d: Otto Preminger
Carmen Jones: I don’t
account to no man.
Joe: You’re accounting to me! I love you and that give me the right–
Carmen Jones: That don’t give you no right to own me! There’s only one that does and that’s me! Myself.
Joe: You’re accounting to me! I love you and that give me the right–
Carmen Jones: That don’t give you no right to own me! There’s only one that does and that’s me! Myself.
Watching this film today is an uncomfortable experience, as
it represents all that’s wrong with Hollywood studios in portraying such
artificialized and dangerously inaccurate versions of blackness, taking an
all-black musical yet dubbing white sounding opera voices to sing the parts,
basically stripping them of their essential blackness. Black musicals enjoyed earlier successes with
Vincente Minnelli’s CABIN IN THE SKY (1943) and Andrew L. Stone’s STORMY
WEATHER (1943), retaining the authenticity of the musical renditions, though
they were routinely excluded from Southern theaters, which refused to exhibit
“black” leading performers. Released the
same year as the landmark Brown v. Board
of Education Supreme Court decision that prohibited segregation in public
schools, the film’s most notable flaw is that it represents a black world as
envisioned by whites. Yet as backwards
as this may be historically, the extraordinary groundbreaking performance by
Dorothy Dandridge is what puts this film on the map, as she defies historical
stereotypes and literally sizzles on the screen with unbridled freedom,
representing a liberated black soul the likes of which had never been viewed
onscreen before. Simply put, she is
magnificent, far and away the best thing about the film and perhaps all that
viewers will remember afterwards, becoming the first black person to be
nominated for an Academy Award in a leading role. Even novelist James Baldwin wrote about the
film in his Notes of a Native Son
published a year later, a book of essays tackling the subject of race in
America and Europe, noting that Preminger never for one minute allows viewers
to forget they are watching an opera, a supposedly highly cultivated and civilized
“work of art,” suggesting the tone of the film is stifling, a Hollywood
misfire, largely due to the “helpless condescension” that historically reflects
Hollywood’s version of black reality, which in Baldwin’s eyes is utter fantasy,
bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the ordinary lives of black Americans, refusing
the delve into the interior lives of the characters, instead perpetuating white
myths of black sexuality, finding it distressing that erotic beauty, in the
eyes of Hollywood, means lighter skinned blacks, a traditional stereotype that
still exists today in the fashion world.
Perhaps the most egregious faux pas is the music itself, which is
modeled after Georges Bizet’s 19th century opera Carmen, with its familiar and recognizable musical themes, which
shocked and scandalized initial audiences with the overtly sexual presence of
Carmen, but silly rewritten words replace the original lyrics, becoming nothing
less than appalling, based upon Oscar Hammerstein’s Broadway musical of the
same name in 1943, but expanded upon by screenwriter Harry Kleiner. Perhaps the ultimate indignity is the
all-too-familiar Hollywood tragedy that forces the leading lady to sleep with
the director, which happened throughout the shooting of the film and sometime
afterwards, an example of the old world patriarchal system that routinely exploited
women, where disrespecting and rudely violating women’s rights was the norm,
which is a major theme in the film itself, as Carmen lives and operates by her
own rules, subject to no one’s laws but her own, flaunting her liberation with
utter abandon, with her saucy defiance her ultimate undoing, as jealousy drives
the crime of passion that brings down the final curtain. Shot in glorious CinemaScope, the film made
Dandridge an international star, but it caught the industry by surprise, as Hollywood
was not yet ready for a black star, not knowing how to exhibit her talents in what
was, for all practical purposes, a white industry, believing they couldn’t put
her opposite white male leads, so they ignored her, allowing her career to
languish afterwards, where it was three years before she would work on another
film again.
Despite using professional singers in the lead roles, Hollywood
preferred to dub their voices with opera singer’s voices, with a young Marilyn
Horne (only twenty at the time, originally intended to be Leontyne Price, but
she fell ill),) singing the part of Dorothy Dandridge, while Harry Belafonte
was dubbed by LeVern Hutcherson, a black opera singer, yet Pearl Bailey was
allowed to sing her own songs transposed to a lower register. Similarly, WEST SIDE STORY (1961), one of the
most iconic of all American musicals, continued the standard practice of dubbing
the voices of professional singers over the lead players, which is simply a
strange aspect of Hollywood history, erasing some of the personality of the actual
performers, who are quite capable singers in their own right. The actors themselves were under no illusions
about the opportunity at hand, where it could open doors that would otherwise
be closed, as black feature films were a stark departure from the norm, where
Dandridge in particular was helped immensely by an extensive prerelease
publicity campaign, which included being on the cover of Life magazine just days before the film opened in theaters. Set in the American South with no reference
to the war and no existing white presence, becoming a segregationist fantasy, literally
denying the problem of race relations or any larger social context, as if
living in a vacuum, where Carmen works in a parachute factory on an army base,
though at least initially the story is centered around Joe (Harry Belafonte), a
Corporal with his eyes set on flight school.
His sweetheart Cindy Lou (Olga James) comes to visit him on the base,
which becomes a daring and provocative opportunity for Carmen, suddenly
throwing herself in his face, making herself available, even while seated next
to Cindy Lou, doing a beguiling dance of seduction before all the troops in the
cafeteria, Carmen
Jones (1954) Clip | Out on BFI Blu-ray 19 September | BFI YouTube (1:35). Despite the attention, Joe proposes the idea
of marriage to Cindy Lou while he’s on a 24-hour pass, yet he gets sidetracked
when his commanding officer, Sergeant Brown (Brock Peters), orders him to transport
a prisoner into town, who turns out to be Carmen (arrested for fighting with
another woman), with Cindy Lou seeing the two leave together in an Army Jeep
without so much as a word. What follows
is an adventure through the countryside, with Carmen continuing to flirt,
ridiculing his seriousness and overall standoffishness, though her interest
lies in what she can’t have, so she pursues him relentlessly, eventually
breaking his spirit, falling rapturously in love with her, though he’s sent to
prison work detail for failing to carry out his assigned mission. Meanwhile Carmen takes a job working as a
hostess in a Louisiana nightclub, along with Pearl Bailey as Frankie and
Diahann Caroll in her debut role as Myrt, where they are wooed by boxing
champion Husky Miller (Joe Adams) and his manager Rum Daniels (Roy Glenn), who
promises diamonds and furs and an expensive hotel for the women if they
accompany them on the train to Chicago, taking a particular interest in Carmen,
as her beauty is unsurpassed. But she’s
not interested, preferring to wait for her sweetheart to get out of the
stockade, but she’s given a ticket anyway, should she change her mind. When Joe finally arrives, she’s eagerly
surprised, but quickly grows angered when he has to report to flight school
immediately, having little time for her, so she decides to accompany Sergeant
Brown instead, angering Joe, thoroughly knocking him out, all but ruining his promising
career, with Carmen convincing him to desert the army and run away with her, so
together they flee to Chicago.
Cooped up in a shabby hotel room overlooking the el trains
in Chicago, all sexual imagery has been removed from the film other than a
little flirtatious behavior with Carmen’s extended leg waiting for her nail
polish to dry, asking Joe to blow on her toenails, relying upon mythical white stereotypes
where blacks are routinely associated with sexuality. In this imprisoned environment where Joe is
afraid to step outside, as he’s AWOL from the Army, subject to immediate arrest,
Carmen quickly grows tired of this stranglehold, enjoying more and more her
freedom away from the claustrophobic confines of a hotel room, eventually
leaving him for Husky Miller, ignited by an ill-fated fortune reading, with Joe
having to fend for himself, growing more desperately alone and jealous. The sexism on display here is blatantly
dramatic, with Joe overcome by the idea that Carmen belongs to him, that she’s
basically his property, as that’s how he views love, with an insane amount of
possessiveness. Adding to that, the
racist lyrics of the songs are mangled with de’s and dat’s right out of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, yet come a hundred
years after the Civil War, sung by whites using a fake Negro inflection, suggesting
little has changed, a method that truly dates this film, as the makers were clueless
how offensive this stereotypical practice actually is, as it accentuates the
mythical slavery perception that blacks are undereducated, portraying them as
inferior to whites. A few years later it
was actor Sidney Poitier who refused to utter this “Negro dialect” in PORGY AND
BESS (1959) and the practice ended.
These were some of the most talented black stars in the business, where
one can only imagine how cringeworthy they must have felt singing these inflammatory
lyrics to earn a living. The film also
resorts to typical black stereotypes, with Rum Daniels literally pimping girls
for the champ, who himself is viewed along the lines of a traditional hustler,
glorifying his masculinity by surrounding himself with girls wearing ornate
trinkets and jewelry that he bought, while there are also exasperating examples
of black femininity, with only Carmen openly defying any concept of
submissiveness, operating and existing in her own universe. Cindy Lou’s virginal presence reminds Joe of
his mother, always prim and proper, while Frankie is a personified gold-digger with
Rum Daniels her “sugar daddy,” where she inherently views men as an opportunity
for easy money. What she’s willing to do
for it, with suggestions of sexual favors, remains unspoken and under the
surface, yet that’s also a line Carmen’s not willing to cross initially, fully
aware of the sexual undertones, which plays into the idea of a white male
fantasy where black women are viewed as sexual objects, and have been since the
days of slavery when the masters kept their favorites inside the home with
them. What’s exceedingly clear is that
Carmen is viewed throughout as a sex object, certainly by the director, amusingly
nicknamed “Heatwave” in the film, where the bright color of her clothes and the
tightness of her skirts stand out from the rest, as does her markedly
aggressive behavior, yet she’s able to transcend these limitations with such a
powerful performance. As described by
Dandridge’s biographer Donald Bogle:
In past eras, black women like Josephine
Baker, Billie Holiday, Lena Horne, and even dancer/choreographer Katherine
Dunham were seen as powerfully sexy and desirable women. Yet they were rarely openly acknowledged as
such by the American press. Patrons
didn’t see them as female ideals of above-the-table goddesses, to be fawned
over like Rita Hayward, Hedy Lamarr, or Betty Grable. Rather, in the dominant culture and market
mainstream, the Negro goddess was only to be appreciated and desired on the
sly…Things began to change in the fifties, though, as the Black women making an
impact in show business [like Dandridge and Eartha Kitt] found themselves
openly saluted as sex goddesses.
Dandridge was quite aware of her reputation within the black
community, conscientiously attempting to keep an unblemished reputation, yet
her empowered sexuality put her in the distinguished company of other screen
icons like Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, Marilyn Monroe, or Elizabeth Taylor. This screen persona allowed her a certain
freedom that was unavailable to her in her less glamorized personal life, where
the emboldened publicity stills for the picture (designed by infamous Hollywood
graphic designer Saul Bass) can be viewed alongside other screen legends of the
era. What is remarkably transparent in
the film is how Dandridge rises above the limited stereotypes of the other
characters, particularly co-stars Harry Belafonte and Pearl Bailey. In the case of Belafonte, the opera voice may
be the most disjointed and out of whack with his character, who is always
hiding or in confinement, while Bailey sang her own songs with a down-to-earth
style, yet she remains a caricature, as if stuck in the earlier all-black
musicals of the 40’s, especially urging on drummer Max Roach in “Beat Out Dat
Rhythm on a Drum,” Carmen
Jones (1955): "Beat Out dat Rhythm on a Drum ... YouTube (3:53), featuring
famed choreographer Alvin Ailey as an uncredited dancer, yet never transcending
the racial and sexual boundaries like Dandridge did, literally soaring above
the rest, exhibiting a star persona from the moment she hits the screen, making
her the primary reason to see this film, which is otherwise flawed in more ways
than one can imagine, yet is a well-studied example of its historical significance.
A versatile actress who could also sing and dance, Dandridge
began performing with her mother and sisters with “The Wonder Children,”
eventually going on the road as “The Dandridge Sisters,” performing at The
Cotton Club and at the Apollo Theater, while her first screen appearance was a
small, uncredited role in the Marx Brothers film A DAY AT THE RACES
(1937). Following CARMEN, however, the
flame of Dandridge’s public acclaim was brief, reduced to making bad films,
usually starring opposite white male co-stars, where she was cast as a
beautiful exotic woman coming from an often vague interracial background. Succumbing to the pressures of the studios,
she was refrained from kissing or establishing any intimacy with her
co-stars. Unfortunately her personal
life mirrored her screen persona, usually finding herself in unhappy
relationships, marrying young at the age of 19 to Cotton Club dancer Harold
Nicholas, the younger half of the Nicholas
Brothers, but their marriage deteriorated from his habitual womanizing,
leaving her stranded without a car while in labor to go play golf, significantly
delaying her arrival to the hospital, where the emergency use of forceps may
have caused brain damage to her daughter Harolyn, requiring lifelong care
afterwards, leaving Dandridge guilty and distraught about the circumstances,
with her husband eventually abandoning her after a few years. Somewhat under the publicity spotlight,
Dandridge sought refuge, usually in the company of white men who offered the
promise of financial security, including a four-year relationship with Otto
Preminger, who advised her on career matters, insisting upon only starring
roles, but she later regretted following his advice, including the trauma
associated with what some have claimed was a studio-mandated abortion when she
became pregnant, ending the affair when she realized he would never leave his
wife. Dandridge’s earnings were largely
accumulated by an ongoing nightclub act, working steadily in Las Vegas, integrating
many of the “White only” night spots, earning a quarter of a millions dollars
annually in the late 50’s. When she
finally remarried in 1959 to Jack Denison, a white Vegas club maître d rumored
to have mob connections, he turned the tables on her by expecting her income to
support them, as he was riddled with financial problems, which included
disastrous investments gone wrong. Among
allegations of domestic violence, she was also swindled out of some of her
earnings and sued by multiple creditors, leading to a large debt owed in back
taxes, requiring her to sell her Hollywood home and place her daughter in a
state mental health facility. Forced to
file for bankruptcy, Dandridge underwent some lean years professionally, never
really getting her career back on track, dying at age 42 under mysterious
circumstances, found naked and unresponsive after what was initially ruled an
accidental overdose of antidepressants, though a subsequent medical exam
revealed an embolism lodged in her brain and lungs from a recent foot
fracture. Even Lena Horne, a star of
great beauty and talent, and a diva in her own right on the stage and screen
for decades, never rose to the superstar status of Dandridge, whose allure of
brazen sexuality may be unmatched, electrifying both black and white audiences,
offering one of the great performances in the history of film, especially
significant considering the time in history when it was made, as not only were blacks
still viewed as inferior to whites, but they weren’t allowed to eat in the same
restaurants or stay in the same hotels, with some states retaining laws that
prohibited blacks and white from lawfully cohabitating, even as man and wife,
as depicted in the Jeff Nichols film Loving
(2016). Adding to that, women in movies
in the 50’s were viewed as dutiful onscreen submissives, often viewed as
glorified male fantasies, where the screen persona is all an illusion, rarely
the equal of any man, but Dandridge literally shreds that misconception, as the
entire film revolves around her strength of character and fiery independence,
proving to one and all that she’s any man’s equal. While her acclaim is largely associated from
a single picture, the influence of Dorothy Dandridge on today’s actresses is
profound, receiving tributes from Cicely Tyson, Halle Berry, Janet Jackson,
Whitney Houston, Angela Bassett, Janelle Monáe and Beyoncé, covering the entire
spectrum of black culture.
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