Princess Tam Tam

PRINCESS TAM TAM                  B-                   

France  (77 mi)  1935  d:  Edmond T. Gréville

Let’s go among the savages. The real savages! Yes, to Africa!
—Max de Mirecourt (Albert Préjean)

One thing’s for certain, and that is that Josephine Baker was a major star, a genuine star, but that the movie industry in the 1930’s simply didn’t understand how to utilize her talents without decreasing her stature onscreen, usually by making her an exotic creature (in the eyes of whites) instead of a human being.  Most likely because there were few black writers in that era, the breadth and scope of her roles were minimized, determined by white writers who turned her into one of their fantasies instead of incorporating her into anything resembling a real life character, where she could do more than just perform, but also act.  Unfortunately, this is something we never get to see her do, be her genuine self onscreen, instead she’s always required to perform.  As a direct expression of Colonialist mentality, it’s no accident that the demeaning and humiliating role she’s asked to play here is an uneducated native girl from Tunisia that a wealthy white French writer, Max de Mirecourt (Albert Préjean) attempts to civilize in the European manners.  The first image we have of Baker is running across the desert sands (yes, a desert) with a lamb on her shoulders.  The director has a nice feel for a moving camera, especially effective in the Tunisian street scenes, where the North African architecture, hats, flowing robes, children playing, and street café’s are on full display.  When Max has an argument with his wife in Paris, he decides he needs some inspiration, so he and a friend Coton (Robert Arnoux) decide to go live among the “savages” in Tunisia, but stays in the most elegant and aristocratic estate that reflects the luxury and extravagance he’s accustomed to, with a room larger than most people’s apartments, where he and his friend are waited on hand and foot by African servants.  In contrast, we see Baker, identifying herelf as Alwina, stealing oranges from the tourists and then having to fend off the other street beggars.  

In the “love among the ruins” segment, Alwina joins a group of street urchins begging the tourists on the steps of some ancient Roman ruins before leaping up and performing a dance for them, while they show their enthusiasm with music and wild clapping.  The natural sexuality she exudes is simply effortless.  However, when she sees a line of camels carrying tourists to the ruins, she immediately asks to be their guide, accepted without question by Max, but the whites in his company derisively call her a savage.  Max finds it amusing that after his friends insultingly call her a wild animal, she secretly empties the salt from their salt shaker and replaces it with sand, where the tourists find themselves grating their teeth during their afternoon picnic.  The photography of the ruins in the distance juxtaposed with close ups of camels create a cinema vérité sense that you are there.  Afterwards, more accustomed to her own habitat, Alwina is seen climbing the trees and playing with the monkeys, but even the black servants are seen whipping her for trespassing on the grounds where the whites are staying, at which point the writer gets the bright idea to educate and Europeanize her.  While Max reads the tabloids about his wife’s flirtations in Paris with a rich Maharajah, he takes Alwina on a boatride, where she breaks into song, singing “Dreams (Reves)” to the lapping of the waves.   

Europeans are constantly portrayed like grown up children, continually throwing out demands for the most trifling of matters, pampered and spoiled, used to getting what they want instantly and subject to tantrums when they don’t.  In contrast, Baker has a gorgeous elegance and free flowing rhythm that is continually misunderstood and all but ignored, where the Europeans attempt to place their stamp of approval on her, basically making her look and act white, introducing her as an African princess to the high society of Paris, where together with Max in a top hat they’re seen at the opera, race track, and art galleries, all the places Max’s wife is also seen with the Maharajah, becoming the gossip scandal of the day.  However, tired of playing the pretentions of the upper class, Alwina decides to go out on her own and have some fun for a change, discovering a little joint where some blacks are customers and playing African music which reminds her of home, where she breaks out into song singing “Sous Le Ciel D’Afrique (Under the African Skies),” also performing a rhythmic dance.  It all comes to a head when Max’s wife sees the Princess dancing in a sailor’s club and asks the Marahajah to throw a gala affair, with fireworks, Busby Berkeley dancers, and Chinese plate spinners.  But when she hears the sounds of African drums, having already been slipped a micky from one of Max’s wife’s friends, Alwina leaps to the stage, whips off her silk lamé dress and performs a stirring, uninhibited dance, where guys come out to accompany her, as if it’s all part of the act.  Max couldn’t be more ashamed, incapable of appreciating her for who she is. 

There’s no question that all eyes are on Josephine Baker in this film, who carries every scene, as none of the other characters ever matter, as they’re simply selfish and ill-mannered socialites, of no use to anyone.  So in the end, despite France’s historical presence in North African colonies, particularly during the time this film was made, the depiction of the French couldn’t be more negative, and from a French filmmaker, while the Africans are always displayed with an air of dignity and grace, led by an American star (playing an African) who was more appreciated in France than in America.  The cinematography by Georges Benoît is excellent, on occasion expressing a startling and refreshing realism, continually balancing close ups with medium shots, doing a stunning job with the choreography in the party sequence, which is mostly a delight to watch.  But what’s most unique, besides Baker, is the fact that even in a tepid little story which would never be seen except for the presence of a star, the subject of race can make it a much more emotionally compelling and complex film.  America’s response, of course, was to limit and restrict where the film played, due to its depiction of an interracial love story, meaning Baker, a bona fide black American star, was never seen in the South and never found the appreciation she deserved in America, spending the remainder of her life in France, where she lived here:  Les Milandes- Josephine Baker's castle in France.