287: Susan Delson on Soundies

Archival Spaces 287:

Soundies and the Changing Image of Black Americans

Uploaded 21 January 2022

Several years ago in a piece on “Preserving Race Films” (2016, edited by Barbara Tepa Lupack) I noted that much African-American film history from the 1930s and 40s had only survived in 16mm copies, which were often treated by archives as reference copies, rather than master material. Among the primary collections I discussed were the “Soundies” from the 1940s that only existed in 16mm, even though they were originally shot in 35mm. Produced for visual jukebox machines, these three-minute MTV-like clips of famous bands and singers were very popular in the World War II era and featured large numbers of African-American acts from the Count Basie and Duke Ellington big bands to Cab Calloway, Dorothy Dandridge, Mable Lee, and the Mills Brothers. Now Susan Delson has published a new book on Soundies, Soundies and the Changing Image of Black Americans on Screen. One Dime at a Time (2021, Indiana University Press), which fills in the little-known history of this short-lived film genre. 

Your Feet’s Too Big (1941< Warren Murray) with Fats Waller

As Susan Delson notes in her introduction, African-Americans participated in over 300 of the ca.1880 Soundies produced between 1940 and 1946, making them the first mass entertainment media in which they were not marginalized or relegated to racist stereotyping. Not that Soundies didn’t also sometimes feature racist images, which were still the norm in Hollywood’s film production and the society at large, but their extremely low budgets ironically gave both filmmakers and performers the freedom to express real emotions to their own community, as well as to the white majority. Furthermore, the weekly release of reels with six to eight Soundies, including at least one black-themed film, featured a wide variety of musical styles and acts and thus now constitute important documents of Black cultural history.

Mills Novelty Panoram Soundies Jukebox
Got a Penny, Benny (1946, William Forest Crouch) with Nat King Cole

While the 3000 to 4500 Panoram movie jukebox machines were manufactured by the Mills Novelty Company of Chicago, the Soundies films were produced by affiliated subsidiaries, like RCM Productions in Hollywood and Minoco Productions in New York, and distributed by the Soundies Distributing Corporation of America, another subsidiary of Mills Novelty. Placed in bars, restaurants, defense plant lunch rooms, bus and train stations, and other public spaces, the Panoram machines allowed viewers to see a film for a dime, in the order they appeared on the reel, a limited market – given the number of machines in circulation – that forced producers to turn out Soundies quickly and extremely cheaply. Nevertheless, the whole financial structure of the operation remained shaky at best, until finally, it collapsed in the immediate post-World War II years.

Flamingo (1942, Josef Berne) with Duke Ellington and His Orchestra

The 17” by 22” Soundies screens were large enough to allow a dozen or more viewers to see the films, but small enough to call for a performance and visual aesthetic that anticipated television rather than follow big screen norms. While the quality of the productions varied greatly, depending on the producer, many of the black-cast Soundies allowed for experimentation and performative self-expression, giving urban African-American audiences non-racist images of themselves for the first time ever. In subsequent chapters, Delson not only introduces many of the filmmakers and performers populating these films but also their vision of black culture and life.

Given the war years, it’s surprising that only a “sliver of the hundreds of Soundies that feature Black performers” (p. 89) reference the War itself, possibly because African-Americans were initially ambivalent about the war, due to the rigid segregation of the Armed Services. While news of racial tensions, especially the riots of 1943, were excluded from Soundies, films, like When Johnny Comes Marching Home and We Are Americans Too, emphasized Black patriotism and sacrifice, their impact exceeding their numbers.

When Johnny Comes Marching Home (1943, William Forest Crouch) with the Four Ginger Snaps

Many Soundies featured black urban spaces, city streets and living rooms, dance, and culture, as well as expressions of heterosexual romance, when Hollywood was still neutering African-American men and women, thus presenting images of black modernity to the community and white audiences. Then, as now with rap music, urban cool became a model for black and white teenagers. While Soundies situated in Southern rural locations were more apt to follow racist stereotyping, many were also imbued with a modern urban sensibility ”that flatly contradicts the good-bad, country-city binaries of many Black-cast Hollywood films…” (p. 116)

Give Me Some Skin (1946, unknown) with the Delta Rhythm Boys
Cow Cow Boogie (1942, Josef Berne) with Dorothy Dandridge

But the emphasis in most Black cast Soundies was on a joyful and playful heterosexual romance and sexuality, which was still invisible in mainstream media. Expressed primarily through dance and movement, sexuality was often slyly communicated through direct address to the audience, breaking down Hollywood’s fourth wall with a wink or a flash of leg. And while Black-cast Soundies were more heavily censored by local censorship boards than comparable white cast films, in particular when light and dark-skinned performers raised the specter of miscegenation, many films demonstrated both female agency and intimate onscreen pairings that must have delighted black audiences, especially those featuring Dorothy Dandridge who would cross-over to Hollywood stardom a decade later.

Cats Can’t Dance (1945, William Forest Crouch)

Integration, on the other hand, remained elusive in Soundies, “more often achieved in the editing room than on the film set…” (p. 193). Integration in fact only became visible when mixed black white bands appeared, e.g. Gene Krupa’s big band included African-American trumpeter Roy Eldridge, while Phil Moore’s post-war Soundies featured white guitarist Chuck Wayne. Delson closes her excellent book with several appendixes, detailing every Black-cast Soundie produced, as well as the performers and filmmakers involved in their production. This book is a must-read for anyone interested in the history of African-American popular culture.

Today, many Soundies are still available on YouTube. Soundies Susan Delson discusses are available on her website: https://www.susandelson.com/video/#videos. There has also been a vigorous trade in the 16mm film collectors market of soundies, which are easily identified by the fact that the image is reversed on the film, allowing for the original back-projection through mirrors. 

She’s Crazy With the Heat (1946, Ray Sandiford) with Anna Mae Winburn and the International Sweethearts of Rhythm

286: The Village Detective (2021)

Archival Spaces 286

The Village Detective: A Song Cycle (2021)

Uploaded 7 January 2022

The Village Detective: A Song Cycle (2021, Bill Morrison)

A couple of years ago I contributed to an anthology on the filmmaker Bill Morrison, The Films of Bill Morrison (2017), edited by Bernd Herzogenrath, and I have been a big fan of Bill’s since he first showedDecasia (2002), his feature-length avant-garde meditation on nitrate decomposition. So I was particularly excited when at the Orphans Film Symposium in May 2020 (Archival Spaces 244, https://archivalspaces.com/blog-feed/page/5/), Morrison showed a sneak preview of his film, The Village Detective: A Song Cycle (2021). Like Decasia, it is a film that revels in the beauty of decomposed, in this case, water-damaged film, and the abstract patterns of light and shadow it creates, all of it accompanied by a beautiful accordion-based score by David Lang.

Mikhail Zharov as Aniskin, the village cop

However, the film begins with film clips of the Soviet Russian actor Mikhail Zharov (1899-1981) being interviewed by himself, utilizing clips from his many films. Only then do we see a green underwater shot, looking up at the play of light on the surface, while the filmmaker relates receiving an email in 2016 from Iceland about the recovery of four reels of film from the ocean floor.  As the shot continues, a metal barrel is dropped into the ocean and sinks slowly to the bottom, while the opening credits appear. In the interviews and clips that follow, the audience learns that the four reels discovered by an Icelandic trawler, Fróði, are from a 1969 Soviet film, The Village Detective, a film that is neither lost nor even important, according to Russian film historian Peter Bagrov. Indeed, a restored print of the film (which exists in Gosfilmofond, the Moscow film archive) would probably bore people out of their minds.

The Village Detective

Bill Morrison’s strategy is different, namely to show very long clips of the damaged film, but only those sections that advance the main plot, concerning a Soviet police officer in a small village attempting to find a stolen accordion. While the image appears and disappears as water damage dissolves up to 90% of the film emulsion, and the Russian language track is sometimes heard, but mostly only seen in subtitles, the eye is fascinated by the abstract patterns and ghostly figures moving in and out of the frame. Intercut with this damaged footage, are intact scenes of Mikhail Zharov from the many films in which he appeared over a 60+ year career, many including songs the actor performed.

The White Eagle (1928, Yakov Protozanov)
The Road to Life (1931, Nikolai Ekk)

Zharov, who was an extremely popular actor and even had a Russian stamp printed with his likeness in 2001, began his career as an extra in 1915. He made his official film debut in 1924 in Yakov Protazanhov’s science fiction masterpiece, Aelita, and was then seen regularly in films of the Mezhrabpom-Rus, including Nikolai Ekk’s Road to Life (1931), the Soviet Union’s first talking picture, which made the actor a star. From that point, Zharov became a fixture in the socialist realist cinema of Stalin’s Soviet Union, appearing in more than fifty films, mostly as a character actor. According to Bagrov, His acting was only good when he had a strong hand to guide him, like Sergei Eisenstein in Ivan the Terrible, Part II (1946-58), where he played Czar Ivan’s guard.

The Return of Maxim (1937, Grigoriy Kozinstev, Leonid Trauberg)
Ivan the Terrible, Part II (1946/1958, Sergei Eisenstein)

Morrison juxtaposes film clips of Zharov in Outskirts (1933), Thunderstorm (1935), Comrades (1936), The Return of Maxim (1937), Peter I (1937),  The Bear (1938), New Horizons (1939), Engineer Kochin’s Error (1939),  Fortress on the Volga (1942), in which he often appeared as a thief or other shady, i.e. bourgeois, character or as a singer with a guitar or accordion. Never a hero of the revolution or a good comrade, Zharov is identified as the Soviet Union’s “most beloved iconoclast actor.” He was even blacklisted for a period in the early 1950s because his wife was the daughter to a physician implicated in the infamous “doctors’ trials” of 1949. In other words, the film is neither about a great actor nor a great lost film.

The Village Detective

So what makes the film so fascinating? Both at the beginning and the end of The Village Detective Zharov mentions that he is interested in how life gets woven into art and how art reflects life. Morrison is fascinated how four reels of a no-name Russian film reappear from the bottom of the ocean – he cites a second film, Lenin is Alive (1958) was dredged up from the ocean by a Danish trawler in 1976 – creating a massively damaged, but also visually beautiful film artifact, life creating art; much of the time we only see abstract patterns in brown and sepia with ghost-like images peeking through, but also the perforations and remains of the optical track; as with broken Greek pottery, our mind’s eye fills in the images, but we also remain ever cognizant of the materiality of film. Finally, Morrison is also interested in a forgotten film career from a now-discredited era of film history, produced in a now archaic medium of celluloid, his compiled films reflecting the reality of life under a communist dictatorship, yet always a bit contrary and off. In his final role as Aniskin as the wise old village cop, Mikhail Zharov does get to play a hero; accordingly, the scene of him finding the accordion is taken from the restored print.   

The Village Detective

285: Vienna in Hollywood Symposium

Archival Spaces 285

Vienna in Hollywood Symposium

Uploaded 24 December 2021

Casablanca (1942, Michael Curtiz)

Two weeks ago I attended and was a speaker at the Symposium, “Vienna in Hollywood. The Influence and Impact of Austrians on the Hollywood Film Industry 1920s – 2020s.” The event was hosted by the new Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, USC Libraries, USC’s Max Kade Institute, and the Austrian Consulate General of Los Angeles and was the first event of its kind staged by the new Museum. Friday, 10 December was hosted by the Doheny Memorial Library at USC, while Saturday 11 December took place in the Museum’s beautiful new downstairs screening room. Unfortunately, due to COVID, a number of the speakers coming from Europe could not attend in person and presented their work via Zoom, including the first speaker.

Man braucht kein Geld (1931, Carl Boese)

After the usual opening addresses by the organizers, the morning sessions began with Katherine Prager (Vienna City Library) who discussed “The Vienna Circles in Hollywood.” Beginning with the circle around the critic Karl Kraus and theatre/film director Bertold Viertel, she not only elaborated on the many intellectual circles of Vienna, none of which survived intact in America, but also described the Vienna Library’s extensive holdings of estate collections and correspondence. Next, Paul Lerner (USC) introduced the audience to the psychoanalyst (and possible charlatan) Fred Hacker, whose Topeka Menninger Clinic hosted numerous Freudian psychiatrists from Vienna en route to Los Angeles. Lerner also delved into the influence of psychiatry on Hollywood, e.g. that Marilyn Monroe on the advice of her psychiatrist turned down the role of Anna Freud in John Huston’s Freud (1962) or that producer Joseph Mankiewicz’s whole family was in analysis. The morning session ended with Frank Stern (U. Vienna) discussing the early German films of Hedy Kiesler, aka Hedy Lamarr, who apparently caused a mini-scandal with her film Man braucht kein Geld (1931,) before her worldwide scandal with Extase / Ecstasy (1933).  

The Emperor Waltz (1948, Billy Wilder)
The Spring Parade (1940, Henry Koster)

Two philological papers followed after lunch. Jacqueline Vansant (U. Michigan) discussed the image of Kaiser Franz Joseph in Hollywood films of the 1930s/40s, while Lisa Silverman (U. Wisconsin) looked at Billy Wilder’s Heimatfilm, The Emperor Waltz (1948), both papers noting Hollywood’s benevolent view of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, despite Austria’s complicity in the Holocaust. In the same vein, Anjeana Hans (Wellesley) analyzed via Zoom American studio remakes of Franziska Gaal’s independent Austrian films, including Koster’s Spring Parade (1940). While Robert Dassanowsky (U. Colorado) made a case for a failed Hollywood-Vienna film agreement in 1936, Regina Range read letters by Vicki Baum, Salka Viertel, and Gina Kaus concerning their impressions of Los Angeles, and, finally, Donna Rifkind recreated the atmosphere in the house of Salka Viertel and her famous Santa Monica Salon.

Dishonored (1931, Joseph von Sternberg)

Day two at the Academy began with Noah Isenberg’s keynote, in which he explicated the Austro-German origins of Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot (1959), as well as its naughty phallocentric jokes,  punctuated by numerous film clips. Next, Todd Herzog’s (U. Cincinnati) gave a close reading of Joseph von Sternberg’s Austrian war/spy melodrama starring Marlene Dietrich, Dishonored (1931), while Andreas-Benjamin Seyfert (UCLA) and I reviewed the Hollywood career of film director William Thiele.  

Tilly Losch in The Garden of Allah (1936, Richard Boleslawski)

After lunch, Patricia Allmer (U. Edinburgh) introduced the work of Hollywood specialty dancer Tilly Losch, who had memorable scenes in The Garden of Allah (1936) and Duel in the Sun (1945), but few other Hollywood roles, pursuing instead a career in painting. The next panel was dedicated to composers: Steven C. Smith on Max Steiner, Nobuko Nakamura (U. Vienna) via Zoom on Erich Wolfgang Korngold, and Heather Moore (USC) on Hanns Eisler. Steiner was of course one of the most prolific and successful Viennese composers in Hollywood, while Korngold despite Hollywood success regretted that his serious music was not acknowledged by American music critics. Co-Curator of the event, Doris Berger concluded the day with a panel of Austrians working in Hollywood today.

Max Steiner score for King Kong (1933, Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack)

A nitrate film screening of Casablanca (1942), brought the symposium to its conclusion, adding an artistic dimension to the proceedings, just as had Isa Rosenberger’s MTV short, “Café Vienne: Dedicated to Gina Kaus,” and Christine Wieder and Klaudija Sabo’s documentary RoughCut: Vienna Exile Below the Line.

Everyone was in agreement that the symposium was very well-organized and featured excellent hospitality. As is always the case with such symposia, the presentations were a mixed bag, both methodologically and qualitatively, some announcing one topic, then discussing another, some stringently academic others anecdotal; one speaker managed to misspell the names of all three directors whose documentary films they were discussing. Nevertheless, this was an excellent start to the Academy Museum’s extracurricular programming and one hopes they will be encouraged to host other symposia in future.

Some Like It Hot (1959, Billy Wilder)

284: Georg Höllering’s Hortobágy (1937)

Archival Spaces 284

George Höllering’s Hortobágy (1937)

Uploaded 10 December 2021

Hortobagy (1937, George Hoellering()

George Höllering’s Hortobágy (1937) is one of those films I have been chasing after for decades and was finally able to see the film at the German Kinemathek’s recent “Film Restored: The Film Heritage Festival,” in a wet-gate transferred digital copy, restored this year by the National Film Institute Hungary, using an internegative for the picture, and a safety print for sound. I was not disappointed in Hortobágy which turns out to be an anomaly in Hungarian cinema in the 1930s when domestic comedies like István Székely’s Lila Akacs/Purple Lilacs(1934) and Béla Gaál’s Meseautó/Car of Dreams (1934) dominated screens in Budapest and Debrecen. An almost neo-realist look a peasant life in the Hortobágy region of Hungary, the film’s long, languid takes and lyrical documentary style is reminiscent of Robert Flaherty’s Man of Aran (1934).

Located in the flatlands East of Budapest and West of Debrecen in central Hungary, the Horotbágy was an arid and sparsely populated steppe or puszta where distinctly Hungarian breeds of cattle, sheep, and horses were raised, the peasants maintaining their traditional and archaic way of life. Originally a center of commerce, the “Great Inn of the Hortobágy” (built-in 1781) was located on the road between Debrecen and Budapest where a stone bridge crossed the Hortobágy River, but the region dried out and the land was depopulated after the Tisza River was redirected in the 1840s. Höllering’s film documented the conflicts between tradition and modernity in a narrative that featured amateur actors exclusively, Hortobágy’s peasants and herdsmen playing themselves with surprising naturalness.

Austrian film director Georg Höllering spent more than two years under difficult working conditions producing independently what was initially only to be a documentary, the director traveling to the region in 1934 to shoot footage with his cameraman László Schäffer. In a second phase, Höllering asked the writer Zsigmond Móricz to develop a film narrative while shooting continuing through 1935. In 1936, the director produced a prologue and the film was released in March 1937. Hortobágy was a huge success throughout Europe but was heavily criticized by right-wing politicians and Hungary’s Fascist government for showing a pre-industrial view of the country. It was also a failure in the country’s cinemas because popular taste favored the kind of commercial comedies mentioned above. On the other hand, the film was imported to the United States by Sam Cummings’ Jewel Prods., where – after a battle with the New York Board of Censors and a Supreme Court injunction –  it premiered in January 1940 and did relatively well given its brief shots of nudity and the amazing depiction of the birth of a foal.

Opening with extensive shots of livestock, herding, and moving on a seemingly endless plain, the film then slowly introduces its human subjects, the Cinege family, consisting of a pater familias, his wife, Jansci, their 10-year-old son, Juliska, their daughter, and their csikós (horseman), Mihály. Everyone is preparing to go to town for the yearly market festival, where horses are studded. The slight story focuses on the boy who wants to become an engineer and keeps sneaking off to the oil well being dug at the edge of their property, much to the chagrin of the senior Cinege, and the daughter who wants to marry Mihály and not the wealthy farmer her father has chosen for her. To show his displeasure, the father destroys the bicycle Jansci has fixed up in order to cycle to the oil derrick, both symbols of modernity.  Meanwhile, Mihály and Juliska secretly meet before the village fair and have sex in the barn.

Höllering lovingly utilizes long takes to capture the daily lives of these sheepherders and horse breeders in the vast expanse of the puszta, but also the conflicts between the generations. Again, the scenes in the village and the market as peasants gather from the surrounding area have a documentary-like precision, contrasting with a fluid camera the movement of animals and their masters, as well as the myriad faces of country peasants. A particularly poignant moment involves an 80-year-old widow who travels to market to see – before she dies – the man she was not allowed to marry in her youth, the couple deciding to live out their final days together after they reunite at the festival. Jacques Lourcelles, the French film critic for Présence du cinema once wrote: “There is a cosmic dimension to Höllering’s characters, who have a forehead in the clouds and a soul among the stars.” And indeed, nature (and the weather) are constantly foregrounded, as in the violent storm that damages the oil well and kills Jansci’s horse.

Born in Vienna in 1897, George Hoellering started his film career as an exhibitor in Vienna in 1919, then moved to Berlin in the mid-1920s to produce and edit shorts. He was the production manager on Slatan Dudow’s left-wing Kuhle Wampe (1932) and on Heinz Paul’s right-wing, Tannenberg (1932), fleeing Germany shortly thereafter, because of his Jewish wife. They returned to Vienna but emigrated to London in 1937, where he managed the Academy Cinema in the West End. He also produced propaganda shorts for the British government during World War II and produced, directed, and co-wrote with T.S. Elliot, Murder in the Cathedral (1952), his last foray into film production.

He continued to manage the Academy Cinema until his death in 1980. Ironically my first knowledge of Hoellering came two years later when I found out that Helmar Lerski’s film, Avodah (1935), had been screened there in 1938 but was nowhere to be found. Miraculously, the 35mm nitrate print shown back in 1938 was found in a storeroom of the Academy, when the cinema was demolished in 1989 and is now preserved at the British Film Institute.