Flickers of Black: short films and the Black quest for social citizenship in America before WWII

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FLICKERS
OF
BLACK:

SHORT
FILMS
AND
THE
BLACK
QUEST
FOR
SOCIAL
CITIZENSHIP
IN

AMERICA
BEFORE
WWII

By

Kwynn
Perry

Dissertation
Presented
to
the

FACULTY
OF
THE
USC
GRADUATE
SCHOOL

UNIVERSITY
OF
SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA

SCHOOL
OF
CINEMATIC
ARTS

in
partial
fulfillment
of
the
requirements
of
the

DOCTOR
OF
PHILOSOPHY

IN
CINEMA
AND
MEDIA
STUDIES

December
2019

ii

To
my
grandmother,
Sylvia,
who
always
believed
I
could
do
absolutely
anything
in
life,

and
no
matter
how
many
times
I
told
her
what
I
was
doing
in
school,
was
resolved
to

the
fact
that
I
was
going
to
make
movies.

To
my
son,
Ellison,
who
I
believe
can
do
absolutely
anything
in
life.
Explore,

experiment,
and
find
what
fuels
you.
Once
you
find
it,
pursue
it
with
vigor.

Sankofa.

iii

Acknowledgments

This
has
been
a
journey.
Making
it
across
the
finish
line
was
a
lot
of
sweat,
as

expected,
but
I
continue
to
marvel
at
the
serendipity
at
play
in
the
completion
of
this

project.

I
am
eternally
grateful
to
my
incredible,
thoughtful,
and
supportive

committee.
Your
availability
and
deep
engagement
with
my
project
truly
made

those
moments
of
impossibility
seem
possible.
Your
acuity
in
assisting
me
in

regaining
momentum
is
a
special
gift,
and
I
am
appreciative
of
each
of
you
for
giving

me
the
much-‐needed
boost.

To
Christine,
you
are
a
mentor
in
the
most
complete
sense
of
the
word.

Thank
you
for
your
guidance
both
on
and
off
the
page,
and
for
helping
me
navigate

those
sometimes
difficult
to
discern
moments
of
when
to
dig
deeper
and
when
to

pull
back.
Your
expertise
in
the
trajectory
of
Black
media
representation
was
very

helpful
as
I
moved
forward
with
this
project,
and
I
am
forever
appreciative
of
the

energy
and
encouragement
you
have
gifted
me.

To
J.D.,
your
arrival
at
USC
was
a
fortuitous
boon
for
me.
Thank
you
for
your

careful
reading
and
guidance
in
this
project.
I
am
so
lucky
to
have
benefitted
from

your
passion
and
wealth
of
knowledge
about
Hollywood’s
Golden
Age.
Thank
you

for
helping
me
structure
this
project
and
helping
me
organize
the
mass
of
research

and
ideas
that
I
had
accumulated
over
the
years.

To
Julia,
thank
you
for
reminding
me
of
the
value
of
‘reading’
film,
and

encouraging
me
to
dive
deep
into
textual
analysis.
Your
support
over
the
years
has

iv

been
invaluable,
and
it
means
so
much
to
me
that
I
was
able
to
have
your
gift
for

narrative
analysis
and
background
in
Black
narrative
and
representation
prodding

and
challenging
this
project.

Finally,
to
all
of
my
committee
members,
thank
you
so
much
for
your

availability.
The
coffee
meet
ups,
working
lunches,
texts,
and
email
check-‐ins
truly

helped
steer
me
towards
the
finish
line.

To
those
that
offered
input
at
the
initial
stages
of
this
project—Todd
Boyd,

Rick
Jewell,
Kara
Keeling,
Taj
Frazier,
and
Steve
Ross—
thank
you.

I
must
extended
gratitude
to
the
passionate
archival
researchers
and

collectors
who
never
seemed
to
tire
of
my
questions.
Thank
you
to
Brett
Service,

Ned
Comstock,
the
staff
at
the
Margaret
Herrick
Library,
the
New
York
State

Archives
staff,
and
Mark
Cantor.

You
can
never
underestimate
the
value
of
the
emotional
support
provided
by

those
who
understand
exactly
what
the
process
is;
to
my
academic
village
who
has

kept
me
propped
up
for
the
longevity
of
this
ride,
thank
you.
To
the
illustrious

members
of
Negro
Night:
Ayana
McNair,
Garrett
Thompson,
Leah
Aldridge,

Stephanie
Hoover-‐Yeung,
Manouchka
Labouba,
Lorien
Hunter,
Alicia
Cornish,
and

Dominic
Matheny
the
laughter,
tears,
and
general
cultural
uplift
was
integral
to
this

process.
To
my
USC
Day
One,
Elena
Bonomo,
all
your
support
and
reassurance
is

forever
embedded
in
my
essence,
and
our
bond
will
forever
run
deep.
I
love
you
all

dearly.

I
am
additionally
appreciative
to
my
network
and
community
outside
of

academia.
To
the
Inner
Circle,
Los
Angeles
Derby
Dolls,
and
Angel
City
Derby,
thank

v

you
for
keeping
me
buoyant
and
supporting
me
from
the
fringes.
Life,
including

pursing
a
Ph.D.,
is
about
balance,
and
I
am
thankful
for
your
presence
and
constant

reminder
of
that
fact.

To
my
creative
writing
partner,
Natalie
Chaidez,
thank
you
eternally
for

showing
me
the
carrot.
I
am
grateful
to
you
in
ways
you
will
probably
never

understand.

To
my
parents,
Lorraine
and
Darryl,
I
am
appreciative
of
the
sacrifices
you

have
made
to
set
me
along
my
path.
You
fostered
my
love
for
learning
and
critical

thinking
starting
at
a
very
young
age,
and
I
am
so
appreciative
that
you
always
made

sure
that
my
environment
was
one
in
which
I
felt
free
to
be
inquisitive.
Thank
you

for
the
various
forms
of
support
you
have
shown
me
along
this
arduous
process;
I

could
not
have
finished
without
your
support.
I
hope
I
have
made
you
proud.

To
my
husband,
Brian,
no
one
on
this
earth
knows
the
specifics
of
this

journey
in
the
detail
that
you
do.
Thank
you
for
being
there
to
console
me
through

the
difficulties
and
cheer
me
on
as
I
overcame
them.
You
were
the
listening
ear
and

voice
of
reason,
and
I
appreciate
that
your
support
style
was
one
in
which
I
was

always
able
to
come
to
my
own
conclusions.
Thank
you
for
making
me
slow
down

from
time
to
time
to
actually
take
stock
of
my
accomplishments.

To
Ellison,
you
have
spent
more
time
in
coffee
shops,
libraries,
and
archives

than
is
fathomable
for
any
kid
your
age.
Thank
you
for
being
my
buddy,
for
giving

me
peace,
for
being
patient,
and
for
reminding
me
that
breaks
are
sometimes

needed.
And
yes,
you
must
call
me
“Dr.
Mommy.”

vi

Abstract

“Flickers
of
Black:
Short
Films
and
the
Black
Quest
for
Social
Citizenship
in

America
before
WWII”
examines
mainstream
Black
representation
in
short
film

from
cinema’s
inception
until
the
onset
of
World
War
II,
and
the
ways
in
which
these

short
films
created
a
rare
platform
for
Black
boundary
crossing
and
subversive

confrontations
of
dominant
white
American
ideologies.
It
argues
that
these
films-‐-‐
often
overlooked
in
surveys
of
film
history-‐-‐
extend
the
historical
trajectory
of

progressive
representations
of
Blackness
and
Black
culture
on
the
front
end
of

cinema
history,
offering
nuanced,
and
defiant
representations
of
Black
culture
to
the

masses
before
WWII.
The
dissertation
investigates
the
ways
in
which
these
films-‐-‐

traditionally
seen
merely
as
uninspired
documentation,
or

“low
brow”
industrial

filler-‐-‐
did
important
work
to
usher
Black
Aesthetics
and
culture
into
the

mainstream,
while
simultaneously
working
to
destabilize
and
expose
racist
white

ideological
constructs
of
Blackness
during
the
Jim
Crow
era.

“Flickers
of
Black”
draws
from
various
theoretical
approaches
to
expose

overlooked
moments
of
Black
collaboration,
representational
ownership,
and
socio-‐
cultural
defiance
in
mainstream
film
before
WWII.

It
also
incorporates
relevant

works
from
the
Harlem
Renaissance
as
means
of
positioning
the
short
films
within

the
larger
Black
artistic
movement
and
history
of
Black
Aesthetics.
Finally,
it
works

to
demonstrate
how
the
combination
of
studio
business
practices,
music,
and

celebrity
created
a
unique
mechanism
that
allowed
Black
subjects
uncommon

access
to
the
cinematic
foreground
in
early
film
history.

Once
these
Black
subjects

were
moved
into
the
foreground
and
given
agency
over
their
cultural

vii

representation
in
mainstream
cinema,
an
unexpected
platform
for
subversive

sociopolitical
messaging
was
created.
Relaying
previously
unexplored
context

regarding
the
Black
community’s
expectations
around
equality,
opportunity,
and

social
enfranchisement
before
WWII,
these
historically
disregarded
short
films

serve
as
a
benchmark
for
Black
voices
permeating
into
the
pop
cultural
mainstream.

viii

Table
of
Contents

Dedication

ii

Acknowledgments

iii

Abstract

vi

List
of
Figures

ix

Introduction:

Short
Film,
American
Carnival,
and
Black
Representation

1

Chapter
One

Black
Patriotism
as
Social
and
Cinematic
Spectacle:

Morale,
Ideology
and
the
Long
Life
of
“Rookies
after
Two

Days
Training”

37

Chapter
Two

The
Hoy
Falloy
Head
Up
to
Harlem:

Black
Cultural
Tourism
and
Hollywood’s
Navigating

Ambassadors

74

Chapter
Three

Immersion,
Invasion,
and
Infiltration:

Boundary
Crossing
and
(Un)Belonging

131

Conclusion:

Hi
De
Ho(ax):
The
Apex
and
Decline
of
the
Black
Musical
Short

190

Works
Referenced

202

ix

List
of
Figures

FIGURE
2.1…………….……..…..…Cover,
The
Crisis
(June
1918)………………………………………50

FIGURE
2.2…………………Soldiers
in
Training
of
Colored
Troops
(1936)…………….………..60

FIGURE
2.3………James
Reese
Europe
and
the
Harlem
Hellfighters
Band
(1918)………..64

FIGURE
3.1………….…A
Night-‐Club
Map
of
Harlem,
E.
Simms
Campbell
(1933)…………..78

FIGURE
3.2………………………Cab
Calloway
in
Jitterbug
Party
(1935)………………………..…93

FIGURE
3.3….……Portrait
of
Woman,
The
Exhibit
of
American
Negroes
(1900).………..95

FIGURE
3.4………....Portrait
of
Man,
The
Exhibit
of
American
Negroes
(1900).…….…….95

FIGURE
3.5……………….…………
Image
from
Black
and
Tan
(1929)….……………..……..…..101

FIGURE
3.6……………….….Song
of
the
Towers,
Aaron
Douglas,
(1934).……………………..101

FIGURE
3.7……………..….………Image
from
The
Singing
Kid
(1936)…………….…………..…102

FIGURE
3.8………………...…..Harriet
Tubman,
Aaron
Douglas,
(1931)………………………..102

FIGURE
4.1.....…Six
Derisions
from
A
Mexican
Pencil,
Miguel
Covarrubias
(1925)……148

FIGURE
4.2..Enter,
The
New
Negro,
a
Distinctive
Type,
Miguel
Covarrubias
(1924)...149

FIGURE
4.3..…..…....….…Image
from
The
Old
Man
of
The
Mountain
(1932)…………….…169

FIGURE
4.4..…..…...….…Image
from
The
Old
Man
of
The
Mountain
(1932)……………..…169

1

Introduction:

Short
Film,
American
Carnival,
and
Black
Representation

In
2014,
University
of
Southern
California
archivist,
Dino
Everett,
unearthed

an
extremely
rare
and
ostensibly
unknown
print
of
Black
American
life
on
early
film.

Something
Good—Negro
Kiss
(Selig,
1898)
was
a
marvel
for
film
historians
and

African
American
studies
scholars
alike—
a
rare
glimpse
of
Black
joy
and

genuineness
in
film’s
nascent
stages.
In
December
of
2018,
the
film
was
catalogued

in
the
Library
of
Congress’
National
Film
Registry
as
a
point
of
recognition
for
its

“cultural,
historic
and
aesthetic
importance
to
the
nation’s
film
heritage.”
1

The
film
loosely
references
Thomas
Edison’s
early
film,
The
Kiss
(Heise,

1896),
filmed
two
years
before;
Edison’s
film
both
showcases
the
sheer
spectacle
of

early
motion
pictures
as
well
as
captures
what
historians
mark
as
the
first
filmed

kiss.
Negro
Kiss,
though
on
the
surface
treading
the
same
ground
as
Edison’s
Kiss,

adds
an
additional
and
important
historic
layer
of
cultural
significance.

Negro
Kiss
offers
an
alternative
to
the
historic
overview
of
Black

representation
in
which
cultural
representations
have
largely
been
regarded
as

degrading
and
representative
of
larger,
negative
ideological
perceptions
of
race
in

the
United
States.

The
short
film,
featuring
performer
Saint
Suttle
and
actress
Gertie

Brown,
is
a
rare
relic
of
Black
representational
nuance
and
humanity
on
the
screen;

qualified
by
historians
as
“the
earliest
known
cinematic
depiction
of
intimacy

between
African-‐Americans,”
2

Negro
Kiss
brings
a
cinematic
Black
authenticity
and

cultural
truth
to
the
forefront
that
is
often
unmarked
in
surveys
of
film
history.
This

particular
portrayal
of
the
Black
characters
was
not
made
for
white
audiences
at
the

2

expense
of
the
Black
actors
and
the
larger
Black
community;
instead,
this
short
film

demonstrates
a
representational
Blackness
that,
as
cultural
curator
Erica

Buddington
says,
is
“more
than
trauma
and
monoliths”
and
is
a
“nuance
of
who
we

are,
and
the
variation
we’ve
always
been
despite
what
the
history
books
tell
you.”
3

Part
of
what
makes
Negro
Kiss
so
special
is
that
there
seems
to
be
a
sort
of

co-‐ownership
over
the
project
by
the
Black
actors.
Although
there
is
no

documentation
to
prove
this
point,
historians
and
cultural
critics
all
hint
at
this
idea

in
their
reactions
to
the
film,
as
they
express
feelings
of
a
unique
energy
and

aesthetic
exuded
from
the
film
that
separates
it
from
other
early
representations
of

Blacks
on
film.
Field
goes
as
far
as
to
mark
the
film
as
a
“collaboration”
between
the

Black
actors
and
the
offscreen
white
filmmaker
through
her
reading
of
the

interaction
between
the
three
throughout
the
film.
4

This
concept
of
intercultural
collaboration
in
a
film
so
early
in
cinema
history

and
prior
to
certain
cultural
and
industrials
shifts
that
occurred
around
World
War

II
is
of
itself
noteworthy;
the
fact
that
the
collaboration
and
freedom
of
self-‐
expression
occurred
within
a
short
film
is
of
no
coincidence.

Though
early
cross-‐
cultural
cinematic
representations
of
Blackness
have
largely
been
considered

degrading
or
otherwise
negatively
stereotypical
by
historians
and
critics
such
as

Donald
Bogle,
Ed
Guerrero,
and
Thomas
Cripps
amongst
others,
the
focus
of
these

investigations
is
largely
on
feature
length
films;
but
their
positions
have
come
to

encompass
early
Black
representation
in
films
geared
toward
white
audiences
in

their
entirety.

It
is
understandable
why
the
study
of
Black
representation
in
film
has

largely
been
relegated
to
the
feature
film:
feature
length
films
were
the
industry’s

3

primary
focus,
it
was
the
feature
film
length
film
that
took
cinema
from
its
primitive

form
and
converted
it
into
a
profitable
industry,
and
there
is
a
treasure
trove
of

readily
available
data,
documentation,
and
archival
materials
about
feature
length

films
that
easily
lend
themselves
to
investigation
and
analysis.

In
fact,
outside
of

cartoons,
there
is
a
major
gap
in
the
scholarship
of
studio
system
film
shorts.

However,
the
tradition
of
overlooking
the
film
short
in
film
scholarship—
particularly
those
with
prominent
Black
representation—has
caused
a
body
of
rare,

mainstream
Black
cinematic
representation
to
go
largely
unexamined
and
be
even

more
greatly
undervalued.
As
seen
with
the
response
to
Something
Good—Negro

Kiss,
the
short
film
format
offered
uncommon
representations
of
Blackness
to
the

larger
American
(and
in
some
cases,
international)
public
that
posed
a
challenge
to

dominant,
white
ideologies.

These
alternative
Black
cultural
representations
both

broaden
and
reshape
the
narrow
discourse
on
the
subject
of
Black
representation
in

early
film
history.
Through
examining
early
film
shorts
prominently
featuring
Black

bodies,
we
can
discover
important
efforts
that
were
being
made
to
incorporate

Black
culture
into
a
mainstream
American
culture
that
was
working
tirelessly
to

enforce
cultural
barriers.
These
shorts
challenged
those
barriers,
serving
as
a
source

of
cultural
uplift,
a
solid
attempt
at
gaining
social
enfranchisement,
an
effort
to

“unother”
and
re-‐humanize
Black
bodies
in
mainstream
media,
a
tool
of
subversive

defiance,
a
conveyance
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
into
the
larger
American
fray,
and
an

aim
to
de-‐spectaclize
or
otherwise
take
ownership
of
the
presentation
of
Black

spectacle
through
the
personalization
of
celebrity.

4

While
of
course
every
short
film
featuring
Black
protagonists
was
not

resistant
towards
the
common,
demeaning
culture
tropes
seen
on
screen,
there
was

a
grouping
of
military
shorts
and
major
studio
musical
film
shorts
that
had
a
high

prevalence
of
pushing
back
on
white
ideological
“othering”
and
the
pure

spectaclization
of
Blackness.
In
order
to
understand
how
these
films
truly
stood
out

from
other
early
films
featuring
Blacks
in
lead
roles,
we
must
first
understand
the

practices
and
cultural
representations
that
films
of
the
period
were
working
against.

Black
Carnival/Black
Cinema:
Spectacle,
Showcase,
Sideshow,
and
Citizenship

There
was
been
a
long-‐standing
history
of
racial
exhibition—particularly
the

exhibition
of
Black
bodies—in
both
Europe
and
the
United
States
for
centuries.

Black
bodies
were
presented
as
a
commodity
on
auction
blocks
for
white
viewers
to

peruse
as
slave
ships
began
arriving
in
the
Americas
from
Africa.
The
atypical
body

of
South
African
Saartjie
Bartman
(aka
The
Hottentot
Venus)
was
exhibited
at

various
fairs,
circuses
and
other
public
exhibition
spaces
in
Europe
throughout
the

early
19
th

century
for
the
amusement
of
curious
whites.
5

After
her
death,
the

skeleton
of
her
steatopygiac
body
remained
on
display
in
Paris
until
1974.
“Human

Zoos”
with
African
tribal
peoples
on
display
were
also
popular
throughout
Europe

during
the
period,
6

and
the
Dahomey
tribe
of
Benin
was
a
popular
live
exhibit

attraction
at
the
1893
World’s
Fair
in
Chicago.
A
reporter
at
the
event
recorded
his

perceptions
of
their
pure
“otherness—of
the
utter
“spectacle”
of
their
Blackness
in
a

popular
magazine:

Sixty-‐nine
of
them
are
here
in
all
their
barbaric
ugliness,
blacker
than

midnight
and
as
degraded
as
the
animals
which
prowl
the
jungles
of
their

5

dark
land.
It
is
impossible
to
conceive
of
a
notch
lower
in
the
human
scale

than
the
Amazon,
or
female
Dahomey
warrior,
represents.

Yet,
withal
they

have
some
human
traits.
They
believe
in
a
supreme
power,
but
their
forms
of

worship
are
purely
idolatrous.
Dancing
around
a
pole
on
which
is
perched
a

human
skull,
images
of
reptiles,
lizards
and
other
crawling
things,
their

incantations
make
the
night
hideous...
In
these
wild
people
we
can
easily

detect
many
characteristics
of
the
American
negro.
The
latter
has
learned
the

language
of
civilization,
and
by
its
teaching
has
been
raised
above
the

deplorable
level
of
his
less
fortunate
kinsman.
7

This
exhibition
of
the
“spectacle
of
Blackness”
is
rooted
in
the
carnivalesque

spectacle—exhibition
of
that
which
is
foreseen
to
be
excessive,
grotesque,
and

“other,”
for
the
amusement
of
those
who
fit
within
the
“normative”
cultural

hegemony.

Cultural
critic
Philip
McGowan
claims
the
creation
of
spectacle
with
the

intention
to
“other”
is
a
specifically
American
approach
to
the
“carnival,”
and
that
its

function
stands
in
opposition
to
its
medieval,
European
predecessor.
Mikhail
Bakhtin’s writings on the European carnival position the space as inclusive and
democratic, filled with laughter and identity renewal, and all for the sake of diminishing
the hegemony.
8
In contrast, McGowan asserts that the American carnival was a site of
upholding the hegemonic order by establishing exclusionary binaries that distinguished
the “average” or “normal” from the fear-worthy “other.”
9

As the Black spectacle and the exhibition of Black bodies began to transition from
the fairgrounds stage to the film screen, the fundamental elements of the American
carnival persisted. Like the tendency of the American carnival to uphold the hegemony
while subjugating “the other,” film historian Ed Guerrero argues that the tradition of
Black representation within the film industry likewise is “in the service of feeding the
dulled cravings and fantasies of the dominant social order” as opposed to “inspiring
aesthetic, cultural, and political masterworks aimed at liberating human potential.”
10

6

In fact the spectaclization of Black bodies on the film screen was twofold; in
addition to the historical ties between Black cultural exhibition and the carnival, the
emergence of cinema itself in the late 19
th
century was closely related to the carnival as
well. Film
historian
Tom
Gunning
goes
as
far
as
to
refer
to
early
film
as
the
“carnival

of
the
cinema”
in
his
seminal
“Cinema
of
Attractions.”
11

Both
the
cinema
and
the

carnival
are
spaces
of
entertainment
and
exhibitionism
where
spectacle
is

manufactured
through
the
construction
of
excess,
hyperbole,
hyperstimulation,

allure
and
intrigue.
The
two
even
have
a
historical
connection
as
many
of
the

earliest
moving
pictures
themselves
were
fairground
attractions,
slotted
amongst

the
other
titillations,
marvels,
curiosities,
and
spectacles
that
rounded
out
an

exhibition
program.
In
cinema’s
nascent
stages,
the
simple
illusion
of
movement
created
by

rapidly
projecting
still
images
in
succession
was
the
extent
of
the
carnivalesque

spectacle
that
was
presented
to
curious
audiences;
however,
as
the
medium
evolved

and
the
practice
became
commonplace,
the
“spectacle”
of
film
moved
from
the
mere

mechanics
and
machinery
of
creating
the
illusion
of
movement
to
the
actual
visual

content
of
the
film.

Gunning
describes
this
evolution
of
the
spectacle
as
the
“Cinema
of

Attractions”—a
moment
in
which
film,
like
the
carnival,
began
to
explore
its

exhibitionism
and
its
ability
to
exploit
the
viewer’s
attention,
sensuality,
and

psychology.
12

From
Méliès’
“trick
films”
to
the
“actualities”
made
by
filmmakers
like

the
Lumière
brothers
and
Thomas
Edison,
the
creation
and
conveyance
of
visual

spectacle
was
the
priority
of
the
emerging
medium;
as
Gunning
explains,
this
early

7

“exhibitionist
cinema”
was
“a
way
of
presenting
a
series
of
views
to
an
audience,

fascinating
because
of
their
illusory
power…and
exoticism.”
13

Edison
in
particular
drew
from
the
carnival
when
considering
film
content.

Many
of
his
films
were
essentially
sideshow
events
in
which
the
exotic
or

grotesque—that
which
was
“other”-‐-‐
was
captured
and
presented
to
curious
film

audiences
searching
for
carnivalesque
spectacle.
Sandow
the
Strongman
(1894),

Cockfight
(1894),
and
Contortionists
(1894),
were
all
subjects
that
could
have
been

picked
directly
from
the
lineups
of
any
carnival
program
of
the
day.
However,

amongst
this
catalogue
of
carnivalesque
films
were
films
that
were
constructed
to

exhibit
race
as
spectacle,
and
to
“other”
Black
bodies
on
which
the
films
were

centered.
Edison’s A Morning Bath (1896) captures the mundane activity of a Black
woman bathing her child; however, the film is encoded with a racialized crudeness that is
normalized as the woman roughly handles the child and dumps suds on his head as he
cries uncomfortably. The categorization of such films as “actualities” misleads the
audience to perceive the activity as an unintrusive truth--a natural, non-performativity;
however, as the “actuality” converges with the white construction of Black cultural
spectacle, the result is a method of culturally “othering” the Black performer.
Other early short films likewise construct the representation of Blackness as a
spectaclized amusement. Edison drew from racial stereotypes in Watermelon Eating
Contest (1896) in which two Black men ingurgitate large slices of watermelon; four years
later, he augmented this same racial spectacle in the follow up, Watermelon Contest
(1900), by increasing the spectacle from two Black bodies devouring watermelon to
five—further working to normalize the stereotype. Competitor American Mutoscope also

8

dabbled in constructing racial spectacles for film in Cake Walk (1903) (alternatively
titled, Coon Cake Walk and Darky Cake Walk) and Comedy Cake Walk (1903); each film
features a group of dapperly dressed Black men and women who do the cakewalk as a
form of racial performativity, and for the amusement of the white audience.
14

Thus, from cinema’s inception, the medium has been used to spectaclize
Blackness, to position Black bodies and culture as “other,” and to create a new form of
visual commentary in which cultural stereotypes were upheld and perpetuated.
Guerrero’s claim that film holds an “ideological power to shape the audience’s
conceptions of race,”
15
has been a practice since the medium’s earliest days and
maintained close ties with the exclusionary American carnival from which it was
adapted.
The American carnival space, and racial representation therein has historically
been a space in which power dynamics between the white spectator and the Black screen
spectacle has been reinforced, as Black cultural representation was traditionally “distilled
through America’s particularized and carnivalized versions of white seeing.”
16
The
American carnival space in early film was a culturally separatist space, which McGowan
asserts flourished on a “continuous policy that stratified the American nation into zones
of… white identity…and Otherness.”
17

9

Thus, the normalization of the Black screen spectacle and its social function as an
othering device and tool of social disenfranchisement was established at film’s inception,
and continued to evolve throughout film history. The ideological method had become so
compounded and commonplace that in 1903, French filmmaker Georges Mèliés added a
racial spectacle short film to his milieu of “trick” films with the short The Infernal Cake-
Walk, (Le Cake-Walk Infernal). Moving away from his common trope of creating
spectacle through inventive editing, Mèliés instead centers the screen spectacle on the
performance of American Blackness—the cakewalk, and the two prominently featured
blackface characters that perform the dance in the pits of hell. Screened for both French
and American audiences, the encoded Black screen spectacle had begun to crystalize and
permeate.
Edison also continued to contribute to the standardization of Black cultural
othering on the film screen as cinema began to evolve from the primitive “actualities”
towards the emergence of narrative shorts, reconstructing the Black cinematic spectacle
to fit the new format. His 1905, The Watermelon Patch is a series of clumsily edited
sequences in which a group of white men rally to pursue and punish a group of Black
characters who have stolen watermelons from a white farmer’s field. Packed into the film
are a variety of white ideological cultural signifiers of Blackness (untrustworthiness,
ruralness, lower class status) as well as stereotypical activities that had begun to become
commonly associated with the Black screen spectacle (cakewalking, watermelon eating).
In the film, Edison revisits his original 1896 Watermelon Eating Contest, with a sequence
of two Black men engorging themselves with two massive slices of watermelon (and just

10

like in the original short, it is clear that the actors are taking direction from the white men
behind the camera).
There are some key differences, however. The carnivalesque “competition”
between the two has been replaced with the framing of cultural mundanity; no longer
driven by competition, the men seem to eat watermelon solely due to an insatiable desire
and need. In fact, instead of racing to be the first to finish his slice, one of the men is so
overcome by his pure desire for watermelon that he snatches a hunk off of the slice of his
companion while still eating his own. Also, the men have been moved from the carnival
space into their private home, allowing what was once staged as a racialized public
exhibition to instead function as a display of “private Black lives” made available for the
voyeuristic white gaze. Finally, the film builds on upon its predecessors by further
inflating Edison’s originally conceived Black spectacle. Once the direct reference to
Watermelon Eating Contest has been established, the film adds a layer of excess to the
already inherent excess of the Black spectacle: the two men are replaced by sixteen Black
actors greedily devouring watermelon. Although no longer set within the literal carnival
space, its excess and hyperbolic representation of as spectacle remains nevertheless
figuratively carnivalesque, and continues to demonstrate what Guerrero identifies as a
“mediation of the audience’s racial and social attitudes.”
18

Thus, the practice of building upon and adapting the racial spectacle for cinema as
the medium continued to evolve had several notable and lasting effects; at its minimum it
kept viewers engaged with and entertained by the material, but its social currency was far
more impactful, as it worked to normalize the racist ideologies of the white hegemony

11

while simultaneously upholding and perpetuating social disenfranchisement of the Black
American community.
These practices of racial spectaclization and othering continued to evolve as
cinema began to shape into a powerful industry with a flourishing studio system. Through
a formalized system of production, distribution, and exhibition practices, white
presentation of the Black spectacle had a broader reach than ever before. Technological
advancement and industrial shifts caused the industry’s focus during Hollywood’s
Golden age to shift towards feature length films, and it was within this format that the
tradition of Black spectaclization and othering continued to flourish.
Black cultural representation in feature films of this era was most commonly
performative (for white audience) and constructed (by white creators); further, the
inclusion was a diegetic mechanism used to create value for the white actors on screen.
Whether in the roles of cantankerous mammies, silly coons, or jovial porters, the Black
body often became a commodity marker of the white characters’ world and class status.
In the most superfluous cases, film segments featuring Black characters expressing any
semblance of autonomy would be completely eliminated in order to appease racist white
censor boards in the South.
Yet, this construction of Blackness as commodified “other” also superceded the
limits of the film screen, contributing to a greater discourse about belongedness in the
United States. The power of film as socio-cultural commentary began to establish itself,
and a white American nationalism—at times overt, at other times covert--began to
pervade. McGowan explains that the spectaclization of Black bodies was essential to this
process, as “the otherness of Blackness [was] displayed to confirm the racial, cultural,

12

and physical regularity of American whiteness.”
19
Thus, the social enfranchisement and
fortification of national belongedness gained by white Americans through film prior to
WWII had an inverse correlation to the social enfranchisement and national identity of
Black Americans.
However, with the industry’s primary focus on the feature film, artistic and socio-
cultural boundaries were able to be pushed in the world of short films. Marginalized and
operating with a different set of variables and expectations than their feature length
counterparts, the oft-overlooked and undervalued short film offered rare glimpses of de-
spectaclized Blackness—of Black regularity and national identity. As with Something

Good—Negro
Kiss
decades
before,
Studio
System
shorts
featuring
Black
stars

provided
the
mainstream
with
a
glimpse
into
Black
life
and
demonstrated
a
rare

collaboration
between
whites
behind
the
camera
and
Blacks
on
the
screen.

Studio System Film Shorts—Artistry, Autonomy, and the Black Aesthetic
Major
studio
short
films
have
long
been
trivialized
both
within
the
industry

at
large
and
especially
throughout
history’s
retelling
of
the
Hollywood
story.
While

the
film
industry
was
working
to
legitimize
its
features
as
a
true,
modern
art
form,

the
film
short
was
instead
overtly
derivative
of
the
“business”
of
Hollywood.
As
a

business
practice,
the
film
short
was
unable
to
stand
alone,
and
instead
was
always

in
service
to
a
larger
industrial
mechanism;
as
a
result,
the
shorts
of
the
Studio

System
era
have
largely
become
a
footnote
in
the
Hollywood
Story—what
film

historian
Richard
Koszarski
has
referred
to
as
a
“nickel-‐and-‐dime
business”

overshadowed
by
the
highly
profitable
blockbusters.
20

13

Similarly,
the
artistry
and
social
relevance
of
the
shorts
has
likewise
been

historically
minimized
in
most
literature
on
the
Studio
System—often
reduced
to

parenthetical
mentions,
banished
to
marginalia,
or
referred
to
epigrammatically
as

“the
orphans
of
the
studio
system.”
21

Although
Larry
Kent,
one
of
the
executives
of

Paramount’s
short
film
division,
claimed
that
the
shorts
were
held
to
as
high
of
a

standard
as
the
studios’
feature
films,
22

the
reception
throughout
the
years
has
not

historically
supported
this
claim.

While
features
have
been
legitimized
through

theories
of
auteurism
or
in
depth
surveys
about
the
star
system,
film
scholars
and

historians
have
found
little
importance
or
artistic
merit
in
the
film
short.

There
are
various
reasons
that
the
shorts
of
the
Classical
Hollywood
period

have
been
likely
been
devalued
and
overlooked.

One
such
reason
is
the
intended

purpose
of
the
short,
which
were
less
geared
towards
showcasing
cinema
as
art,
and

instead
was
a
small
business
appendage
in
the
larger,
vertically
integrated
industry

machine.
Over
a
decade
before
the
studios
were
forced
to
modify
their
distribution

practices
and
divest
themselves
of
their
exhibition
spaces
as
a
result
of
two

landmark
antitrust
court
cases,
shorts
were
largely
treated
as
block
booking
glue

used
to
round
out
an
exhibitor’s
program.
23

Jack
Alicoate,
editor
of
the
trade

magazine
“Film
Daily,”
confirmed
this
position
in
1930,
claiming
that
shorts
were

the
“dominant
spoke
in
the
wheel
of
the
modern
showman’s
program.”
24

Yet,
despite
their
business
relevance
to
the
exhibitor,
the
content
of
the
short

film
itself
was
rarely
deemed
as
significant
or
consequential.
Ranging
from

comedies,
to
cartoons,
to
serials,
to
newsreels,
to
travelogues,
to
musical
shorts,
the

short
films
were
light
fare
“directed
at
a
middle
brow
audience”
25
-‐-‐
a
device
used
to

14

entice
viewers
to
stay
in
their
seats
between
the
A
and
B
features,
and
a
visual

palate
cleanser
between
the
more
“serious”
features
that
demanded
more
attention.

Laurel
and
Hardy
films,
Hal
Roach’s
Our
Gang
(later
known
as
Little
Rascals),

countless
animated
films
from
the
Fleischer
studios
(including
cartoons
featuring

the
ever-‐popular
Betty
Boop
and
Popeye),
and
the
Zorro
serial
films
were
all
fan

favorites
that
were
situated
to
keep
the
audience
entertained
in
between
the

features.
In
a
sense,
short
films
were
predecessors
to
the
modern
television

commercial
(both
in
program
position
and
content,
as
the
shorts
at
times
included

direct
product
placement),
allowing
exhibitors
to
convert
a
single
film
screening

into
a
“program”
by
stringing
together
a
series
of
film
material
without
competing

with
or
overshadowing
the
feature.
Thus,
shorts
were
largely
considered
practical

and
economical
filler
—
more
of
a
business
practice
than
an
artistic
endeavor.

The
geographical
location
of
short
film
production
could
also
play
a
role
in

attitudes
about
their
importance
in
cinema
history.

Hollywood
in
the
Classical
Era

was
a
bicoastal
trade,
with
the
artistic
components
of
production
(writing,
directing,

acting,
set
and
costume
design,
etc.)
taking
place
in
Los
Angeles,
and
the
business

and
administrative
component
operating
out
of
New
York.

However,
many
short

films
were
still
shot
in
the
studios’
New
York
soundstages—relics
of
a
bygone
era
in

film,
before
production
had
begun
moving
to
the
more
amenable
West
Coast.
The

studios
peppered
the
New
York
metropolitan
area:
Paramount’s
studio
was
in

Astoria,
Warner
Brothers
(via
Vitagraph)
was
in
Brooklyn,
Fox
was
located
in

Manhattan,
Metro
(before
a
series
of
mergers
and
acquisitions
in
which
it
became

powerhouse
Metro-‐Goldwyn-‐Mayer)
had
a
studio
near
Central
Park
and
uptown,

15

spanning
between
126
TH
-‐127
TH

ST
AND
2
ND

Ave,
and
Columbia
had
a
studio
just

outside
the
city
in
Camden,
New
Jersey.
26

As
a
result,
the
cinematic
product

released
on
each
coast
became
perceptually
bifurcated—the
west
coast
films

demonstrated
Hollywood
as
an
artistic
machine,
while
the
east
coast
films
were

exemplars
of
the
industry’s
business
epicenter.

Negative
perceptions
held
by
professionals
within
the
industry
about
short

films
and
east
coast
production
could
also
inform
the
tendency
to
discredit
the
short

films
that
were
products
of
those
studios.
Amongst
those
in
the
industry,
the
east

coast
studios
were
considered
either
a
“testing
ground
for
writers,
actors
and

directors”
who
hoped
to
eventually
get
their
break
on
the
west
coast,
27

or
a

shameful
exile
for
those
directors
whose
studios
required
them
to
make
the
reverse

trip
from
west
to
east.
Koszarski
refers
to
New
York
production
as
a
“creative

vacuum”
due
to
the
resulting
talent
gap
in
major
film
production
moving
west.
28

Director
Joseph
Henaberry
explains
that
many
filmmakers
who
left
Hollywood
for

the
New
York
studios
underwent
a
process
of
“self-‐marginaliz[ation],”
feeling

“tainted
by
association
with
the
two-‐reel
comedies
and
one-‐reel
musicals
[they]

helped
create.”
29

The
comparative
lack
of
sophistication
in
content
and
innovation
in

technique
in
a
large
body
of
shorts
could
be
yet
another
a
factor
in
their

trivialization.
Besides
the
films
being
considered
“middle
brow,”
some
shorts—
specifically
musical
shorts—promoted
commercialism
over
cinematic
artistry.

With

promotion
being
the
main
intent
for
the
musical
shorts,
they
were
quickly
shot

(often
within
a
day),
loosely
scripted,
and
tended
to
be
plainly
staged.
Focus
was
put

16

on
the
product
that
was
being
sold—the
musician—
which
resulted
in
many
films

featuring
headliners
focusing
on
the
proscenium
as
the
musicians
performed
with
a

few
scattered
close
ups
of
the
headliner
or
other
enigmatic
band
members.
In

comparison
to
the
high
production
value
and
visually
compelling
features
that
the

major
studios
were
releasing
during
the
period,
many
of
the
musical
shorts
could
be

considered
uninspired
and
two-‐dimensional.

In
some
cases,
the
commercial
nature
of
musical
shorts
was
not
simply

structural
(exhibitor’s
positioning
in
program)
or
figurative
(“selling”
a
musician),

but
instead
bled
directly
into
the
film’s
diegesis,
making
its
proneness
to
promote

even
more
overt.
Considering
both
the
abbreviated
length
of
the
film
short
as
well
as

the
content
therein,
the
musical
short
was
a
fertile
medium
for
advertisement
of

music
and
musicians.
The
1933
Paramount
Pictorial
The
World
At
Large,
No.
837

was
one
such
effort
that
served
as
an
overt
advertisement
from
start
to
finish.
The

promotion
begins
as
soon
as
the
opening
credit
sequence
when
popular
talent

manager
Irving
Mills
is
introduced
as
“an
impresario
who
has
given
to
the
public

some
of
the
foremost
originators
of
modern
music.”
What
follows
are
snippets
of

selections
performed
by
three
of
his
clients,
Baron
Lee
and
his
Blue
Rhythm
Band

(also
known
as
the
Mills
Blue
Rhythm
Band),
Duke
Ellington,
and
Cab
Calloway-‐-‐
each
of
whom
Mills
proclaims
“stands
supreme
in
his
individual
field.”

The
film
is
an

early
representation
of
Mill’s
acute
understanding
of
the
power
of
short
film
as
a

promotional
tool,
as
he
used
the
medium
to
not
only
promote
three
of
his
acts,
but

also
himself.

17

In
1937,
Mills
again
overtly
utilized
the
musical
short
to
advertise
his

“products”—
both
human
and
inanimate—with
product
placement.
In
Record

Making
With
Duke
Ellington
and
his
Orchestra,
Ellington
and
his
band
essentially

bookend
an
educational
film
that
showcases
the
involved
process
of
manufacturing

analog
records
from
sound
recording,
to
plating,
to
pressing
the
shellac.
Though

filming
Ellington’s
scenes
at
the
Variety
studio
gives
the
short
an
authentic
feel,

stylization
in
the
film
is
minimal
with
only
the
occasional
use
of
wipes
and

superimpositions
to
move
between
shots.
However,
as
the
film
nears
its
conclusion,

the
shots
begin
to
focus
on
the
record
label,
“Variety,”
the
company
that
Mills
had

set
up
the
year
before
in
1936.
30

A
final
shot
of
the
label
freezes
on
the
talent

associated
with
Variety:
Duke
Ellington
and
his
Orchestra
featuring
Ivy
Anderson

singing
“Oh
Babe
Maybe
Someday,”
31

as
the
band
playing
the
selection
is

superimposed
over
the
spinning
Variety
record.

Though
certainly
interesting
as
an

educational
and
historic
artifact,
with
a
superficial
reading,
it
can
be
understood

why
many
would
believe
that
these
promotional
films
have
little
to
contribute
to
the

larger
industrial
or
social
context
of
the
film
industry.

A
final
promotional
tie-‐in
for
musical
shorts
occurred
at
the
exhibition
stage,

and
may
have
also
played
a
role
in
relegating
the
content
as
“advertisement”
and

continuing
to
shape
poor
attitudes
about
the
genre’s
“importance”
within
the

cinematic
industrial
landscape.
Prior
to
the
ruling
of
the
1948
Paramount
decree

when
the
five
major
studios
were
forced
to
divest
themselves
of
their
exhibition

spaces,
movie
theaters
not
only
played
films,
but
also
hosted
live
stage
shows;
these

theaters,
specifically
those
in
major
cities,
were
coveted
performance
spaces
for

18

artists.
In
Duke
Ellington’s
Music
is
My
Mistress,
he
lists
a
personal
career
highlight

as
having
“gained
entry
into
picture
houses,”
access
that
he
claims
was
a
pioneering

endeavor
for
big
bands
across
race.
32

Although
the
musicians’
film
contracts

contained
no
clauses
that
guaranteed
a
musician’s
booking
at
an
affiliated
studio

theater
after
filming,
booking
and
studio
records
suggest
a
close
connection

between
the
two,
nevertheless.

There
were
built
in
perks
for
musicians
filming

musical
shorts
during
the
period
(even
when
not
formally
in
writing),
and
in
many

cases,
the
perk
was
the
film
itself,
which
was
a
promotional
tool
for
a
subsequent

live
performance
at
the
studios’
theaters.
33

Thus,
it
is
possible
that
the
musical
film
short
has
historically
been
viewed
as

a
minor
cog
in
the
film
industry’s
complex
system—a
visual
reminder
of
a
forgotten

business
practice.
It
is
possible
that
the
Black
musical
short
has
been
marginalized

because
though
the
films
are
a
time
capsule
containing
enjoyable
musical

performances
of
yesteryear,
they
are
perceived
as
largely
“un-‐cinematic”
from
an

artistic
standpoint.
It
is
also
possible
that
these
shorts
have
largely
been
overlooked

because
of
their
overt
promotional
inclination
perceived
at
all
three
stages
of
pre-‐
WWII,
studio
system
filmmaking;
with
a
surface
reading,
the
musical
short

production,
distribution,
exhibition
could
be
considered
to
be
disconnected
from
the

important
social,
technological,
and
artistic
cinematic
strivings
of
the
era’s
feature

films.

However,
such
marginalization
and
subsequent
lack
of
scholarship
on
the

musical
short—specifically
the
major
studio
releases
starring
Black
artists
in
the

period
-‐-‐is
a
misstep.
In
fact,
short
films
were
vital
to
the
survival
of
the
film

19

industry
during
a
period
when
the
studios
were
floundering.
The
severe
economic

downturn
of
the
1929
stock
market
crash
and
ensuing
period
of
the
Great

Depression
took
a
toll
on
most
all
American
industry—including
the
film
industry.

During
this
trying
financial
period,
however,
short
films
continued
to
be
produced
in

large
quantities,
creating
a
much
needed
financial
cushion
for
studios.
With

abbreviated
production
schedules
and
exponentially
smaller
budgets,
the

production
of
film
shorts
allowed
for
studios
to
continue
to
produce
content
without

the
incredible
financial
risk
inherent
in
features.
In
fact,
according
to
Koszarski,
the

continued
production
of
film
shorts
kept
the
Studio
System
as
it
had
come
to
be

known
in
tact
during
the
tumultuous
period.
34

Paramount
in
particular
understood
the
financial
importance
of
its
New

York-‐based
shorts
division,
35

and
invested
more
heavily
in
the
production
of
short

films
than
any
other
studio.

While
the
studio
was
forced
to
cut
production
budgets

by
33%
in
1931,
36

it
was
not
deterred
from
making
short
films
en
masse.

From

1929-‐1942,
Paramount
went
on
to
produce
upwards
of
2000
live
action
shorts,
not

including
the
large
number
of
animated
shorts
it
also
released.

While
other
studios

were
struggling
to
turn
a
profit
in
their
shorts
department
in
the
1930s,
Paramount

lead
the
way
with
both
quantity
of
releases
and
revenue
earned
in
the
short
film

field.
Between
1933
and
1936,
Paramount
was
averaging
nearly
50%
of
the
entire

industry’s
short
film
production,
and
was
seeing
a
profit
margin
between
44%
-‐
97%,
while
the
rest
of
the
industry
was
only
able
to
reach
profits
as
high
as
54%

from
its
short
films
during
these
same
years.

20

There
were
various
contributing
factors
to
Paramount’s
financial
dominance

with
short
films
of
the
period.
First,
Paramount’s
vast
theater
circuit
allowed
the

studio
greater
opportunity
to
screen
the
shorts
than
any
other
company.
37

The

company
distributed
over
100
one
reel
(running
approximately
11
minutes)
films

each
year
during
a
period
in
which
the
“double
feature”
exhibition
practice
made

single
reel
films
more
desirable
and
profitable
than
double
reels.
38

With
a
shorter

run
time,
the
single
reel
short
was
easier
to
slot
in
between
double
features.
This

shorter
format
lent
itself
easily
to
cartoons
and
musical
shorts,
both
in
which

Paramount
had
vested
interest.
39

Secondly,
Paramount’s
particular
interest
in
music
during
the
era
created
a

natural
pool
of
content
for
its
single
reel
subjects.
In
1928,
the
company
bought
50%

of
the
shares
of
the
newly
emerging
CBS
radio,
40

which
film
historian
Joel
Waldo

Finler
says
allowed
the
company
“more
than
any
other
studio
to
exploit
the
link

between
movies
and
radio,
signing
up
numerous
radio
stars
and
dramatizing
the

link
on
the
screen…”
41

While
the
financial
hardships
of
the
Depression
and
being

forced
into
receivership
required
Paramount
to
sell
its
shares
back
to
CBS
in
1932,

the
studio’s
connection
to
radio
and
the
desire
to
bring
the
radio
program
to
the

screen
nevertheless
lingered.
The
studio
produced
upwards
of
100
musical
shorts,

from
1929-‐1942,
not
to
mention
the
countless
musical
appearances
in
the
feature

films
released
at
the
time.

It
was
at
this
same
time
in
1932,
that
Paramount
began
to
demonstrate
an

interest
in
Harlem-‐based
musicians
in
an
attempt
to
profit
from
what
the
company

called
“the
present
vogue
for
weird
Negro
rhythm
and
effects.”
42

While
the
studio

21

had
been
using
its
New
York
appendage
to
glean
white
talent
directly
from

Broadway,
suddenly
the
search
for
the
talent
pool
expanded
uptown
into
Harlem
as

the
Harlem
Renaissance
was
underway.
According
to
Koszarski,
Paramount
was

known
as
the
studio
with
the
“upscale,”
and
most
high
profile
performers,
43

and

their
Harlem
interests
were
no
exception
to
that
rule.

In
addition
to
such
popular

acts
as
Isham
Jones,
Ina
Ray
Hutton,
44

Ethel
Merman,
Vincent
Lopez,
Bob
Eberly,
Phil

Spitalny,
Jack
Teagarden
and
Hoagy
Carmichael,
Paramount
also
featured
the
top

Black
talent
during
the
period.

Through
the
Paramount
short,
Duke
Ellington,
Cab

Calloway,
and
Louis
Armstrong
were
each
able
to
transition
from
“featured”
billing

positions
in
mainstream
films
to
starring
roles
that
centered
around
them.
This
was

unprecedented
for
the
Studio
System
during
the
period,
and
in
and
if
itself
garners

importance
for
the
short
films.

Additionally,
these
short
films
featuring
Ellington,
Calloway
and
Armstrong

stand
apart
from
those
of
their
white
peers,
as
they
are
rarely
mere
staged

performances,
but
are
instead
some
of
the
Studio
System’s
earliest
representations

of
cinematic
Blackness
that
are
not
merely
in
service
to
the
whites
on
the
screen.

As
a
result,
the
musical
shorts
starring
Black
musicians
offer
a
groundbreaking

perspective
of
the
representation
of
Black
bodies
and
Black
life
in
mainstream,

Golden
Age
cinema.
The
manner
in
which
Black
bodies
and
Black
culture
are

represented
in
these
Studio
System
short
films
presents
a
thought-‐provoking,

boundary-‐pushing,
and
at
times
subversive
and
defiant
representation
of
onscreen

Blackness
that
is
otherwise
unseen
in
the
era.

22

While
of
course
there
was
a
collection
of
independent
films
featuring
Black

characters
and
centering
on
Black
life
made
by
filmmakers
like
Oscar
Micheaux,

Spencer
Williams,
Bert
Williams,
and
production
companies
like
the
Lincoln
Motion

Picture
Company,
Sack
Amusement
Enterprises,
Million
Dollar
Pictures,
and
All-‐
American
amongst
others,
these
films
were
made
primarily
for
Black
audiences
and

were
screened
in
Black
movie
theaters.
45

These
glimpses
into
Black
life,
provided
an

important
perspective
of
cultural
recognition
for
Black
audiences,
but
did
not
reach

across
the
racial
barriers
that
required
the
separate
cinema
in
the
first
place.
The

major
studio
short
operated
differently,
however,
ushering
Black
life
and
Black

bodies
into
the
mainstream;
these
Hollywood
studio
film
shorts
crossed
racial

boundaries
into
white
spaces
and
forced
Black
cultural
perspectives
onto
white

audiences
across
the
country
during
a
time
in
which
racial
segregation
and

subjugation
was
the
normal
American
practice.

Importantly,
these
short
films
offer
rare
cinematic
representations
of
an

authentic
Black
aesthetic
and
Black
representational
authenticity
to
the
mainstream

in
early
cinema
and
Hollywood
Studio
System
history.
Though
authenticity
is
a

complicated,
abstract,
and
often
off-‐putting
concept,
it
is
a
quality
that
nonetheless

exists
and
is
legible
to
those
with
what
Stuart
Hall
would
call
“discursive

knowledge”-‐-‐
or
the
necessary
tools
to
decode
encoded
messages.
46

Despite
the

tendency
towards
hesitation
in
applying
this
term,
it
is
essential
when
discussing

Black
art
and
representation—and
particularly
when
discussing
the
shifts
in

increased
cultural
agency
in
those
Black
representations.

23

“Black
authenticity”
can
be
understood
as
a
derivative
of

“Black
aesthetics”;

although
The
Black
Aesthetic
has
historically
bumped
up
against
problematic

limitations
of
cultural
essentialism,
47

cultural
theorist
Ernest
D.
Mason
provides
a

nuanced
and
evolved
framework
from
which
to
understand
the
true
pluralism
of

“Black
aesthetics.”
Mason
explains
that
the
Black
Aesthetic
is
not
in
fact
singular
or

demonstrative
of
a
Black
monolith,
but
is
instead
“the
manifold
character
of
the

Afro-‐American
experience.”
48

For
Mason,
although
the
parameters
of
Blackness
are

broad,
varied,
and
unique,
there
are
a
“cluster
of
characteristics”
that
largely
consist

of
the
combination
of
“cultural
and
social
influences”
with
“common
biological
and

psychological
traits”
from
which
a
sense
of
cultural
collectivism
can
be

understood.
49

The
grouping
of
Black
cultural
subjects
around
this
“cluster
of

characteristics”
in
turn
leads
to
“perceptions
and
judgments
that
have
a
high
degree

of
resemblance,”
according
to
Mason.
50

It
is
from
this
pool
of
perceptual

resemblance—one
that
draws
from
similarities
amongst
Black
conditions
and

experiences-‐-‐-‐
that
Black
cultural
expression
is
born,
and
from
which
a
Black

authenticity
can
be
understood.

For
this,
authenticity
is
an
articulation
of
the
Black
psyche,
and
as
explained

by
Harlem
Renaissance
philosopher
Alain
Locke,
is
received
and
understood

through
a
reciprocal
act
of
“perceptual
recognition.”
51

Like
the
Black
Aesthetic
from

which
it
is
derived,
Black
authenticity
is
a
“feel”
that
both
draws
from
and
relays
a

perceptual
Black
experience;
cultural
insiders
are
most
apt
to
“feel”
and
embrace

that
which
is
authentic,
and
bristle
or
pause
at
that
which
is
inauthentic.
It
is
that

24

knowing
head-‐nod
of
recognition—that
unprompted
act
of
Black
intracultural

exchange
that
needs
no
words,
but
through
ephemeral
abstraction
is
understood

between
the
parties
nonetheless.

Finally,
Black
authenticity,
like
the
Black
Aesthetic,
is
a
mechanism
of
self-‐
possession.
52

Where
as
Mason
explains
that
the
Black
Aesthetic
is
“an
inquiry
into

the
experiences
and
perceptions
that
black
people
have
of
themselves
and
others,”
53

the
Black
authentic
is
the
representation
and
articulation
of
those
experiences
and

self-‐possessed
perceptions.

This
dissertation
examines
the
rare
moments
in
early,
mainstream
film

history
in
which
such
Black
cultural
self-‐possession
was
realized
on
the
mainstream

cinema
screen.
Through
the
investigation
of
Black
representation
in
film
shorts

spanning
from
some
of
the
earliest
military
shorts
to
a
series
of
major
studio

musical
shorts
starring
prominent
Black
musicians
in
the
1930s,
a
representational

anomaly
is
revealed.
These
salient
shorts
present
a
departure
from
the
typical

representation
of
Blacks
on
the
mainstream
screen
up
until
WWII;
likewise,
this

analysis
is
a
departure
from
the
traditional
discourse
on
Black
representation
in

mainstream
film.

Chapter
Two
begins
with
a
focus
on
early
military
shorts
featuring
Black

soldiers,
spanning
from
cinema’s
nascence
up
until
around
WWI.
Through
the
Black

military
short,
a
rare
representation
of
de-‐spectaclized
Black
stoicism,
rooted

belongedness,
and
admirable
patriotism
was
presented
to
the
American
public
(and

beyond)
with
a
resolute,
documentary
style
matter-‐of-‐factness.

The
chapter
uses

the
military
film
as
an
entry
point
to
discuss
how
mainstream
Black
representation

25

on
film
has
historically
been
reactive;
as
Black
mobility
has
ebbed
and
flowed,
so
too

has
the
representation
of
Blacks
bodies
and
culture
on
film.

Historian
Eric
Foner
explains
that
representation
of
Blacks
in
the
military

carried
distinct
radical
and
political
implications;
however
Ed
Guerrero’s
position

about
the
“social
and
political
meanings
of
‘race’”
being
non-‐fixed
creates
an

interesting
and
complex
reading
of
Blackness
in
the
early
military
shorts.
54

Through

the
short
military
films,
a
visual
representation
of
such
ideological
flux
and

malleability
about
the
meaning
and
social
positioning
of
race
are
made
visual,

speaking
to
the
broader
social
complications
and
dominant
fears
involved
with
the

quest
for
Black
citizenry.

Using
the
discourse
of
various
historians,
sociologists,
and
military
personnel

on
the
concept
and
practice
of
morale,
we
can
come
to
understand
the
Black
military

film
as
a
propagandistic
tool
of
both
extracultural
and
intracultural
importance.
As

the
films
wavered
between
stoicism
and
stereotype
(sometimes
within
in
the
same

film),
the
warring
ideologies
at
the
root
of
the
American
race
issue
was
made

explicitly
visible.
The
chapter
will
follow
the
ways
in
which
early
Black
military
films

often
struggled
with
both
fostering
morale
(both
Black
and
white)
and
the

persistence
of
racial
prejudice.
The
films
bring
to
the
screen
the
American
race

conundrum:
Blacks
who
are
given
hope
of
dismantling
systems
of
racial
oppression

and
becoming
fully
enfranchised
through
service
and
contribution,
and
the
white

structure
that
simultaneously
uses
innovative
techniques
to
uphold
these
same

systems.

26

However,
within
this
same
genre,
fluctuations
of
Black
representation
that

mirror
the
white
masses’
fears
about
steps
towards
Black
enfranchisement
can
also

be
detected.
Black
military
films
prior
to
WWII
present
some
of
the
most
explicit

representations
of
the
cultural
conundrum
of
American
sociology;
the
films
are
a

clear
confrontation
of
the
mercurial
American
ideologies
about
race
and
Black

citizenship.
The
cultural
discourse
portrayed
within
the
fluctuating
representation

of
Black
bodies
in
these
films
is
historically
unique
and
encapsulates
both
Black

patriotism
and
the
autonomous
representation
of
Black
upward
mobility
while

simultaneously
assuaging
white
hegemonic
fears
through
the
practices
of
cultural

construction
and
“othering.”
These
films
have
long
gone
unexamined
in
scholarship

on
the
history
of
Black
representation
in
film,
and
deliver
the
nuance
of
the
Black

American
experience
at
the
turn
of
the
century.

Chapter
Three
continues
to
build
upon
this
under
examined
nuance
of
Black

cultural
representation
in
film
by
moving
the
focus
ahead
in
time
towards
the
Studio

System
era.

Socially,
the
1920s
and
1930s
was
a
period
of
evolution
for
Blacks
in

America;
it
was
during
this
time
that
Alain
Locke
introduced
his
writings
on
the

New
Negro:
Blacks
who
espoused
modernity,
sophisticated
urbanity,
upward

mobility,
middle
classness,
and
a
new
means
for
achieving
social
enfranchisement
in

the
United
States.
This
chapter
will
examine
this
modern
nuance,
and
the
ways
in

which
Black
musical
shorts
produced
by
major
studios
were
able
to
embody
and

portray
this
evolution.

Through
careful
analysis
of
these
shorts,
I
will
uncover
instances
of
Black

cultural
expression
that
were
able
to
transcend
the
same
ideological
barriers
that

27

were
ever-‐present
in
most
all
other
Hollywood
films
featuring
Blacks
during
the

period.
As
a
result,
the
short
films
demonstrate
a
valuable
alternative
to
the

dominant
cinematic
representations
of
Blacks
as
“other,”
“outsiders,”
“undesirable;”

through
these
films,
the
narrow
scope
of
American
social
citizenry
began
to
expand

in
pervasive
ways
to
include
the
Black
community.

The
development
of
sound
film
allowed
for
a
new
manner
of
communication

and
new
forms
of
expression
to
be
conveyed
to
the
cinema
audience.
This

development
was
a
particular
boon
for
the
possibilities
of
Black
representation
on

the
screen.
In
The
Signifying
Monkey,
Henry
Louis
Gates
Jr.
discusses
the
importance

of
figurative
language
in
Black
literature
and
vernacular,
however,
this
cultural

phenomenon
also
lends
itself
quite
seamlessly
to
Black
music
and
film.
Thus
the

Black
musical
short
brought
forth
a
new
and
evolved
method
of
Black
cultural

communication;
through
the
analysis
of
these
shorts
and
translation
of
the

figurative
“language”

(both
visual
and
aural)
therein,
we
can
detect
authentic
forms

of
Black
cultural
expression
not
seen
in
other
mainstream
films
of
the
period

featuring
Blacks.
Using
Ernest
D.
Mason’s
theories
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
and
various

Harlem
Renaissance
art
as
a
framework
through
which
to
read
the
films,
the
films

can
be
understood
as
fitting
into
a
tradition
and
genealogy
of
Black
art
and

expression.

Further,
application
of
the
W.E.B
Dubois’
theory
of
double-‐consciousness

and
Laura
Mulvey’s
feminist
“gaze”
theory
provide
lenses
for
oppositional
readings

of
the
Black
cultural
representation
in
the
shorts.

Dubois
argues
that
Blacks
in

America
are
burdened
by
a
figurative
“veil,”
under
which
their
self-‐expression
is

28

suppressed
and
their
self-‐worth
is
devalued.
Mulvey
claims
that
women
in
film
are

victims
of
scopophilia—passive
objects
placed
in
the
frame
to
be
actively
gazed
at

by
and
provide
visual
pleasure
for
dominant,
active
males.

While
both
Du
Bois
and

Mulvey’s
theories
focus
on
the
systemic
and
involuntary
encumbrances
imposed

upon
those
without
social
power,
I
will
use
these
same
frameworks
to
demonstrate

the
unique
manner
in
which
the
Black
musical
shorts
defy
these
theories
and

reclaim
cultural
autonomy.

Through
close
reading
of
the
Black
musical
short,
we

can
identify
rare
moments
of
Black
cinematic
defiance
in
the
mainstream
and

challenges
to
what
Ed
Guerrero
identifies
as
a
cinematic
tradition
of
“white-
dominated symbolic order and racial hierarchy.”
55

Although
the
musical
short
provided
an
avenue
for
a
variety
of
Black
artists
-‐
-‐including
Bessie
Smith,
56

Ethel
Waters,
57

Sammy
Davis
Jr.,
Lena
Horne,
Dorothy

Dandridge,
The
Mills
Brothers,
and
Fats
Waller-‐-‐
to
be
prominently
featured
in

starring
roles,
Cab
Calloway,
Duke
Ellington,
and
Louis
Armstrong
had
the
most

provocative,
subversive,
and
expansive
film
short
catalogues
amongst
the
majors.

To
some
degree,
all
of
these
film
shorts
featuring
Black
personas
in
starring
roles

were
progressive;
there
were
few
opportunities
for
Blacks
on
the
mainstream

screen
during
the
period,
and
the
limited
number
of
roles
were
most
always

supporting
roles.
Though
the
Black
musical
short
moved
Black
bodies
from
the

background
into
the
spotlight,
many
of
these
films
still
played
into
stereotypical

tropes
and
acts
of
“othering”
that
was
commonplace
in
feature-‐length
films.

This
chapter
focuses
particularly
on
Ellington
and
Calloway,
who
stand
apart

in
the
genre,
both
because
of
the
quantity
of
shorts
they
made
and
because
of
the

29

sheer
power
of
their
celebrity
during
the
period,
which
offered
the
two
more

favorable
roles
and
representations.
Unlike
the
Black
artists
in
the
majority
of
the

era’s
film
shorts,
Ellington
and
Calloway
are
not
simply
“performers”
in
their
films;

instead,
the
musicians
are
ambassadors
to
both
the
Black
screen
space
and

representatives
of
Black
modernity
and
upward
mobility.

It
is
also
important
to
note
that
although
white
men
were
largely
responsible

for
the
production
of
these
films
under
the
intricate
umbrella
of
the
Studio
System,

progressive
ideologies
of
Black
modernity
and
the
Black
Aesthetic
permeated

through
these
films
in
ways
that
would
not
again
become
apparent
in
film
until

decades
after
the
Civil
Rights
Movement.

Using
cinema
to
create
a
space
of
“cultural

tourism,”
the
Black
musical
shorts
does
important
work
to
invite
cultural
outsiders

into
otherwise
removed
and
“folkloric”
Black
spaces
while
simultaneously
working

to
“unother”
the
people
that
inhabited
them.
In
this
way,
I
will
argue
that
these
short

films
work
to
disrupt
Peter McGowan’s concept of the “visual economy of observing
Otherness” within the construct of racial spectacle.
58

While
Chapter
Three
examines
the
ways
in
which
shorts
films
invited

cultural
outsiders
into
Black
spaces,
Chapter
Four
reverses
this
cross-‐cultural

movement,
instead
investigating
how
short
film
provided
an
atypical
means
for

Black
bodies
and
Black
culture
to
cross
into
white
spaces
and
operate
therein
on

their
own
accord.
This
specific
method
of
cultural
integration—a
flow
in
which
the

30

disenfranchised
move
into
dominant
white
spaces
of
their
own
volition—
presents

the
complexities
of
integration
and
the
pursuit
of
social
citizenry.

Drawing
from
Janet
Murray’s
theories
on
immersion,
Chapter
Four
discusses

how
the
Black
musical
shorts
used
medium-‐specific
techniques
to
force
white

audiences
into
cultural
spaces
and
experiences.
The
cinematic
method
created
a
site

of
confrontation
and
disorientation
for
white
viewers,
and
as
a
result
worked
to

demythologize
Black
cultural
representations
and
create
a
metaphysical
cultural

balance
between
the
film
world
and
world
of
the
audience.
Through
this
Black
short

film
practice,
Black
bodies
and
culture
were
given
means
to
disrupt
the
tradition
of

being
“othered”
on
the
screen.

This
boundary
crossing,
however,
did
not
come
without
its
share
of
reactions

and
socio-‐cultural
complexities.
Chapter
Four
also
surveys
the
ways
in
which

cultural
immersion
and
Black
integration
into
white
spaces
was
often
seen
as
an
act

of
infiltration
and
invasion.

Using
Stuart
Hall’s
methodology
of
decoding
hidden

cultural
messaging
as
described
in
his
seminal
“
Encoding/Decoding,”
the
chapter

works
to
interpret
and
contextualize
the
ideologies
obscured
within
the
short
film

syntax.
Through
textual
analysis
and
the
process
of
decoding
encoded
Black

messages
in
the
films,
Black
voices
that
were
not
only
socially
disenfranchised,
but

had
also
been
largely
silenced
within
the
film
industry
itself
are
revealed.

This
section
puts
a
select
group
of
films
and
Fleischer
cartoons
starring,

Calloway,
Ellington,
and
Armstrong
in
conversation
with
one
another
as
a
method
of

decoding
ideologies
about
race,
class,
colorism,
and
specifically
the
ways
in
which

film
was
used
to
convey
those
ideologies
and
social
anxieties.

The
chapter
also

31

investigates
the
manner
in
which
satire,
caricature,
and
celebrity
persona
were
used

as
paradoxical
mechanisms
to
both
create
barriers
and
transcend
borders.

Through

applying
both
Hall’s
interpretive
theory
and
Henry
Louis
Gates
Jr.’s
Black
cultural

process
of
“signifyin(g)”
to
readings
of
the
films,
the
films
offer
oppositional

readings
in
which
the
Black
characters
are
understood
to
be
active,
defiant,
and

responsive
to
the
dominant
white
structure.

The
final
chapter
will
examine
moments
of
transcendence
in
Black

representation
on
screen.
Building
upon
both
the
foundation
of
Black
social

persuasion
created
in
the
Black
musical
shorts
until
the
mid-‐1930s
and
the
tensions

created
by
the
impending
threat
of
the
Second
World
War,
representation
of
Blacks

in
short
films
and
their
affiliated
celebrity
began
to
shift
at
the
tail
end
of
the
1930s.

During
this
period,
Blacks
were
no
longer
using
film
as
a
tool
to
seek
social

citizenship,
but
were
instead
claiming
their
place
in
both
direct
and
subversive
ways

on
the
screen.

Both
the
early
Black
military
short
and
Golden
Age
studio
shorts
starring

Black
performers
serve
as
an
unprecedented
point
of
Black
entry
into
“white”
film

space,
and
as
an
extension,
into
the
larger
American
landscape.
The
critical
access

point
occurs
not
only
within
the
diegetic
film
world,
but
also
figuratively
within

affiliated
white
exhibition
spaces
and
upon
the
white
psyche;
the
result
is
a

subversive
Black
proclamation
of
social
citizenship.
This
entry-‐-‐this
cultural
border

crossing—decenters
the
cultural
essentialism
of
early
cinema
and
Golden
Age

Hollywood,
in
which
whiteness
was
qualified
a
“desirable”
and
“American”
while

Blackness
was
positioned
as
“undesirable”
and
“other.”

32

The
short
film
provided
a
means
to
both
document
and
fuel
these
important

cultural
shifts
for
Blacks
seeking
social
citizenship
in
America.

Whether
through

overt,
patriotic
representations
in
military
films
or
through
pop
cultural

entertainment
showcases,
short
films
prior
to
World
War
II
provided
a
unique
arena

in
which
alternative
Black
representation
was
given
space
to
flourish
before
the

masses.

Within
these
short
films,
we
are
given
glimpses
of
Black
cultural
truth,

agency
in
representation,
and
conveyances
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
that
was
rarely

present
in
feature
length
films
featuring
Blacks
during
the
period.
The
short
films

challenged
dominant
white
ideologies
and
reshaped
the
tradition
of
unhinged
Black

spectacle
on
the
screen;
instead
the
Black
shorts
brought
the
mainstream
audience

in
to
observe
meaningful
and
culturally
significant
glimpses
of
Black
American
life.

In
the
following
select
short
films,
we
are
given
rare
access
to
screened

representations
of
Black
upward
mobility,
impactful
Black
contributions
to
the

United
States
at
large,
and
films
that
work
to
normalize,
challenge,
and
root
Black

Americans
into
the
larger
social
landscape
of
the
country.

Notes:

1

Brigit
Katz,
“Found:
The
Earliest
Depiction
of
a
Black
Couple
Kissing,”
Smithsonian

Magazine,
December
19,
2019,

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-‐news/found-‐earliest-‐cinematic-‐
depiction-‐black-‐couple-‐kissing-‐180971065/.

2

Katz.

3

Brittany
Wong,
“The
Early
Film
Depicting
Black
Love
Went
Hidden
For
Years,”

Huffington
Post,
December
18,
2018,

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/rediscovered-‐silent-‐film-‐black-‐
love_n_5c17eda0e4b08db990566656.

4
Lila
MacLellan,
“The
Story
Behind
the
First
Depiction
Of
African-‐American
Love
on

Screen,”
Quartzy.
January
12,
2019,

33

https://qz.com/quartzy/1505068/the-‐story-‐behind-‐the-‐first-‐depiction-‐of-‐african-‐
american-‐love-‐on-‐screen/.

5
Clifton
Crais
and
Pamela
Scully,
Sara
Baartman
and
the
Hottentot
Venus:
A
Ghost

Story
and
a
Biography
(New
Jersey:
Princeton
University
Press,
2008),
70-‐81.

6

Hugh
Schofield,
“Human
Zoos:
Where
Real
People
Were
Exhibits”
BBC
News

Magazine,
December
27,
2011,

https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-‐16295827.

7

Edward
B
McDowell,
“The
World’s
Fair
Cosmopolis,”
Frank
Leslie’s
Popular

Monthly
36
(1893):
415.

8

Mikhail
Bakhtin,
Rabelais
and
His
World,
trans.
Helene
Iswolsky
(Cambridge,
MA:

The
M.I.T.
Press,
1968),
3-‐13.

9

Philip
McGowan,
American
Carnival:
Seeing
and
Reading
American
Culture

(Westport,
CT:
Greenwood
Press,
2001),
ix.

10
Ed
Guerrero,
Framing
Blackness:
The
African
American
Image
in
Film
(Philadelphia,

PA:
Temple
University
Press,
1993),
2.

11

Tom
Gunning,
“The
Cinema
of
Attraction:
Early
Film,
Its
Spectator,
and
the
Avant-‐
Garde,”
Wide
Angle
8.3
(1986):
70.

12

Gunning,
64-‐66.

13

Ibid.,
64.

14

There
is
great
irony
in
the
evolution
of
the
cakewalk
dance.
Originally
a
dance

performed
by
Black
American
slaves
who
were
mimicking
their
white
slave
owners,

the
dance
began
to
be
identified
as
a
form
of
Black
cultural
performativity
by
whites

who
did
not
realize
they
were
being
made
fun
of.
The
dance
style
became

immensely
popular
and
was
used
as
cultural
identifier
in
a
variety
of
media

featuring
Black
representation
and
minstrelsy
shows.

Eventually,
the
dance
became

so
popular
that
whites
also
began
to
perform
the
dance—emulating
the
Blacks
who,

unbeknownst
to
the
whites,
were
mimicking
them.

15

Guerrero,
4.

16

McGowan,
25.

17

Ibid.,
x.

18

Guerrero,
4.

19

McGowan,
2.

20

Richard
Koszarski,
Hollywood
on
the
Hudson:
Film
and
Television
in
New
York
from

Griffith
to
Sarnoff
(New
Jersey:
Rutgers
University
Press,
2008),
399.

21
Douglas
Gomery,
The
Hollywood
Studio
System:
A
History
(London:
British
Film

Institute,
2005),
85.

22

Larry
Kent
in
“Paramount
Shorts
Win
Wide
Acclaim”,
Publix
Opinion
(September

5,
1930),
1.

23

In
1940,
a
consent
decree
was
filed
in
Federal
District
Court
for
the
Southern

District
of
New
York
as
an
agreement
made
by
the
five
major
studios
(Paramount,

Warner
Brothers,
MGM,
RKO,
and
Twentieth
Century
Fox)
to
end
blind-‐bidding
and

block-‐booking
of
short
films.
The
decree
was
followed
up
in
1948
by
the
Paramount

Decision:
an
antitrust
lawsuit
in
which
the
five
major
studios
were
forced
to
divest

themselves
of
their
exhibition
spaces.

24

Jack
Alicoate,
“Short
Subjects,”
Film
Daily,
February
24,
1930,
1.

34

25

Koszarski,
399.

26

For
more
on
locations
and
operations
of
the
major
studios
in
New
York,
see

Koszarski,
pp.
101-‐140.

27

Koszarski,
202.

28

Ibid.,
181-‐182.

29

Joseph
Henaberry,
Before,
In
and
After
Hollywood
(Lanham,
MD:
Scarecrow
Press,

1997),
297-‐298.

30

Duke
Ellington,
Music
is
My
Mistress
(Garden
City,
New
York:
Da
Capo,
1973),
87.

31

Ivy
Anderson
spelled
her
name
both
“Ivy”
and
“Ivie”
throughout
her
career.

Throughout
this
dissertation,
the
chosen
spelling
will
coincide
with
the
spelling

associated
with
the
performance
at
the
time.

32

Ibid.,
77.

33

The
meticulous
records
kept
of
Duke
Ellington’s
schedule
throughout
the
years

provides
great
insight
into
the
promotional
link
between
filmed
musical
artists
and

their
resultant
stage
appearances
in
the
studios’
theaters.
As
an
example,
on
April

21
st
,
1929,
Duke
Ellington
broke
the
color
line
at
RKO’s
Palace
Theater,
becoming

the
first
“colored”
orchestra
to
perform
on
stage;
four
months
later
he
was
at
RKO’s

Gramercy
Studios
in
New
York
filming
his
first
musical
short
for
the
studio,
Black

and
Tan
(Murphy).

In
1931,
Ellington
was
contracted
again
by
RKO
to
film
a

segment
in
Check
and
Double
Check
(Brown)
in
Los
Angeles
from
August
27
th

to
31
st
.

After
traveling
back
to
New
York
by
train
for
5
days,
the
band
immediately

headlined
at
the
Palace
Theater
for
a
week-‐long
engagement.
In
February
1934,

Ellington
and
his
band
traveled
to
Hollywood
to
begin
production
on
several

projects
for
Paramount,
including,
Murder
at
the
Vanities,
Belle
of
the
Nineties,
Many

Happy
Returns
(Calloway
played
the
music
for
Guy
Lombardo’s
character),
and
a

segment
in
a
Paramount
Newsreel,
“Hollywood
on
Parade.”

Wrapping
preliminary

shooting
on
March
26
th
,
Ellington
was
immediately
engaged
at
the
Paramount

Theater
in
Los
Angeles
from
March
29
th
-‐April
4
th
.

The
band
toured
heavily

throughout
the
country
until
the
end
of
September,
when
their
touring
congregated

along
the
Eastern
Seaboard.
Once
Ellington
had
again
laid
roots
in
the
east,
he

reported
to
Paramount’s
Eastern
Service
Studios
in
Astoria
to
film
his
headlining

film,
Symphony
in
Black:
A
Rhapsody
of
Negro
Life.

34

Koszarski,
205.

35

Ibid.

36

Gomery,
87.

37

Interoffice
Memo,
“Single
Reel
Subjects:
United
States
and
Canada,”
(June
30,

1936),
9.

Special
Collections,
Margaret
Herrick
Library:
Academy
of
Motion
Pictures

and
Sciences,
Beverly
Hills,
CA

38
“Single
Reel
Subjects:
United
States
and
Canada,”
10.

39

Paramount
was
the
producer
of
the
many
Fleischer
animated
films
throughout

the
Golden
Age.
The
popular
Popeye,
Betty
Boop,
and
Koko
the
Clown
cartoons
were

all
originally
produced
with
Paramount
as
a
parent
company.

40

See
Meg
James,
“End
of
an
Era:
CBS
to
Sell
its
Historic
Radio
Division,”
LA
Times,

March
15,
2016;
Joel
Waldo
Finler,
The
Hollywood
Story
(London:
Wallflower
Press,

2003),
183;
and
Gomery,
87.

35

41

Finler,
183.

42

“Short
Shots,”
Film
Daily,
February
14,
1932,
5.

43

Koszarski,
201-‐203.

44

Ina
Ray
Hutton
and
her
All
Girl
Orchestra
was
another
act
managed
by
Irving
Mills

and
also
was
contracted
for
several
musical
shorts
with
Paramount.

45

For
more
on
Black
exhibition
and
viewing
practices,
see
Jacqueline
Stewart,

Migrating
to
the
Movies:
Cinema
and
Black
Urban
Modernity
(Berkeley:
University
of

California
Press,
2005).

46

Stuart
Hall,
“Encoding,
decoding,”
in
The
Cultural
Studies
Reader
(New
York,

Routledge,
1993),
91-‐93.

47

“The
Black
Aesthetic”
was
a
term
and
ideology
coined
by
cultural
critic
Larry
Neal

and
embraced
by
thinkers
and
artists
involved
in
the
Black
Arts
Movement

beginning
in
the
late
1960s.
The
essence
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
was
an
embrace
and

celebration
of

had
Black
cultural
identity,
while
the
motives
of
the
Black
Aesthetic

were
to
operate
in
defiance
of
oppressive
and
established
white
ideologies.
For
this

distinction,
although
this
term
was
not
coined
until
the
era
of
the
Black
Power

Movement,
there
are
many
examples
of
the
essence
of
Black
Aestheticism
being

produced
in
Black
works
before
the
late
1960s—particularly
during
the
ripe
era
of

Black
cultural
production
during
the
Harlem
Renaissance.

See
Larry
Neal,
“The

Black
Arts
Movement,”
in
A
Turbulent
Voyage:
Readings
in
African
American
Studies,

ed.
Floyd
Hayes
III
(San
Diego:
Collegiate
Press,
2000),
236-‐246.

48

Ernest
D.
Mason,
“Black
Art
and
the
Configurations
of
Experience:
The
Philosophy

of
the
Black
Aesthetic,”
CLA
Journal
27:1
(1983):
15.

49

Ibid.,
11-‐14.

50

Ibid.,
14.

51

Alain
Locke,
“Values
and
Imperatives,”
in
American
Philosophy
Today
and

Tomorrow,
ed.
Horace
M.
Kallen
and
Sidney
Hook
(New
York:
Books
for
Libraries

Press,
1935),
320-‐321.

52

Ibid.,
12.

53

Ibid.,
2.

54

Guerrero,
41.

55

Guerrero,
2.

56

Bessie
Smith
starred
in
the
first
major
studio
Black
musical
short,
St.
Louis
Blues

(Murphy),
in
September
1929.
Immediately
following
the
release
of
MGM’s
August

release
of
the
Black-‐cast
musical
Hallelujah,
St.
Louis
Blues
served
as
a
catalyst
for

the
new
manner
in
which
Black
bodies
could
be
used
in
film
as
sound
film
emerged.

Industrially
innovative
and
progressive,
Smith’s
only
film
was
less
progressive

socially.
The
narrative
of
St.
Louis
Blues
is
entirely
vice
driven,
perpetuating
Black

cultural
stereotypes
of
gambling,
violence,
misogyny,
and
alcoholism.

57

A
1929
Variety
article
mentioned
Ethel
Water’s
prominence
in
Harlem
and

beyond,
identifying
her
as
the
“most
popular
and
highest
paid
black
female

entertainer
in
the
world.”
However,
despite
her
popularity,
she
seemed
to
have
little

autonomy
in
her
representation,
as
her
characters
rarely
challenged
racial

stereotypes.
Waters
was
often
cast
as
kerchief-‐wearing
maids
and
mammy
types

that
were
struggling
in
lower
class
settings,
and
her
short
films
of
the
1930s,

36

Bubbling
Over
(Jason,
1934),
Rufus
Jones
for
President

(Mack,
1933),
Change
Your

Luck
(McCarey,1933)
are
no
exception.

58

McGowan,
ix.

37

Chapter
1:

Black
Patriotism
as
Social
and
Cinematic
Spectacle:
Morale,

Ideology
and
the
Long
Life
of
“Rookies
after
Two
Days
Training”

Though parlayed simply as entertainment, film, like the American carnival, is not
socially benign; when dealing with representations of race, the space is often shaped to
establish or uphold the hegemonic mores of white supremacy. Cinema brought the
American carnival to film, and with it, the easily adapted Black spectacle. The Black
cinematic spectacle was pervasive and enduring, permeating and evolving itself into
cinema history. The social function of the Black cinematic spectacle was so persistent in
fact, that it at times seemed to operate unchecked, creating unbalanced layers of
counterintuitive messaging.
Early American military films made this abstract dynamic particularly legible.
Functioning as a propagandistic tool, military films worked to showcase a national
indomitability through their focus on a large, organized, and unified military body.
However, as an ideological tool, the films often disrupted the propaganda they were
working to establish, focusing on Blackness as spectacle, chaotic, and other. Thus, the
Black military shorts make visible the inherent social “glitch” of Black American
patriotism and citizenship—the conflict of simultaneously occupying a space of both
belonging and unbelonging, inclusivity and exclusivity.

38

The Black military short at once offers rare and empowering early cinematic
images of Black order, dignity, and austerity while also at times promoting familiar
images and well-established tropes of Black otherness. The conflict between the boost in
Black morale at the turn of the century and the suppressive strategies of Black
disenfranchisement were often at war in the Black military short. The rise of Black
modernity and the desire for Black social citizenship further complicated these films in
ways previously undetected in media created for integrated audiences. These films
expose the racial conundrum at the turn of the century, and highlight the ideological
slippage that resulted in white reactiveness and Black subversiveness—both in the name
of national identity.

Edison’s
earliest
films
in
the
late
1890s
included
a
slew
of
documentary
style

shorts
of
servicemen
engaging
in
everyday
military
activities
during
the
Spanish-‐
American
War
of
1898.
These
films
separated
themselves
from
both
his

carnivalesque
and
ethnic-‐based
anthropological
films,
which
focused
on
using
film

to
mark
the
“absurd”
or
“the
other.”
Instead,
Edison
played
up
the
documentary-‐
style
realism
in
the
military
films,
advertising
them
as
“…
pictures
of
stirring
camp

life,
transportation
of
troops,
and
general
bustle
of
military
preparations.
They
are

sure
to
satisfy
the
craving
of
the
general
public
for
the
absolutely
true
and
accurate

details
regarding
the
movement
of
the
United
States
army
getting
ready
for
the

invasion
of
Cuba.”
1

For
Edison,
the
intrigue
of
these
films
was
their
“natural”

39

quality—the
ability
to
showcase
the
American
military
in
all
of
its
truth
and
even

mundanity.

In
1898,
Edison
produced
twenty-‐one
shorts
capturing
various
political,

journalistic,
and
militaristic
aspects
of
U.S.
preparation
for
the
Spanish-‐American

War.
Of
these
twenty-‐one
films
two
focused
on
Black
servicemen:
Colored
Troops

Disembarking
(1898)
and
The
Ninth
U.S.
Cavalry
Watering
Horses
(1898).
The

pragmatic
film
titles
provide
an
explanation
for
the
content:
Colored
Troops

Disembarking
features
the
2
nd

Battalion
of
the
24
th

Colored
Infantry
arriving
in
Cuba

and
disembarking
down
a
steep
ship
plank
with
their
gear;
The
Ninth
U.S.
Cavalry

Watering
Horses
features
the
all-‐black
regiment
of
Buffalo
Soldiers
riding
their

horses
to
water
in
Tampa,
Florida.
The
films
fit
in
easily
amongst
the
others
in

Edison’s
wartime
catalogue,
such
as
10
th

U.S.
Infantry,
2
nd

Battalion,
Leaving
Cars

(1898),
in
which
formations
of
white
soldiers
exit
train
cars
in
Tampa,
and
Trained

Calvary
Horses
(1898),
in
which
white
soldiers
of
the
Troop
F,
6
th

Calvary

demonstrate
their
control
over
well-‐trained
military
horses.
Colored
Troops

Disembarking
and
The
Ninth
U.S.
Cavalry
Watering
Horses,
both
prominently

featuring
Black
subjects,
did
not
differ
from
the
representation
of
those
featuring

white
subjects,
and
the
overall
tone
of
military
life—stoic
and
noble—remained
the

same
across
the
catalogue,
despite
race.
2

Unlike
Edison’s
demeaning
and
spectaclized
representations
of
Black

subjects
in
films
such
as
Watermelon
Contest
(1896),
Watermelon
Eating
Contest

(1900),
and
A
Morning
Bath
(1896),
his
military
films
portrayed
the
Black
subjects

in
a
new,
progressive
light;
the
service
men
were
shown
as
capable,
distinguished,

40

and
human.
This
shift
in
Black
representation
was
not
unique
to
Edison
with
respect

to
military
films.

One
of
Edison’s
early
short
film
competitors,
Sigmund
Lubin,

likewise
advertised
his
Black
military
short,
Colored
Invincibles
(1898),
by

summarizing
the
film
as
“the
colored
troop,
the
so-‐called
immunes,
who
went
away

to
fight
with
as
much
zeal
as
their
white
brothers…This
is
one
of
the
scenes
where

the
colored
man
is
accepted
as
a
brother
in
arms,
for
his
work
in
the
field
was
equal,

if
not
superior
at
times,
to
his
white
companions.”
3

An
advertisement
in
The
New
York
Clipper
for
Lubin’s
Colored
Invincibles

further
suggests
the
U.S.
military
as
a
distinct
site
in
which
the
representation
of

racial
ideologies
of
the
racist
hegemony
was
secondary
to
the
portrayal
of
the

military
as
a
powerful
and
organized
force.
The
ad
features
Colored
Invicibles
as
one

in
a
series
of
twelve
military
films
highlighting
prowess,
strength
and
victory.

Despite
the
serious,
propagandistic
content,
cinema
was
still
considered
a
novelty

“spectacle”
at
this
time;
as
such,
the
advertisement
for
Colored
Invincibles
(along

with
an
ad
promoting
14
“Genuine
Edison”
films)
is
situated
amongst
a
page
full
of

advertisements
for
traditional,
carnivalesque
attractions.
From
want
ads
calling
for

burlesque
dancers,
to
a
street
fair
looking
for
jugglers,
contortionists,
and
magicians,

the
page
is
the
landscape
of
“spectacle.”
Barnum
and
Bailey
take
up
the
most
real

estate
on
the
page,
searching
for
“Living
Curiosities
and
Freaks,”
including
a
midget,

a
giant,
a
human
pin
cushion,
a
card
playing
pig,
a
glass
and
poison
eater,
and
a

Black
Tom.
4

Thus,
the
display
and
performance
of
Blackness
was
still
very
much

relished
in
the
form
of
performative
spectacle
during
the
period;
however,
the

41

military
film
offered
a
progressive
alternative
for
Black
screen
representation

before
the
turn
of
the
century.

The
military
films
of
the
Spanish-‐American
War
era
suggested
a
change

occurring
in
American
ideologies
about
race.
In
his
essay,
“The
Whites
of
Their

Eyes,”
cultural
theorist
Stuart
Hall
discusses
the
media’s
role
in
the
popularization

of
racist
ideologies,
and
claims
that
the
media’s
main
function
is
the
“production
and

transformation
of
ideologies.”
5

In
these
early
films
shot
of
Black
servicemen
during

the
Spanish-‐American
war,
an
emerging
cultural
ideology
about
“place”
in
the

United
States,
and
a
sense
of
national
belongedness
was
being
both
captured
and

constructed.
The
films,
both
in
advertisement
and
practice,
conveyed
military

service
as
the
means
to
a
future
of
racial
equality
for
Black
Americans
and
the

irrevocable
path
to
Black
enfranchisement.
These
films
worked
to
move
away
from

the
history
of
stereotype
and
degradation
in
Black
media
representation,
making
the

umbrella
of
patriotism
and
nationality
of
primary
unifying
importance.

These
pre-‐
turn-‐of-‐the-‐century
military
films
constructed
a
cinema
rarity,
normalizing
the

Black
figures
and
positioning
them
amongst
the
American
citizenry.

In
the
case
of
the
Black
Spanish-‐American
War
soldiers,
historian
Eric

Foner’s
stance
that
military
service
is
always
“a
politicizing
and
radicalizing

experience”
easily
translated
to
the
screen.
6

Although
the
U.S.
military
was
still
a

racially
segregated
body
during
this
period,
these
films
nevertheless
worked
to

position
the
Black
soldier
alongside
their
white
compatriots
through
film
tone
and

even
within
the
film
catalogues;
this
representation
of
Black
patriotism
was

particularly
progressive
and
radical.

The
Black
military
films
were
provocative,

42

portraying
some
of
the
earliest
recorded
films
images
of
the
U.S.
military
regardless

of
race,
but
also
demonstrating
a
subversive
defiance
by
showcasing,
as
Thomas

Cripps
says,
“crisp
armed
black
men
outside
of
their
prescribed
‘place’.”
7

The

cinematic
representation
of
Black
soldiers
on
screen
in
the
late
1800s
provided
a

rare
circumstance
in
which
Black
media
representation
was
disengaged
from
the

common
menial
and
demeaning
tropes,
and
was
moved
instead
into
a
social
space

that
had
historically
been
off
limits.
Through
these
late
19
th

century
military
films,

the
portrayal
of
Black
bodies
moving
outside
of
their
restricted,
socio-‐culturally

prescribed

“place,”
and
into
the
greater
American
cultural
space,
was
an
impactful

statement
about
the
potential
for
Black
social
citizenship
moving
into
the
20
th

century.

The
positive
and
humanizing
representation
of
Black
military
figures

extended
beyond
military
ranks,
and
was
an
incredible
boon
for
Black
cultural

morale
in
the
United
States
as
the
turn
of
the
century
approached.
U.S.
Brigadier

General
James
A.
Ulio
theorizes
that
the
creation
of
“morale”
is
of
the
utmost

importance
in
organizing
groups
of
people;
however,
he
contends
there
is
difficulty

in
identifying
morale,
as
it
is
a
“feeling”
that
is
not
definable
by
language.
8

Sociologist
Daniel
La
Rue
and
philosopher
William
Ernest
Hocking
each
delve

deeper
into
the
ephemeral
nature
of
morale,
attempting
at
minimum
to
categorize

the
indefinable
“feeling”
of
morale.
La
Rue
claims
that
the
feeling
of
morale
is
the

feeling
equality;
9

Hocking
concludes
that
the
feeling
is
a
state
of
freedom
and
control

of
one’s
energy
and
mental
condition.
10

Thus,
although
none
of
these
positions
are

able
to
provide
clear
and
concise
definitions
on
what
constitutes
“morale,”
they
each

43

recognize
that
“morale”
is
the
result
of
an
individual
or
group’s
feelings
of
access
to

autonomy
and
equity.

Brigadier
General
Ulio
goes
on
to
explain
that
“military
and
civilian
morale

are
welded
inseparably,”
11

thus
the
positive
morale
that
resulted
from
the
positive

representations
of
the
Black
servicemen
on
the
screen
was
not
only
felt
by
the
men

as
Black
soldiers,
but
also
by
the
men
as
Black
American
citizens.
Extrapolating
one

step
further,
as
cultural
representation
extends
beyond
the
parameters
of
the
screen

and
onto
the
larger
cultural
body,
the
positive
morale
experienced
by
the
Black

figures
on
the
screen
adhered
itself
to
the
larger
populous
of
Black
Americans

outside
of
the
screen.

The
social
morale
created
both
within
and
by
the
films

featuring
Black
soldiers
from
the
late
1800s
coincided
quite
directly
with
Black

Americans’
ubiquitous
aspirations
for
equality,
freedom,
and
agency
moving
into
the

20
th

century.
It
would
seem
that
patriotism—particularly
via
the
sacrifice
of
military

service—was
an
assured
path
to
enfranchisement
and
citizenship.

The
beginning
of
the
20
th

century
was
a
fertile
period
for
Black
social
growth

and
the
fortification
of
measures
intended
to
grant
Black
Americans
true
social

citizenship.

Leading
up
to
World
War
I,
Black
Americans
became
extremely

organized
in
their
fight
for
equality
and
strivings
for
upward
mobility.
There
were
a

series
race
riots
and
protests
around
the
country
in
which
the
focus
was
fighting

against
discrimination.
Core
civil
rights
and
Black
empowerment
groups
were

established,
including
the
NAACP,
Marcus
Garvey’s
UNIA,
The
National
Urban

League,
The
Niagara
Movement,
and
The
Association
for
the
Study
of
African

American
Life
and
History.

A
string
of
Black
newspapers
and
journals
began
being

44

published
around
the
country
catering
to
Black
topics
and
highlighting
Black

excellence,
including
The
Pittsburgh
Courier,
The
Chicago
Defender,
New
York

Amsterdam
News,
The
Crisis,
and
The
Journal
of
Negro
History.

The
first
Black

fraternities
and
sororities
were
founded
at
various
universities
around
the
country.

And
finally,
the
geographical
boundaries
of
the
Black
community
began
to
shift
and

broaden,
as
the
Great
Migration
swept
up
Blacks
from
rural
Southern
areas
and

moved
them
northward
towards
urban
areas
with
greater
opportunities.
Upward

mobility
was
percolating
within
the
Black
community,
and
Black
social
morale
was

at
an
all
time
high-‐-‐
or
else
vigorously
defended
when
threatened.

This
socio-‐political
upswing
was
met
with
white
fear
and
resistance;
Black

morale
outside
of
wartime
threatened
the
white
hegemonic
power
structure.
During

the
period
between
the
Spanish-‐American
War
and
World
War
I,
there
were

structural
and
systemic
actions
taken
to
decrease
Black
morale,
disrupt
Black

organization,
and
reestablish
feelings
of
Black
disenfranchisement
and
stasis.
The

attack
was
varied
and
occurred
on
multiple
fronts.

Various
acts
of
white
terrorism

and
oppression
tactics
against
Blacks
increased
throughout
the
country
ranging

from
a
series
of
racially-‐motivated
murders,
a
succession
of
race
riots,
and
the

“Antiradical
Crusade”,
which
worked
to
suppress
the
delivery
of
Black
journals
and

newspapers
to
their
subscribers.
12

Black
progress
was
even
thwarted
in
film,
as
ideologies
about
Black
mobility

were
reconfigured.
Hall
contends
that
despite
traditional
definitions
of
“ideology”
in

which
the
system
is
fortified
by
its
fixity,
that
“ideology”
is
in
fact
a
practice
that

requires
maintenance
and
adaptability
in
order
to
survive.
Critical
theorist

45

Nathaniel
Mackey
offers
a
similar
perspective
in
his
essay
“Other:
From
Noun
to

Verb,”
as
he
discusses
the
practice
of
“social
othering”—

the
effect
of
successfully

subjecting
and
maintaining
racialized
ideologies
onto
Black
bodies
and
Black

cultural
practices.
13

For
both
Hall
and
Mackey,
using
media
to
maintain
ideologies
is

extremely
powerful
and
has
the
ability
to
shape
and
influence
societies
with
near

effortlessness.
Hall
claims
that
media
forms
are
“apparatuses
of
ideological

production”
which
have
the
ability
to
both
“‘produce’
social
meanings
and
distribute

them
throughout
society”
(emphasis
mine).
14

As
a
result,
film
became
an
apt

mechanism
for
the
maintenance
of
dominant
white
ideologies.

While
Jim
Crow
created
an
undercurrent
of
structural
Black

disenfranchisement,
the
evolving
film
industry
used
its
own
powerful
mechanisms

for
its
preservation.

In
Black
Film,
White
Money,
author
Jesse
Algeron
Rhimes’

attributes
the
shifting
prevalence
towards
regressive
Black
representations
on

screen
to
the
introduction
of
mass
film
viewing
and
the
evolution
of
editing

techniques
as
a
narrative
device.
15

For
Rhimes,
while
“cutting”
undoubtedly
moved

the
medium
forward
and
revealed
the
extent
of
cinema’s
capabilities,
one
of
its
main

conventions
was
to
also
demoralize
Blacks
through
denigrating
representations.

With
the
introduction
of
editing
as
a
narrative
device,
the
Black
cinematic
spectacle

was
reborn.

The
1915
release
of
D.W.
Griffith’s
Birth
of
a
Nation,
a
film
which
historians

John
Hope
Franklin
and
Alfred
A.
Moss
Jr.
claimed
“did
more
than
any
other
single

thing
to
nurture
and
promote
the
myth
of
black
domination
and
debauchery
during

Reconstruction,”
16

is
an
apt
case
study
for
this
jarring
and
highly
politicized
shifting

46

perspective
in
Black
representation
in
media.
Revered
as
a
technical
marvel,

Griffith’s
film
laid
the
groundwork
for
cinematic
storytelling
as
the
medium
was

beginning
to
industrialize.

So
incredible
was
this
film
to
many
white
spectators
at

the
time
that
President
Woodrow
Wilson
is
quoted
as
having
praised
the
film
as

“like
writing
history
with
lightening.”
17

But
as
established
by
Algeron,
the
historical

link
between
the
early
development
of
film
editing
techniques
and
Black

representation
on
screen
cannot
be
separated
from
one
another.

The
narrative
of
Birth
of
a
Nation
is
heavily
driven
by
themes
of
white

supremacy
and
reestablishing
a
segregated
and
racialized
“order”
in
which
whites

were
positioned
at
the
top,
and
Blacks
far
below.

With
its
1915
release-‐-‐
the
same

year
as
the
beginning
of
the
Black
Great
Migration
northward-‐-‐
the
film
is
highly

retaliatory
to
the
upswing
in
Black
socio-‐cultural
organization
and
economic

mobility,
and
is
a
direct
response
to
the
various
forms
of
Black
morale
building
and

racial
unothering
that
was
occurring
in
the
early
1900s.
The
narrative
of
the
film

works
to
dismantle
this
rise
of
Black
“organization”
by
means
of
white
“re-‐
organization”—specifically
though
the
ascent
of
the
KKK.
Thematically,
the
film

deals
with
the
fear
and
chaos
that
results
from
Blacks
moving
out
of
their
prescribed

“place”
into
white
spaces.
Blacks
that
have
moved
out
of
their
“place”
pose
a
variety

of
threats
to
the
order
of
white
society
and
the
nation
as
a
whole:
physical
(the

attempted
rape
of
Elsie,
played
by
Lillian
Gish),
social
(the
rise
of
the
Black
middle

class
and
upward
mobility),
and
political
(Blacks
in
congress
creating
literal
and

figurative
chaos).
In
particular,
the
Blacks
who
had
become
fully
autonomous
and

47

enfranchised—those
who
used
their
morale
to
gain
power
and
influence-‐-‐-‐
were

particularly
threatening
to
the
white
supremacist
“order.”

For
these
imposing
threats,
Griffith
utilized
the
new
capabilities
of
cinema
to

resituate
the
Blacks
back
into
their
“prescribed
places”
under
the
strictures
of
white

dominant
ideologies.
Relying
on
spectacle,
Griffith’s
representations
“re-‐othered”

upwardly
mobilized
Blacks
in
the
film,
and
made
a
mockery
of
their
strivings.
The

use
of
stylized
editing
techniques
during
Birth
of
a
Nation’s
House
of

Representatives
scene
is
purposeful
in
its
othering
of
the
Black
characters.
The

dignified
and
supreme
political
space
is
suddenly
turned
into
a
sideshow
as
the

Black
bodies
take
up
residence
therein.
In
the
scene,
Black
mobility
is
framed
as

absurd
and
carnivalesque
as
the
space
becomes
spectaclized
with
grotesque
racial

stereotypes
and
otherwise
derogatory
racial
representations.
The
scene
begins
with

a
superimposition,
in
which
an
empty
Congressional
room
full
of
desks
is
abruptly

overlapped
with
a
chaotic
shot
of
bustling
Black
political
leaders
overflowing
the

space.
The
editing
choice
creates
a
mystical
illusion
and
sends
an
overt
message
that

in
the
mere
blink
of
an
eye,
upwardly
mobile
Blacks
can
take
over
and
reshape
(and

essentially
“infest”)
traditionally
white
national
institutions.

Griffith
also
used
the
practice
of
“othering”
as
a
technique
to
stoke
cultural

anxieties
about
Black
mobility.

Relying
on
white
supremacist
ideologies
of
cultural

diametrical
opposition,
Griffith
creates
a
spectacle
of
Blackness
in
order
to

conversely
portray
a
normalcy
or
order
in
whiteness.
The
Black
characters
are

constructed
as
“fish-‐out-‐of-‐water”—incapable
of
knowing
how
to
properly
act
in
the

space.
The
gauche,
Zip
Coon
style
suits
many
of
the
Black
congressmen
wear
is
the

48

first
marker
of
class
and
cultural
otherness.
18

A
montage
of
stereotypically
encoded,

undignified
and
inappropriate
behavior
(in
between
the
passing
of
racial
equality

bills
for
added
emphasis)
also
“others”
the
Black
men:
the
men
snack
on
pork
chops,

sneak
swigs
of
liquor,
take
off
their
shoes
and
air
out
their
bare
feet
on
desks,
stare

menacingly
at
white
women,
and
are
otherwise
raucous
and
disorderly
in
a
space

that
demands
order.
As
a
point
of
contrast,
though
within
the
same
space,
the

greatly
outnumbered
“helpless
white
minority”
were
instead
shown
as
proper,

qualified,
and
orderly.

Here,
the
spectaclized
Black
body
is
transmutable,
and
operates
as
a
cultural

contagion.
The
message
conveyed
by
Griffith
in
the
scene
is
that
the
spectacle
of
the

Black
body
is
not
contained—instead,
it
has
the
unique
ability
to
convert
entire

spaces
and
institutions
into
carnivalesque
sites.
The
title
cards
in
the
scene
likewise

attempt
to
stoke
white
cultural
anxieties
by
claiming
that
the
spectacle
and
its

transmittable
capabilities
was
“historical
facsimile”
and
a
restaging
of
“historic

incidents,”
blurring
the
lines
between
mythical
nightmare
and
hellish
reality.

As
these
fears
percolated,
the
United
States
entered
World
War
I
two
years

later
in
1917.
Thoughts
about
joining
the
war
effort
varied
amongst
the
Black

community.
Many
Blacks
believed
the
promise
of
the
military
service
would
provide

the
path
to
citizenship
in
the
long
term,
and
also
welcomed
the
short
term
benefits

and
“relief
from
repressive
conditions
at
home”
via
the
promise
of
“good
clothes,

three
meals
a
day,
shelter,
some
money,
and
the
chance
of
travel
and
adventure.”
19

Much
like
the
Great
Migration,
many
Black
men
believed
that
enlisting
in
the

military
was
an
opportunity
for
upward
mobility;
in
fact,
historian
Steven
A.
Reich

49

notes
that
there
was
such
interest
in
military
service
amongst
Black
men
in
Dallas
in

1918
that
many
had
to
be
turned
away
due
to
limited
space
and
resources
at
the

camps.
20

W.E.B.
Du
Bois
likewise
supported
and
shared
this
enthusiasm
for
Black

enlistment
in
the
war,
calling
Black
Americans
to
momentarily
“forget
[their]
special

grievances
and
close
ranks”
with
whites
in
his
call
to
arms,
“Close
Ranks,”
published

in
The
Crisis.
21

In
a
June
editorial
of
the
same
year,
with
a
stoic
Black
soldier

prominently
featured
on
the
cover,
Du
Bois
expressed
his
hopefulness
for
the

outcome
of
the
war,
and
the
need
for
Black
patriotic
participation
in
order
to
gain

equality
and
autonomy
for
disenfranchised
people
around
the
world,
including

Black
Americans:

This
war
is
an
End
and,
also,
a
Beginning.
Never
again
will
the
darker
people

of
the
world
occupy
just
the
place
they
had
before.
Out
of
this
world
will
rise,
soon

or
late,
an
independent
China;
a
self-‐governing
India,
and
Egypt
with
representative

institutions;
an
Africa
for
the
Africans,
and
not
merely
business
exploitation.
Out
of

this
war
will
rise,
too,
an
American
Negro,
with
a
right
to
vote
and
a
right
to
live

without
insult.
22

50

Fig.
2.1
Black
Patriotism
and
Stoicism
as
represented
on
the
June
1918
cover
of

the
NAACP’s
The
Crisis
magazine.

However,
there
were
also
groups
of
Black
Americans
who
were
more

skeptical
of
the
proclaimed
opportunities
advertised
by
the
government,
and
in
turn

showed
resistance
though
draft
dodging
and
fleeing
to
different
states.
23

The

systemic
practices
of
Black
devaluation
and
dehumanization
would
have
also
been
a

turn
off
to
conscious
Blacks.

Historian
Jeanette
Keith
explains
that
in
some
Southern
locations-‐-‐
from

where
80%
of
the
Black
American
population
lived
at
the
time-‐-‐

draft
boards
were

openly
planning
to
protect
whites
from
the
draft
and
send
Blacks
to
fulfill
the
duty.
24

Blacks
were
also
given
less
exemptions,
underscoring
ideologies
that
their
mere

51

humanity
was
not
equal
to
that
of
whites.
Further,
independent,
upwardly
mobile

Blacks
were
more
likely
to
be
conscripted
than
those
who
were
dependent
on
and
in

service
to
whites.
25

The
mechanism
was
set
in
motion
to
perpetuate
racial

inequality,
and
savvy
Blacks
were
wary
of
the
promise
of
equality
on
the
other
side

of
the
war
if
racist
ideologies
were
being
maintained
even
as
early
as
conscription.

In
fact,
Du
Bois’
patriotic
call
to
arms
was
so
off-‐putting
and
“accommodationist”
to

some
civil
rights
leaders
and
groups
that
his
creditability
was
questioned
and

reputation
tarnished,
as
Ellis
claims,
for
the
rest
of
his
life.
26

The
various
methods
of
systemic
Black
devaluation
and
dehumanization

used
in
military
conscription
and
beyond
around
WWI
demonstrated
that
the
fear
of

Black
enfranchisement
had
persisted
amongst
the
dominant
white
power
structure;

and
these
fears
of
the
ways
in
which
full
Black
enfranchisement
and
social

citizenship
would
inversely
affect
white
power
and
position
in
the
United
States

played
itself
out
on
the
screen
through
WWI.
Cinematic
examples
in
which
Black

upward
mobility
was
specifically
tied
to
nationhood
and
government,
as
with
Birth

of
a
Nation,
resulted
in
specifically
damning
and
perplexing
responses
from
the

white
hegemony.

It
was
during
this
period
that
Black
military
films
began
to
take
a

different
shape
as
well.
In
these
films,
propagandizing
the
U.S.
military
as
an

indomitable,
noble,
and
organized
force
became
secondary
to
ensuring
that
racial

hierarchy
was
solidified
through
the
othering
of
Blackness.

World
War
I
posed
an
interesting
conflict
for
the
construction
of
Black

morale:
while
on
one
hand,
American
troops
needed
to
be
rallied,
organized,
and

unified
across
racial
lines,
on
the
other
hand,
the
morale
amongst
Blacks
needed
to

52

be
tempered
to
avoid
the
great
swell
of
Black
organization
and
mobility
that

occurred
after
the
Spanish-‐American
War.
Historian
Steven
A.
Reich
goes
as
far
to

say
that
during
the
WWI
period,
“few
images
haunted
the
white
supremacist’s

imagination
more
than
a
Black
man
in
uniform.”
27

Thus,
a
problematic
rift—a

distinctive
divergence
between
military
and
cultural
morale
and
white
dominant

ideology
was
in
process;
this
fracture
can
be
identified
in
the
Black
military
films
of

the
period,
which
became
a
bit
strange
and
mercurial
in
construction.

In
1918,
the
military
film
Rookies
After
Two
Days
Training
demonstrated

these
warring
ideals
with
respect
to
establishing
positive
Black
morale.
Much
of
the

film
is
documentary
style
in
nature,
capturing
the
Black
recruits
of
the
154
th

Depot

Brigade
and
the
301
st

Engineers
participating
in
typical
army
activities
at
Camp

Meade
in
Maryland.
The
men
arrive
at
camp,
receive
their
government
issued

uniforms
and
supplies,
learn
marching
drills,
stand
in
a
chow
line,
wash
dishes,

exercise,
and
train
for
combat.

Outside
of
the
film
suggesting
the
Army’s
racial

segregation
policies
due
to
the
noticeable
absence
of
white
bodies
amongst
the

ranks,
there
is
nothing
that
overtly
distinguishes
the
race
of
the
servicemen—the

activities
the
Black
soldiers
undertake
are
not
culturally
specific
in
any
way.

Through
the
use
of
documentary-‐style
filming,
this
representation
of
the
Black

servicemen
is
representative
of
the
larger
military
body’s
sound
infrastructure,
its

dedication
to
Black
morale,
and
its
pride
in
Black
patriotism.

Behind
the
scenes,
the
sentiments
of
Black
morale-‐building
were
likewise

given
thought
and
carefully
crafted.
The
production
file
for
the
film
includes

instructions
for
the
film’s
title
card,
which
also
works
to
accentuate
agendas
of
Black

53

inclusivity,
morale
building,
and
the
ideology
of
American
uniformity
and
order.
The

card
is
instructed
to
read:

As
varied
as
the
Occupations
from
which
these
New
Additions
to
Our

National
Army
have
come,
is
their
Marching.
The
154
th

Depot
Brigade

“Rookies”
after
two
Days
of
Military
Training.
28

Although
the
card
does
hint
at
cultural
difference
in
its
mention
of
the
Black

soldiers’
“varied
marching”—a
reference
to
a
more
culturally
aligned,
rhythmic
style

of
marching—
this
style
is
not
present
in
the
film.
29

According
to
Ulio,
the
act
of

embracing
the
soldiers’
individualism
is
an
essential
quality
of
morale
building;

thus,
embracing
cultural
individualism
is
essential
to
cultural
morale
building.

Importantly,
despite
the
highlighting
of
cultural
difference
in
this
instance,
the
title

card
operates
as
a
mechanism
of
cultural
inclusion,
underscoring
that
the
Black
men

are
part
of
“Our
National
Army.”
As
a
result,
the
Black
soldiers
are
unothered,
and

situated
within
the
scope
of
the
larger
military
body.

However,
despite
the
film’s
use
of
documentary-‐style
methods
to
produce

images
of
racially
progressive
realism
and
patriotic
inclusivity,
the
peculiar
splicing

in
of
scenes
constructed
for
comedic
effect
works
to
undercut
any
progressive

propagandizing
and
morale
building
aimed
towards
Black
viewers,
and
speak

instead
to
the
practice
of
racist
white
ideological
maintenance.
In
particular,
the
film

integrates
two
oft-‐filmed
racial
stereotypes
in
an
attempt
to
create
a
loose
narrative:

a
watermelon
eating
contest
and
a
jazz
band
and
tap
performance.
The
scenes
are

thematically
disruptive
and
cinematically
disjointed,
and
serve
only
to
spectaclize

and
other
Blackness.
These
staged
scenes
stand
in
confusing
opposition
to
the

54

opening
scenes
and
the
title
card’s
inference
of
racial
inclusivity
and
cultural

respect.

The
scenes
of
Black
spectacle
function
as
a
reaffirmation
of
racist
white

ideologies,
as
they
“other”
the
Black
subjects
through
calling
back
to
specific
images

and
concepts
about
Black
cultural
practices
formed
and
distributed
the
past.
Hall

explains
that
one
of
the
most
troubling
aspects
of
the
creation
of
ideologies
is
that

they
“tend
to
disappear
from
view”
and
leave
in
their
wake
the
sense
of
naturalness

and
truth.
He
goes
on
to
explain
that
racism
is
“one
of
the
most
profoundly

‘naturalized’
of
existing
ideologies.”
30

The
callback
to
the
stereotypical
images
and

racialized
tropes
frequently
used
in
film’s
nascence
works
to
resituate
and
resolidify

tropes
of
stereotypical
Blackness.
The
inclusion
of
the
images
provides
a
white

racist
ideological
commentary
that
is
meant
to
thwart
Black
morale,
while
also

assuaging
white
anxieties.

The
inscribed
message
is
that
underneath
the
veneer
of

Black
progress
and
social
mobility
always
lies
the
Black
man’s
“rooted
nature”—one

that
is
grotesque,
absurd,
uncouth,
comical,
performative,
and
“other.”

For
the
white

eye,
these
scenes
demonstrate
a
Black
docility,
mitigating
fears
about
the
potential

insurgence
that
could
be
created
to
white
power
structures
by
trained,
armed,

organized
Black
men.
31

This
white
ideological
construct
intends
to
reposition
Black

subjects
into
their
prescribed,
inferior
place
within
the
dominant
white
hegemony.

Though
Hall
claims
the
invisibility
of
the
construction
of
ideology
to
be
one

its
most
“insidious”
but
essential
qualities,
the
conflict
between
morale
production

and
ideological
construction
in
Rookies
creates
a
strange
rift,
exposing
the

construction
and
maintenance
of
white
dominant
ideologies.
First,
the
use
of

55

cinema’s
medium-‐specificity
shows
the
most
traditional
ways
in
which
film

language
is
used
to
enhance
the
construction
of
ideological
othering.
The
opening

sequences
are
a
variety
of
long
shots
and
panning
shots
that
work
to
establish
the

American
military
as
vast
and
organized—even
before
the
arrival
of
the
Black

recruits.
The
great
quantity
of
Black
men
getting
uniforms,
doing
exercises,
and

being
fed
are
representative
of
the
immensity
of
the
larger
military
body.

However,
as
the
film
later
pushes
in,
focusing
on
the
Black
servicemen
in

much
smaller
groups
engaged
in
non-‐militaristic
activities
(such
as
eating

watermelon
or
tap
dancing
in
a
jazz
band),
the
individuals
become
separated
from

the
larger
institution,
and
are
instead
portrayed
as
engaging
in
“natural”
cultural

activities.
Like
the
Congress
scene
in
Birth
of
a
Nation,
the
act
of
framing
small

groups
of
Black
bodies
are
constructed
to
show
autonomous
Black
men
in
their

“natural
state,”
and
somehow,
that
state
is
always
the
carnivalesque
spectacle.

Abandoning
the
unobtrusive,
documentary-‐style
framing
in
the
film’s

beginning,
both
the
watermelon
eating
scene
and
the
“Receiving
Station
Jazz
Band”

scene
frame
a
performative
space.

The
staging
of
watermelon
eating
scene
closely

resembles
the
flat,
two-‐dimensional
style
of
its
predecessors.
The
band
scene
is
even

more
overtly
staged
for
performativity,
as
the
static
camera
is
framed
on
the
band

members
sitting
on
risers
with
their
instruments,
creating
a
proscenium.

As
the

band
plays,
an
ununiformed
Black
man
(complete
with
personal
effects
such
as

jewelry
and
suspenders)
enters
the
frame
from
off
screen
(i.e.
“off
stage”)
and

begins
tap
dancing
in
the
dirt.
Here,
a
Black
performative
space
is
constructed
by
the

white
filmmakers—a
figurative
stage
for
the
Black
spectacle
is
constructed
via
film

56

framing.
The
content
and
framing
of
the
sequence
work
to
relocate
the
Black

characters
from
their
progressive
position
as
patriotic
participants
included
within

the
citizenry,
and
instead
re-‐positions
them
as
performers
for
white
spectators
while

also
alluding
to
a
minstrel
past.
With
this,
a
great
variance
is
created
and
displayed

between
the
Black
soldiers,
and
their
white
counterparts.
The
legibility
of
film

language
offers
insight
into
the
white
construction
of
Black
cultural
otherness.

Hall
claims
that
“language”
is
“broadly
conceived,”
and
that
it
is
through

language
that
“ideological
discourses
[are]
elaborated.”
32

Unlike
Sergei
Eisenstein’s

foundational
theories
on
film
language
in
which
the
language
is
contained
within
the

film
and
interpretable
as
shots
within
the
film
collide
with
one
another,
33

“ideology”

instead
brings
meaning
from
outside
of
the
film—from
larger
social
frameworks—
and
uses
the
constructs
of
film
language
to
relay
meaning
back
to
viewers
outside
of

the
film.

Hall
goes
on
to
explain
that
is
through
the
ideological
use
of
film
“language”

that
we
are
able
to
“represent,
interpret,
understand,
and
‘make
sense’
of
some

aspect
of
social
existence.”
34

However,
what
makes
Rookies
particularly
unique
is
the
way
in
which
the

construction
of
dominant
white
ideology
breaks
down
as
film
language
fractures
in

the
short.

The
practice
of
“othering”—a
practice
that
is
reliant
on
ideological

“invisibility”-‐-‐
is
exposed
on
the
screen
as
the
film
is
being
shot.
The
film

unintentionally
reveals
cinema’s
discrete
“sleight
of
hand,”
and
as
a
result
displays

both
the
construction
of
ideology
in
action
as
well
as
some
of
the
deeper
points
of

racial
contention
around
concepts
of
Black
mobility
of
the
period.

57

As
with
many
early
actualities,
Rookies
exhibits
an
unpolished
quality
in
film

production
as
the
Black
servicemen
are
captured
continuing
to
interact
with
and

take
instruction
from
the
offscreen,
white
filmmaker.
Although
film
language

(through
framing,
camera
movement,
style)
proposes
that
the
camera
is
merely

documenting
the
Black
soldiers’
regimented
military
duties
and
activities,
the

ongoing
awareness
of
the
camera
and
interaction
with
the
filmmakers
disrupts
the

parameters
for
pre-‐established
film
language.
Though
the
Black
men
are
filmed

engaging
in
everyday
activities
that
should
require
no
direction,
such
as
eating

watermelon,
washing
dishes,
watching
a
boxing
match,
the
soldiers
continuously

look
to
the
camera
and
adjust
their
actions,
mannerisms,
and
reactions
based
on

directions
coming
from
the
filmmaker.
A
soldier
performs
the
act
of
eating

watermelon
for
the
camera—looking
directly
into
the
lens,
he
eats
vigorously
and

laughs
at
his
over-‐the-‐top
actions
while
two
Black
soldiers
stand
in
the
background

amused
by
his
performance.
Later,
while
the
soldiers
wash
their
dishes,
a
man
who

stares
at
the
camera
from
the
periphery
suddenly
enters
the
frame
while
continuing

to
look
towards
the
camera;
however,
he
seems
to
enter
the
frame
without

intention,
and
only
begins
to
wash
his
own
mess
kit
after
looking
towards
(what

seems
the
person
behind)
the
camera
several
times,
as
though
he
is
receiving

instruction.
A
short
and
tall
man
are
comically
paired
in
the
frame
to
highlight
their

visual
mismatch.
The
two
stare
directly
at
the
camera,
and
the
shorter
of
the
two

begins
to
move
suddenly
and
without
warning,
as
though
“action”
were
called
by
the

director.
The
short
man
steps
away
from
the
taller
man
and
takes
in
his
height,

before
removing
his
hat
and
scratching
his
head
as
though
confused
by
the

58

discrepancy;
when
the
action
is
completed,
he
looks
back
towards
the
camera,
as

though
awaiting
his
next
direction.

Unlike,
Negro
Kiss
which
hints
at
a
collaboration
between
the
Black
actors

and
the
white
filmmaker,
the
dynamic
in
Rookies
is
more
embodying
of
top-‐down

militarism
in
which
superiors
give
orders,
and
inferiors
take
them.
These

interactions
suggest
that
the
activities—those
which
are
supposed
to
be
conveyed

as
culturally
truthful
and
“natural”—are
being
constructed
by
a
white
outsider,
not

merely
captured
by
an
unbiased
camera.

The
ongoing
interactions
between
Black
subjects
and
white
filmmakers,
and

the
resultant
adjustments
made
by
the
Black
subjects
are
meaningful
when

considering
the
film
as
a
site
for
maintaining
racists
white
ideologies.

The
film

makes
visible
the
essential
component
that
Hall
claims
must
remain
invisible
in

ideology
building,
causing
disruption
in
ideological
production.
This
visibility
of
the

white
construction
of
the
Black
cinematic
spectacle—particularly
in
circumstances

that
are
supposed
to
portray
Black
“naturalism”—lends
itself
to
reveal
a
truth
about

early
Black
representation
on
the
screen;
the
Black
“spectacle”
is
often
a
white

fabrication,
and
Black
representation
on
the
screen
is
most
often
an
instructed

performativity,
not
a
documented
actuality.

In
short,
media
representations
that

prop
up
racist
ideologies
are
themselves
constructs
created
by
those
in
positions
of

social
dominance.

The
disjointed,
overlapping
of
film
styles
in
Rookies—“scripted”/constructed

(as
in
the
jazz
band
scene)
versus
documentary
realist
(as
in
the
chow
line
or

marching
scenes)—and
the
lack
of
filmmaker
control
of
the
language
therein
creates

59

a
type
of
“glitch”
in
the
film
language
that
also
exposes
the
construction
of
racial

ideologies.

The
“glitch”
disrupts
the
construction
process
midstride,
causing
the

film
language
to
“stutter.”
As
the
differing
film
styles
bump
up
against
one
another,

the
validity
of
the
content
becomes
unsettled.
It
is
within
these
“glitches”
that

unique
moments
of
cultural
exchange
and
rare
instances
of
radical
Black
resistance

towards
the
maintenance
of
racist
ideologies
can
be
detected.

The
chow
line
sequence
offers
a
unique
moment
of
Black
resistance
caught

on
screen
in
the
1910s.
A
long
line
of
Black
servicemen
wait
to
enter
a
cook
house

with
their
mess
kits.
While
many
of
the
subjects
break
the
fourth
wall,
looking

directly
at
the
camera
as
they
approach
the
building
and
ascend
the
stairs,
two
Black

enlistees
instead
use
their
mess
kits
to
shield
their
faces
from
the
camera;
one
man

drapes
a
towel
over
his
head.

This
notable
action
is
extremely
abnormal
for
films
of

the
era,
and
stands
in
direct
opposition
to
the
racial
performativity
constructed
as
a

mechanism
of
ideology
production
throughout
the
rest
of
the
film.

60

Fig.
2.2
Soldiers
shield
their
faces
from
the
camera
in
Training
of
Colored

Troops.
(Office
of
the
Chief
Signal
Officer,
1936)

The
act
of
obscuring
oneself
from
the
scope
of
the
camera
stands
in
direct

contrast
to
most
films
prior
to
cinema
industrialization,
in
which
conditions
could

be
better
controlled.
Most
early
filmmakers
struggled
with
maintaining
a
sense
of

documentary
“purity”
when
using
film
to
document
activities,
because
the
subjects

within
the
frame
were
often
intrigued
by
the
novelty
of
the
camera,
and
called

attention
to
its
presence
by
looking
directly
into
it
or
otherwise
interacting
with
it.

This
is
evidenced
in
some
of
the
earliest
films,
including
the
Lumieres’
Workers

Leaving
the
Factory
(1895)
and
Arrival
of
the
Train
at
La
Ciotat
(1895)
in
which
the

filmed
subjects
disrupt
the
documentary
realist
style
as
they
are
drawn
to
the

61

camera;
this
uncontrollable
interest
continued
for
decades,
and
can
be
witnessed
in

countless
documentary
style
films
and
stock
footage
through
the
1910s.
However,

Rookies
captures
a
rarity
in
documentary
style
films
of
this
era—
filmed
subjects’

revulsion
and
retreat
from
the
camera.
35

With
respect
to
the
film’s
function
as
a
tool
for
the
dissemination
of
national

propaganda
and
as
a
site
for
racist
ideology
building
and
maintenance,
the
Black

subjects’
retreat
from
the
camera
is
especially
significant
and
powerful.
The
Black

subjects
break
the
illusion
of
the
fourth
wall
not
with
intrigue
and
fascination,
but

instead
with
resistance;
their
awareness
of
the
camera
does
not
draw
them
closer,

but
instead
motivates
them
to
create
distance
and
separation—essentially
breaking

the
fourth
wall
by
creating
a
fifth…one
that
they
control.
The
act
allows
the

individuals
to
maintain
their
anonymity,
as
they
are
unidentifiable
amongst
the

mass.
It
also
relinquishes
autonomy
back
to
the
individual,
allowing
them
a
sense
of

control
of
their
own
representation.
This
act
of
resistance
not
only
exposes
the

fabrication
innate
within
racial
ideology
building,
but
also
prevents
the
necessary

language
of
social
othering
from
being
properly
developed.

Instead,
the
“glitch”
in

the
military
short
gives
a
rare
view
of
alternate
subjectivities—an
unexpected
and

unintentional
documentation
of
Black
resistance
to
performativity,
white

voyeurism,
and
the
lack
of
agency
in
cultural
representation.
A
record
of
Black
truth

and
Black
“naturalness”
that
stands
in
opposition
to
the
screen
representations
that

had
been
and
would
continue
to
be
procured
by
white
outsiders
for
years
to
come.

During
WWI,
the
combination
of
celebrity
and
Black
music
were
also

advantageous
in
challenging
white
ideologies
of
Blackness
and
shaping
the
military

62

film
as
a
site
for
the
dissemination
of
admirable
representations
of
Blackness.

Lieutenant
James
Reese
Europe
was
a
popular
ragtime
musician
and
bandleader

who
enlisted
in
the
15
th

New
York
National
Guard
Regiment
and
was
positioned
as

the
regimental
bandleader
in
1916.
Europe
had
begun
to
make
a
name
for
himself

years
prior.
His
orchestra,
the
Clef
Club
Symphony
Orchestra
played
at
Carnegie
Hall

in
1912,
earning
the
accolade
of
being
the
first
jazz
band
to
ever
play
the
venue.
He

worked
extensively
with
popular
dancers
and
screen
stars,
Vernon
and
Irene
Castle,

and
he
and
his
band
at
the
time,
The
Europe
Society
Orchestra,
were
featured
in

their
1915
film,
Whirl
of
Life.

Europe’s
regimental
commander,
Colonel
William
Hayward,
struggling
to

gain
equality
for
his
Black
regiment
within
the
U.S.
military
itself,
opted
to
use

Europe’s
popularity
to
the
regiment’s
benefit.
Europe
became
the
face
of
what
was

to
become
the
369
th

infantry,
also
known
as
“The
Harlem
Hellfighters,”
and
a

publicity
campaign
was
crafted
around
him
and
his
band
in
an
attempt
to
gain

leverage
to
move
the
Black
troops
away
from
menial
grunt
work
into
valorous

battle.

The
publicity
campaign
involved
film
footage
that
portrayed
Europe
and
his

band—and
by
extension,
the
greater
369
th

regiment—as
stoic,
capable,
and
orderly.

Though
the
footage
is
silent,
Europe’s
Black
“performativity”
was
expressed

through
the
complexity
of
his
music,
and
not
though
surface
constructions
of

stereotypical
Blackness
as
was
common
in
white-‐created
content
featuring
cultural

outsiders.
Europe
discussed
the
cultural
specificity
of
his
music
at
length
in
a
1914

interview
in
the
New
York
Evening
Post,
claiming,
“We
have
developed
a
kind
of

symphony
music
that…
is
different
and
distinctive,
and
that
lends
itself
to
the

63

playing
of
the
peculiar
compositions
of
our
race,”
and
also,
“We
colored
people
have

our
own
music
that
is
part
of
us.
It’s
the
product
of
our
souls;
it’s
been
created
by
the

sufferings
and
miseries
of
our
race.”
36

It
was
through
Europe’s
music
that
he
was

able
to
shape
his
screen
representation
and
control
his
screen
representation—
delivering
a
culturally
authentic
representation
to
the
masses.
Music—even
in
a

silent
film-‐-‐
was
the
primary
source
of
Europe
disrupting
dominant
white
ideology

construction.

In
his
seminal
book,
Noise,
theorist
Jacques
Attali
positions
music
as
a
source

of
“power”
and
“subversion”—“an
instrument
of
political
pressure;”
Europe
uses
his

music
in
exactly
this
manner—controlling
his
cultural
representation,
commenting

on
past
degrading
constructions
of
representation,
and
firmly
positioning
himself

within
the
American
citizenry.
Through
music,
celebrity,
and
military
patriotism,

Reese
was
able
to
harness
white
voyeurism
and
deliver
an
authentic
Black

representation
to
the
masses
during
a
period
in
which
finding
such
representations

in
the
mainstream
was
nearly
impossible.

64

Fig.
2.3
Lieutenant
James
Reese
Europe
and
his
369
th

U.S.
Infantry

“Harlem
Hellfighters”
Band
perform
outside
the
American
Red
Cross

Building
in
Paris,
in
1918.
(U.S.
Army
Signal
Corps
photographer,
Library

of
Congress
Prints
and
Photographs
Division)

Upon
his
untimely
death
just
few
months
after
returning
from
war,
he
was

granted
an
“official
funeral”
by
the
city
of
New
York—the
first
to
be
granted
to
an

African
American.

Blacks
and
whites
alike
mourned
his
passing
at
the
procession;

the
New
York
Times
eulogized,
“Ragtime
may
be
Negro
music,
but
it
is
American

Negro
music.
More
alive
than
much
other
American
music.
And
Europe
was
one
of

the
Americans
who
was
contributing
most
to
its
development.”
The
reaction
to
his

death-‐-‐
which
very
closely
coincided
with
the
end
of
the
war-‐-‐
suggested
that

perhaps
Du
Bois’
prediction
about
the
end
of
the
war
serving
as
a
benchmark
for
the

rise
of
the
enfranchised
American
Negro
was
accurate.
It
seemed
that
the
rare

ability
to
control
cultural
representation
had
the
power
to
reshape
ideologies
and

situation
Black
Americans
into
the
citizenry.

65

However,
again
white
dominant
ideologies
and
power
structures
were

recalibrated,
and
the
Black
military
film
was
again
used
as
a
tool
of
dissemination
of

dominant
white
ideologies.
After
WWI,
the
US
military,
realizing
the
true
power
and

potential
of
film,
decided
to
standardize
their
filmmaking.
In
1925,
the
US
Army

contracted
the
Signal
Corps
to
be
the
“outlet
for
all
pictorial
publicity,”
and
in
1928,

the
War
Department
had
largely
followed
suit.
In
an
attempt
to
increase
the
quality

and
complexity
of
the
films,
the
Signal
Corps
began
working
directly
with

Hollywood.
The
films
were
subsidized
by
the
Academy
of
Motion
Picture
Arts
and

Sciences’
Research
Council,
military
personnel
received
annual
training
in

cinematography
in
Hollywood,
and
commercial
agencies,
such
as
Fox
Movietone

News
and
RCA
were
hired
to
provide
various
equipment
to
the
production
of
the

films.
The
Signal
Corps
began
producing
twenty
films
per
year
in
response
to
an

increased
demand
from
the
military
agencies
that
claimed
that
“the
distance
from

World
War
I”
and
technological
advances
in
film
(including
sound)
had
“made
the

old
ones
absurd.”
37

Despite
this
claim
and
the
various
overhead
put
in
place
to
ensure
modern

takes
on
new
military
films,
in
1936,
the
War
Department
opted
to
make
a
“new”

Black
training
film
by
having
the
Signal
Corps
simply
cobble
together
various
Black

military
footage
shot
in
1918.
The
new
film—eventually
named
Training
of
Colored

Troops-‐-‐
was
largely
comprised
of
three
films
from
the
1910s,
including
Rookies

After
Two
Days
Training.

There
were
a
few
specifications
given
to
the
Signal
Corp
editing
department

in
an
effort
to
update
the
film.
The
War
Department
wanted
to
add
a
more
concrete

66

narrative
to
the
film-‐-‐
focusing
on
a
fictionalization
of
a
Black
serviceman
and
his

family
as
he
goes
through
the
process
of
enlisting,
leaving
home,
training,
and

sending
letters
to
his
family
while
away.
Secondly,
there
was
a
specification
to

remove
all
images
of
white
troops
from
the
chosen
sequences,
and
cut
the
military

training
sequences
long.
38

There
are
a
variety
of
ways
that
one
could
interpret
these
specifications.

Cutting
sequences
long
creates
a
less
intrusive
and
more
realistic
feel
in
film.

Removing
the
white
soldiers
could
have
been
an
attempt
at
creating
morale
by

persuading
future
recruits
that
the
Black
operations
were
run
by
Black
officers,
and

thus
were
truly
a
“separate
but
equal”
military
space.

It
is
also
possible
that
the
War

Department
chose
to
incorporate
the
fictionalized
narrative
into
the
story
in
an

effort
to
personalize
and
humanize
the
representation
of
the
Black
enlistee.
39

Yet,

although
the
narrative
sections
do
focus
more
on
the
Black
man
and
his
family
as

individuals,
the
sequences
nevertheless
point
back
to
a
white
ideology
apparatus,
as

each
scene
is
either
culturally
patronizing
or
plays
into
stereotypical
tropes.

The
first
sequence
features
the
family
all
happily
gathered
in
the
living
room

around
the
man’s
draft
letter.
Prominently
displayed
on
the
back
wall
are
two

portraits:
one
of
Abraham
Lincoln,
and
the
other
of
Booker
T.
Washington.

The
War

Department’s
choice
to
position
the
Black
enlistee
between
these
two
figures
serves

to
figuratively
set
parameters
for
the
Black
serviceman’s
drive
for
upward
mobility.

Standing
in
between
the
portraits,
the
recruit
is
positioned
in
the
ideological
“sweet

spot”
for
mobilized,
modern
Black
men
under
the
dominant,
white,
American
power

structure.
The
staging
is
instructive:
striving
Blacks
are
free
to
mobilize
themselves

67

somewhere
between
the
two
philosophies—Lincoln
being
a
figurative

representation
of
freedom
from
slavery,
and
Washington
figuratively
representing

limited
Black
mobility
in
which
prescribed
places
and
stations
have
been
updated

without
overstepping
boundaries
into
white
arenas.
40

The
portraits
attempt
to

invoke
a
sense
of
Black
morale
about
socio-‐economic
potential,
possibility,
and

equality,
but
it
is
all
done
under
the
guise
of
cultural
containment.

A
later
scene
supports
this
sentiment.
The
family
receives
a
letter
from
their

soldier,
and
proudly
acknowledges
the
service
flag
that
is
hung
in
the
window,

before
going
outside
to
share
the
contents
of
the
letter
with
the
entire
just-‐as-‐proud

town.
He
writes:

Dear
Ma
and
folks:

I
am
building
the
biggest
dock
in
the
world.

Pushing
a
wheelbarrow
is
the
same
language
as
ours,
but
I
cannot

understand
the
french
[sic]
talk.
Tell
Grandma
to
send
me
a
blackberry
pie.

Hotziggity!!!
The
dinner
horn
has
just
blowed
so
good
bye.

Your
loving
son,

Ed

The
film
concludes
with
his
father
(a
man
that
looks
to
be
at
least
70
years
old)

becoming
so
excited
over
the
contents
of
the
letter
that
he
rummages
for
his

military
sword
from
a
bygone
era,
and
begins
to
sharpen
it
on
a
grinding
wheel
to

ready
himself
for
his
own
enlistment.

The
letter
is
filled
with
stagnating
constructions
of
white
ideologies
about

Black
fulfillment,
strivings,
and
mobility.
Not
only
is
the
Black
soldier
represented
as

content
with
doing
grunt
work
as
opposed
to
going
to
combat
(which
the
Harlem

Hellfighters
rallying
to
fight
in
the
French
Army
in
their
American
uniforms
proves

was
not
the
case),
but
he
assigns
his
satisfaction
with
menial
tasks
and
manual
labor

to
his
nature
as
a
Black
man,
and
to
his
whole
Black
community.
He
is
simple-‐

68

minded—his
interests
are
sparked
by
provisions
and
nothing
else.
The
purpose

here
was
not
merely
to
denigrate
the
Black
subject,
but
instead
to
manufacture
the

Black
subject.
This
representation
is
the
U.S.
government’s
model
for
what
a
“safe”

and
“ideal”
Black
man
looks
like
in
America
in
the
1930s.

However,
the
footage
is
not
from
the
1930s
–it
is
from
1918-‐-‐
and
as
a
result

creates
an
extremely
bizarre
and
uncanny
military
film.
The
film
is
anachronistic
in

every
way.
Although
the
film
industry
and
the
Signal
Corps
alike
were
both
regularly

producing
sound
films
by
this
time,
Training
of
Colored
Troops’
reuse
of
pre-‐sound

clips
forces
the
film
into
silence.
Visually,
the
styling
is
incredibly
old
fashioned—the

hair
and
clothing
are
all
in
1910s
vogue,
billowing
and
dowdy,
and
stand
in
stark

contrast
to
the
sharp
and
sleek
lines
of
the
late
1930s.
Additionally,
the
soldiers’

uniforms
were
completely
outdated,
making
the
modern
day
army
seem
unevolved

and
impoverished.
As
a
recruitment
tool
for
modern
young
men
in
the
1930s,
or
as

an
evaluative
tool
for
military
officials
about
the
performance
of
their
training

program
for
Black
troops,
the
film
is
embarrassing
and
laughable.

From
a
racial
and
sociocultural
perspective,
the
representation
of
Blackness

was
also
outdated.
The
Great
Migration
had
begun
around
the
time
of
the
release
of

Rookies,
and
Blacks
moving
away
from
Southern
and
rural
areas
for
better

opportunities
in
northern
urban
areas
had
not
slowed.
Watermelon
eating
and

minstrelsy
were
stereotypical
relics
as
stereotypes
had
begun
to
evolve
with
the
rise

of
Black
Modernity
becoming
more
urbanized.
Zip
Coon
made
way
for
The
Numbers

Runner
and
watermelon
was
replaced
with
more
illicit
vices
like
marijuana
and

opium.

Harlem
was
the
prominent
location
of
stories
about
Black
life
in
the
1930s,

69

not
Louisville,
Kentucky.
As
social
circumstances
evolve,
so
too
must
ideological

language
and
practices,
lest
they
be
ineffective.

Though
ineffective
and
downright
inane,
Training
of
Colored
Troops’
does

provide
an
extremely
legible
insight
on
the
U.S.
military’s
feelings
about
Black

patriotism
and
the
desire
for
Black
social
citizenship
on
the
eve
of
World
War
II.
The

Harlem
Renaissance,
the
rise
of
Black
urbanity,
and
the
strivings
for
equality
had

reshaped
Black
American
thought
in
ways
that
challenged
the
white
dominant

power
structure.
This
shift
was
anxiety-‐producing
for
the
white
hegemony,
and
with

additional
economic
issues
such
as
the
strains
of
the
Great
Depression
creating

greater
competition
between
whites
and
blacks,
many
whites
wished
the
racial

dynamic
could
return
to
the
a
previous
era
in
which
racialized
power
structures

were
more
solid.

The
return
to
the
creation,
representation,
and
dissemination
of

Black
spectacle—particularly
in
such
an
archaic
manner—was
a
dominant
white

ideological
expression
about
the
desire
to
return
to
the
social
order
of
yesteryear.

Morale
and
ideology
are
oppositional
both
in
theory
and
in
practice.
Morale

is
the
condition
of
stimulating
people
to
bring
them
into
a
community.
Ideology
is
a

system
in
which
barriers
are
constructed
and
otherness
is
identified.
Morale
is
an

indefinable
“feeling.”
Ideology
is
dependent
on
utilizing
the
broad
spectrum
of

language
to
articulate
itself.

Early
Black
military
films
often
had
these
oppositional

practices
warring
within,
and
as
a
result
became
a
rare
site
of
Black
and
white

ideological
push
and
pull
over
issues
of
representation,
mobility,
and
social

citizenship.

70

It
was
also
in
the
Black
military
film
that
the
ideological
power
held
by
Blacks

in
the
dissemination
of
their
cultural
art—specifically
music—was
uncovered
and

made
legible
through
film
language.

While
the
deceit
of
gains
towards
citizenry
and

equality
being
made
though
patriotic
duty
were
being
exposed
within
the
fissures
of

the
military
film,
the
military
film
also
demonstrated
the
power
of
authentic
Black

music,
and
the
use
of
its
specific
language
to
subversively
cross
ideological
borders

and
gain
access
into
ideologically
off-‐limits
spaces.
Music
in
the
military
film

exhibited
political
power
and
subversion
of
dominant
white
ideologies
in
very

concrete
ways.
Black
music
on
film
was
revealed
as
a
disruptor
of
white
ideologies,

and
a
previously
unknown
key
towards
Black
cultural
autonomy,
morale,
and

citizenry.

Notes:

1
“War
Extra:
Edison
Films,”
Edison
Manufacturing
Company
Catalogue:
Supplement

No.
4,
May
20,
1898:
3.

2

Blanket
Tossing
a
New
Recruit
(Edison,
1898)
is
one
exception
to
Edison’s

otherwise
“serious”
1898
military
catalogue.
In
the
film,
a
group
of
white

servicemen
use
a
blanket
to
toss
a
new
white
recruit
in
the
air
multiple
times.
In

addition
to
the
activity,
the
men
are
shown
in
various
states
of
uniformed
undress,

enhancing
the
film
as
a
rare
representation
of
servicemen
in
their
down
time

partaking
in
a
moment
of
levity.

Blanket
Tossing
a
New
Recruit
not
only
stands
apart
from
the
other
films
with

respect
to
content,
but
also
with
respect
to
propping
up
of
themes
of
racial

degradation
with
its
alternate
title,
Tossing
a
Nigger
in
a
Blanket.

In
fact,
this
title

comes
from
a
strange
initiation
and/or
punitive
practice
used
by
white
military

members
as
early
as
the
Civil
War.

Historian
Mark
Dunkleman
explains
in
his

Marching
with
Sherman:
Through
Georgia
and
the
Carolinas
with
the
154h
New
York,

that
ex-‐slaves
who
became
part
of
the
154
th

regiment
as
cooks
and
servants
were

initiated
by
the
white
infantrymen
with
a
blanket
toss.
He
also
mentions
that
it
was

used
as
a
“mild
punishment”
for
people
that
broke
rules
(97-‐98).
Military
historian

Glyn
Harper
mentions
in
his
Johnny
Enzed:
The
New
Zealand
Soldier
in
the
First

World
War,
1914-‐1918
that
this
practice
was
also
used
outside
of
the
United
States,

as
New
Zealand
soldiers
stationed
in
Egypt
during
WWI
used
it
to
torture
black

71

Egyptians
who
they
viewed
contemptuously.
Though
the
activity
amused
the
racist

New
Zealander
soldiers,
Harper
contends
that
the
practice
was
“humiliating
and

dangerous”
for
the
black
people
being
tossed,
noting
an
occasion
in
which
a
local

Egyptian’s
arm
was
broken.

3

“War
Extra”
Bulletin,
S.
Lubin
Manufacturing
Optician.
May
20,
1898.

4

“Films
of
Admiral
Sampson
and
Schley,
S.
Lubin
Manufacturing
Optician,”
“Flagship

‘New
York’
Saluting
at
Grant’s
Tomb.
14
Fine
Films,
Edison
Manufacturing

Company,”
“Performers
Attention,
The
Bank
Exchange
Theater,”
“Wanted,

Attractions
for
Free
Street
Fair,”
“Wanted,
for
the
Barnum
and
Bailey
Greatest
Show

on
Earth,”
all
in
The
New
York
Clipper,
September
17,
1898,
494.

5

Stuart
Hall,
“The
Whites
of
Their
Eyes: Racists Ideologies and the Media,” In The
Race and Media Reader, edited by Gilbert B. Rodman, 37-51. New York: Routledge,
2014.
6

Eric
Foner,
Reconstruction:
America’s
Unfinished
Revolution,
1863-‐1877
(New
York:

Harper
Perennial,
1988),
9.

7

Thomas
Cripps,
Slow
Fade
to
Black:
The
Negro
in
American
Film,
1900-‐1942

(New

York:
Oxford
University
Press,
1993),
12.

8

James
A
Ulio,
“Military
Morale,”
American
Journal
of
Sociology
47,
no.3
(Nov.
1941):

321-‐330.

JSTOR
(2769282).

9

Daniel
W
La
Rue,
“Morale,
Character,
Discipline,
and
Democracy,”

The
Journal
of
Education
97,
no.
3
(Jan.
18
1923):
72-‐74.
JSTOR
(42799072).

10

William
Ernest
Hocking,
“The
Nature
of
Morale,”
The
Journal
of
Sociology

47,
no.
3
(January
1941):
302-‐305.
JSTOR
(1195402)

11

Ibid.,
329.

12

Mark
Ellis,
“’Closing
Ranks’
and
‘Seeking
Honors’:
W.E.B.
Du
Bois
in
World
War
I,”

The
Journal
of
American
History
79,
no.
1
(June
1992):
101-‐102.
JSTOR
(2078469).

13

Nathaniel
Mackey,
“Other:
From
Noun
to
Verb,”
Representations
no.
39
(Summer

1992):
51.
JSTOR
(2928594).

14

Hall,
40.

15

Jesse
Algeron
Rhimes,
Black
Film,
White
Money
(New
Brunswick,
New
Jersey:

Rutgers
University
Press,
1996),
14-‐15.

16

John
Hope
Franklin
and
Alfred
A.
Moss
Jr.,
From
Slavery
to
Freedom
(New
York:

Alfred
A.
Knopf,
2000),
359.

17

Rachel
Janik,
“’Writing
History
With
Lightening’:
The
Birth
of
a
Nation
at
100,”

Time,
February
2015.

18

Zip
Coon
was
a
minstrel
caricature
that
was
created
by
whites
as
mockery
of

Black
social
strivers.
The
character
lacked
class
and
self-‐awareness,
with
his

“dandy”
affectations
and
loud
suits.
The
lyrics
of
the
song
“Zip
Coon”
take
the

derision
further,
mocking
the
character’s
self
proclamation
of
being
a
“l’arned

scholar”
and
desire
to
one
day
becoming
president.

19

Reich,
1483.

20

Ibid.

21

W.E.B.
Du
Bois,
“Close
Ranks,”
The
Crisis
16,
no.3
(July
1918):
111.

22

W.E.B.
Du
Bois,
“The
Black
Soldier,”
The
Crisis
16,
no.2
(June
1918):
60.

23

Reich,
1480.

72

24

Jeanette
Keith,
“The
Politics
of
Southern
Draft
Resistance,
1917-‐1918:
Class,
Race,

and
Conscription
in
the
Rural
South,”
The
Journal
of
American
History
87.4
(March

2001):
1349-‐1352.

25

Ibid.

26

Ellis,
108-‐124.

27

Steven
A.
Reich,
“Soldiers
of
Democracy:
Black
Texans
and
the
Fight
for

Citizenship,
1917-‐1921,”
The
Journal
of
American
History
82,
no.
4
(March
1996):

1484.
JSTOR
(2945308).

28

Memo
from
G.
Wiggins/EFR
to
Mr.
Goldsmith,
March
27,
1918,
“Training
of

Colored
Troops,
1936,”
111-‐H-‐1211,
Historical
Films,
ca.
1914-‐ca.
1936,
Records
of

the
Office
of
the
Chief
Signal
Officer,
National
Archives
Catalogue
(24716).

29
Footage
of
a
later
film,
”US
Army
Black
Soldiers
Jive
March
Thru
Kettering,”

highlights
the
distinctive
and
rhythmic
marching
of
Black
troops
in
England
in
1943.

The
footage
can
be
read
in
various
ways,
and
is
heavily
susceptible
to
being
shaped

by
additional
framing
from
the
editor.
On
one
hand,
the
all-‐Black
troop
is
“othered”

simply
by
their
“Blackness-‐in-‐mass,”
and
abnormal
marching
style
as
they
march

through
a
white
area
of
Europe.
On
the
other
hand,
the
racial
spectacle
of
their

marching
is
not
merely
performed
for
the
pleasure
of
whites;
instead,
it
was
a

cultural
construction
practiced
by
the
Black
service
men
as
a
point
of
cultural

unification.
Thus,
as
the
Black
spectacle
is
married
to
American
patriotism
in
this

circumstance,
an
ownership
and
control
of
“place”
within
America
is
being

established
through
this
culturally
specific,
yet
American
marching.

30

Hall,
39.

31

Keith
asserts
that
one
county
in
Arkansas
was
so
fearful
of
potential
Black

uprisings
that
they
protested
against
allowing
Blacks
serve
in
the
military
at
all.
She

quotes
the
Craighead
County
draft
board
as
saying,
“the
negro
soldier
is
a
danger
to

any
community;
the
officers
seem
unable
to
control
them,
and
their
natural
brutality

asserts
itself
when
in
pack
and
with
arms…
They
are
quite
necessary
as
laborers,

and
should
stay
home
and
work.
Military
training
of
the
negro
will
certainly

intensify
the
race
problem
in
the
south.
The
south
will
do
the
negro’s
fighting,
if
he
is

left
in
the
field.”
(1351).

32

Hall,
39.

33

Sergei
Eisenstein,
“The
Dramaturgy
of
Film
Form
[The
Dialectical
Approach
to

Film
Form]”
in
Film
Theory
and
Criticism,
6th
ed.,
eds.
Leo
Braudy
and
Marshall

Cohen
(New
York:
Oxford
University
Press,
2004),
23-‐40.

34

Ibid.

35

Edison’s
Native
Woman
Washing
a
Negro
Baby
in
Nassau,
BI
(1903)
demonstrates

Black
subject’s
retreat
from
the
camera
that
seems
to
be
more
due
to
fear
than
due

to
non-‐cooperation
as
in
the
chow
line
scene
of
Rookies.
Native
Woman
is
nearly

identical
to
Edison’s
earlier
film
A
Morning
Bath,
in
which
a
Black
woman
roughly

bathes
a
Black
child
outdoors
in
a
washtub.
The
main
difference
between
the
two

films
is
the
distance
between
the
camera
and
the
subjects,
and
the
film’s
conclusion

perhaps
points
to
the
choice
in
this
distinction.
Native
Woman
(shot
in
a
medium-‐
long
shot
as
opposed
to
A
Morning
Bath’s
medium
shot)
concludes
with
the
camera

panning
away
from
the
woman
bathing
the
child
towards
the
group
of
onlookers.

73

The
distance
allows
the
filmmaker
to
capture
the
Black
onlookers
scattering
away

as
the
camera
points
in
their
direction,
seeking
safety
from
the
lens
of
the
camera.

With
the
newness
and
novelty
of
the
emerging
medium,
one
must
wonder
if
the

scattering
onlookers
took
the
concept
of
“being
shot
by
the
camera”
literally.

36

James
Reese
Europe,
“The
Negro’s
Place
in
Music,”
New
York
Evening
Post,
March

13,
1914;
reprint
in
Harvard
Musical
Review,
vol.
2,
no.
7
(April
1914),
15-‐16.

37

Dulaney
Terrey,
The
Signal
Corps:
The
Emergency
(Washington
DC:
Center
of

Military
History,
United
States
Army,
1994),
78-‐82.

38

Film
Editing
Instructions
to
Motion
Picture
Division
Signal
Corps

Photo
Lab,
April
13,
1936,
“Training
of
Colored
Troops,
1936,”
111-‐H-‐1211,

Historical
Films,
ca.
1914-‐ca.
1936.
Records
of
the
Office
of
the
Chief

Signal
Officer.
National
Archives
Catalogue
(24716).

39

One
could
also
speculate
the
War
Department’s
decision
to
make
use
of
the
old

footage
was
an
economic
decision
based
on
the
financial
restraints
of
the
Great

Depression.
However,
there
is
no
documentation
to
support
such
a
claim,
and
this

still
would
not
explain
why
the
War
Department
wouldn’t
just
show
the
original

versions
of
these
films
instead
of
cobbling
them
together.
Records
show
that
the

(re)production
of
Training
of
Colored
Troops
cost
a
mere
$16.03
in
1936—
equivalent
to
$295
today.
See
Film
Editing
Instructions
to
Motion
Picture
Division

Signal
Corps
Photo
Lab,
April
13,
1936,
“Training
of
Colored
Troops,
1936.”

40

Booker
T.
Washington
was
one
of
the
most
historically
notable
Black
leaders
at

the
dawn
of
the
20
th

century.
An
advocate
of
the
Atlanta
Compromise,
Washington

felt
as
though
Black
Americans’
best
ability
to
gain
social
acceptance
and
citizenship

in
the
United
States
post-‐Reconstruction
was
through
industrial
and
vocational

education.
Washington’s
politics
have
historically
been
considered
submissive
and

acquiescent
to
white
ideological
power
structures
by
many,
including
his
chief
rival

of
the
period,
W.E.B.
Dubois,
who
considered
Washington’s
framework
to
be
a
form

a
“semi-‐slavery.”
See
W.E.B.
Du
Bois,
The
Souls
of
Black
Folk
(New
York:
Barnes
and

Nobles
Classics,
2003),
35-‐47.

74

Chapter
2:

The
Hoy
Falloy
Head
Up
to
Harlem:
Black
Cultural
Tourism
and

Hollywood’s
Navigating
Ambassadors

In
1935,
Paramount
released
Cab
Calloway’s
Jitterbug
Party
(Waller)
as
an

installment
of
its
Headliner
Series.

The
film
is
one
of
fifty-‐one
shorts
the
studio

released
in
1935,
and
one
of
only
a
handful
that
positioned
its
Black
protagonist
in
a

manner
in
which
their
onscreen
Blackness
was
not
primarily
in
service
to
white

characters.
As
a
result,
the
film
was
one
of
a
small
group
in
which
an
unlikely

cultural
representation
was
able
to
emerge,
exposing
the
complexity
and
dynamism

of
Black
America
during
a
period
in
which
the
representation
of
Blackness
by
major

studios
was
quite
one-‐dimensional
and
derogatory.

Jitterbug
Party
subversively
brings
to
the
screen
W.E.B.
Du
Bois’
theory
of

Black
American
duality
and
double-‐consciousness,
through
innovative
uses
of

music,
performance
and
cinematic
space;
however,
by
the
film’s
end,
and
through

very
specialized
uses
of
the
cinematic
medium,
a
provocative
variation
on
this
well-‐
known
argument
is
broached.

The
film
showcases
a
reality
of
the
Black
experience

in
America
that
rarely
was
expressed
on
screen
during
Hollywood’s
Golden
Age—
and
particularly
for
white
audiences.
Calloway’s
film
and
those
of
his
peers
from
the

era
do
important
work,
celebrating
a
cultural
product
that
at
once
highlights
the

specificity
of
the
Black
American
experience
while
simultaneously
working
to
close

the
gap
by
“un-‐othering”
Blacks
during
a
period
of
racial
segregation
in
America.

In
the
1930s,
during
the
peak
of
the
Harlem
Renaissance,
Harlem
had

become
the
epicenter
for
Black
thought,
culture,
and
creativity.
It
was
a
culturally

75

insular
space
that
also
provided
the
opportunity
for
its
in
habitants
to
operate
and

excel
outside
of
the
racial
strictures
of
Jim
Crow
America.
In
Harlem,
Blacks
had
the

unique
ability
to
experience
a
sense
of
freedom,
agency,
and
upward
mobility
that

was
largely
stifled
elsewhere
in
the
country.
With
a
slight
distance
from
the
white

mainstream,
an
urban
Black
cultural
insiderism
was
able
to
take
root
through
the

proliferation
of
Black
art,
traditions,
and
practices.
While
Harlem
Renaissance

scholarship
has
tended
to
focus
on
both
the
prolific
literary
and
visual
art

movements
that
emerged
during
the
period,
Melissa
Barton,
curator
of
the
Harlem

Renaissance
collection
at
Yale’s
Beinecke
Library,
notes
the
often
undervalued

importance
of
the
nightclub
scene,
and
its
ability
to
draw
Black
inhabitants—
including
these
Black
literary
and
art
figures-‐-‐
from
around
the
country.
1

Harlem

became
a
modern
Mecca
for
Black
Americans—a
safe
space
geared
towards
Black

re-‐enfranchisement
and
progress.

This
draw
to
Harlem
was
not
exclusive
to
Blacks;
in
fact,
the
neighborhood’s

congregation
of
Black
entertainment
and
Black
cultural
product
was
a
lure
for

curious
types
from
a
variety
of
backgrounds.
A
1929
article
in
Variety
colorfully

described
the
influx
of
white
interest
in
Harlem
as
a
recreational
destination:

Harlem
has
attained
pre-‐eminence
in
the
past
few
years
as
an
amusement

center.
Its
night
life
now
surpasses
that
of
Broadway
itself.
From
midnight

until
after
dawn
it
is
a
seething
cauldron
of
Nubian
mirth
and
hilarity.

One
sees
as
many
limousines
from
Park
and
Upper
Fifth
avenue
parked

outside
its
sizzling
cafes,
“speaks,”
night
clubs
and
spiritual
séances
[sic]
as
in

any
other
high
grade
white
locale
in
the
country.
2

For
some,
Harlem
was
a
site
of
Black
attraction-‐-‐
a
place
where
cultural
tourists

could
view
“the
spectacle
of
Blackness,”
and
where,
as
entertainer
Jimmy
Durante

76

put
it,
“It
isn’t
necessary
to
mix
with
colored
people
if
you
don’t
feel
like
it…But
it’s

worth
seeing.
How
they
step!”

3

For
others
it
was
a
site
for
racial
progression—a

place
where
forward-‐thinking
types
could
contribute
to
and
collaborate
with

(though
at
times,
in
a
problematic
and
ethnographic
manner)
the
energy
brought

forth
by
the
effusive
Harlem
Renaissance.
Harlem
is
where
cultural
outsiders
like

writer/socialite
Carl
van
Vechten
and
artist
Miguel
Covarrubias
made
names
for

themselves,
and
others
like
philanthropist
Charlotte
Osgood
Mason
and
publisher

Alfred
Knopf
were
able
to
find
and
elevate
incredible
Black
talent-‐-‐
many
of
whom

would
come
to
be
known
as
some
of
the
most
important
contributors
to
American

art,
such
as
Langston
Hughes,
Aaron
Douglas,
and
Zora
Neale
Hurston.
Thus,
Harlem

also
became
a
site
for
racial
exchanges—both
distanced
and
involved-‐-‐
that
seemed

impossible
and
improbable
in
other
locales
throughout
the
United
States
in
the

period.
4

New
York
served
as
an
emblem
of
modernity—
not
only
because
of
its

urbanity
and
industrial
capabilities
but
also
socially,
due
to
its
varied
ethnic
make-‐
up
and
potential
for
cultural
intermingling.

Harlem,
as
an
urban,
Black
cultural
hub

that
celebrated
its
deviance
from
social
norms
was
arguably
the
most
progressive,

modern
locale
in
New
York
City
and
the
United
States
at
large.
This
uniquely

American
form
of
modernity
in
Harlem
was
a
crucible
that
attracted
people
from
all

ethnic
and
cultural
backgrounds.

There
was
such
interest
in
Black
modern
culture
by
outsiders
that
in
January

of
1933,
Manhattan
magazine
published
E.
Simms
Campbell’s
“A
Night-‐Club
Map
of

Harlem”
as
its
centerfold
spread
5

—a
detailed
map
highlighting
places
of
interest
in

77

Harlem
for
its
primarily
white,
middle
class,
mid-‐Manhattanite
readership.
6

White

New
Yorkers,
also
called
“The
Mink
Set”,
who
ventured
up
to
Harlem
during
the

Harlem
Renaissance
derogatorily
coined
the
short
voyage
Uptown
as
“slumming”,
7

and
were
partly
lured
by
the
flowing
booze
that
seemed
to
be
Prohibition-‐proof;
as

Smithsonian
curator
Wendy
Wick
Reaves
contends,
“the
exotic
allure
of
[Harlem’s]

nightclubs…
was
just
a
fashionable,
alcoholic
escapade”
for
many
cultural
outsiders.

In
fact,
upon
close
examination
of
Campbell’s
busy
map,
the
prevalence
of
alcohol

available
between
131
st

and
138
th

Streets
is
very
openly
advertised:
a
man
in

various
stages
of
drunkenness
drapes
the
compass
in
the
bottom
corner,
“a
shorty
of

gin”
is
qualified
as
“Harlem’s
National
Drink”,
and
the
“Harlem
Moon”
has
a
doubled-‐
visage
emulating
the
double-‐vision
one
might
experience
when
looking
up
at
the

moon
after
a
booze-‐filled
night
out
in
Harlem.

In
fact,
it
seems
that
the
“sky
is
the

limit”
for
obtaining
alcohol
in
Harlem
in
1932,
as
a
man
sits
in
a
cloud,
happily

drinking
from
a
bottle
he
looks
down
on
all
the
street
level
activity.
Additionally,

according
to
the
map,
one
could
satisfy
other
lurid
vices
in
Harlem,
including
buying

marijuana,
gambling,
and
doing
business
with
a
well-‐dressed
“Sheik”
and
his
bevy
of

women
(complete
with
literal
cats
on
leashes,
as
double
entendre).
8

78

Fig.
3.1
“A
Night-‐Club
Map
of
Harlem,”
Manhattan,
January
1933,

E.
Simms
Campbell.

While
enticing
for
the
“fashionable”
white
crowd,
more
modest

traditionalists
viewed
these
same
images
and
activities
through
an
alternate
lens.

For
these
types,
Harlem
was
a
debased
location
thriving
off
of
lawlessness
and

amorality-‐-‐
stigmatized
not
only
because
of
the
abundance
of
alcohol
during

Prohibition,
drugs,
mob
presence,
and
scantily
clad
women,
but
also
because
of
the

race
mixing.

A
year
after
Campbell’s
map
was
published
in
Manhattan,
white
travel
writer

Hendrik
de
Leuuw
included
a
chapter
on
Harlem
in
his
Sinful
Cities
of
the
Western

World
(1934);
his
description
of
Harlem
closely
resembles
the
vivacious
images
in

Campbell’s
map,
however
with
an
air
of
alarmism
and
repugnance.
He
writes,

79

I
beheld
brown-‐skin
vamps
and
other
gay
colored
silhouettes,
romp
from

lantern
post
to
post.
I
saw
white
women
trot
along,
prancing
and
strutting

with
negroes…swarms
of
people
with
banjoes
and
ukes
strumming,
gurgling

sensual
music,
while
from
side
streets
one
could
almost
hear
the
heavy

snoring
of
dusky
inhabitants,
sleeping
the
sleep
of
the
jungle
man.
9

For
de
Leuww,
the
excursion
becomes
increasingly
nightmarish
and
frenetic
as
he

describes
a
hellish
scene
in
which
he
is
assaulted
with
images
of
“whites
on
top
of

blacks”,
a
“colored
wench…
with
a
face
like
a
mongrel
and
a
beetle
brow”
and

various
others
that
“impeded
[him]
as
he
fought
[his]
way
to
the
door”
of
a
popular

nightclub.
10

But
the
lure
of
Harlem
for
whites
was
not
merely
an
exercise
in
hedonism—it

was
also
the
draw
of
what
bell
hooks
refers
to
as
the
“seduction
of
difference”
11

-‐-‐
an

unusual
cultural
experience
that
gave
“outsiders”
an
unprecedented
access
to
Black

culture.
For
this,
Campbell’s
map
also
works
to
make
Harlem
legible
to
cultural

outsiders,
while
simultaneously
promoting
a
level
of
opacity
and
cultural

insiderism-‐-‐
at
times
at
the
white
outsider’s
expense.
The
map
shows
hordes
of

white
people
infiltrating
Harlem—so
many
that
a
multi-‐car
pile
up
occurs
in
front
of

popular
Connie’s
Inn.
White
patrons
pepper
the
map
in
the
audiences
of
most
of
the

well-‐known
clubs
(almost
as
a
covert
directive
for
what
to
expect
from
a
crowd
at
a

particular
location);
and
for
future
white
visitors,
Campbell
reveals
secret

passwords
to
gain
access
to
clubs,
directs
map-‐users
to
the
best
restaurants,
and

defines
terms,
such
as
“Doing
the
Bump”,
to
outsiders
who
might
not
be
familiar

with
the
area
or
lexicon.
12

Campbell’s
map
is
not
simply
a
representation
of
space,

but
is
instead
a
crash
course
on
how
to
navigate
the
space.
Outsider
entry
into

80

Harlem
is
an
active
experience,
and
when
Black
insiders
allow
access
into
the
space,

whites
must
become
active
participants.

Campbell’s
images
work
to
lure
with
lore,
in
an
attempt
to
normalize
and

demythologize
the
curiosities
surrounding
Black
life
in
Harlem
for
cultural
and

proximate
outsiders.
Cornel
West
contends
that
“demystification
is
the
most

illuminating
mode
of
enquiry”
13

for
groups
attempting
to
broaden
their

representations
and
close
cultural
gaps
in
his
1990
essay
“The
New
Cultural
Politics

of
Difference.”
West
explains
how
the
process
of
demythologizing
works
both
to

chip
away
at
established,
oppressive
power
structures
while
also
enabling
the

disenfranchised
with
a
sense
of
agency:

Demystification
tries
to
keep
track
of
complex
dynamics
of
institutional
and

other
related
power
structures
in
order
to
disclose
options
and
alternatives

for
transformative
praxis;
it
also
attempts
to
grasp
the
way
in
which

representational
strategies
are
creative
responses
to
novel
circumstances

and
conditions.
In
this
way,
the
central
role
of
human
agency
(always
enacted

under
circumstances
not
of
one’s
choosing)
–
be
it
in
the
critic,
artist,
or

constituency,
and
audience
–
is
accented.
14

However,
while
Campbell’s
map
works
to
demythologize
Black
urbanity
on
a

surface
level
for
white
cultural
outsiders,
it
is
also
culturally
encoded
for
Black

insiders,
which
in
essence
works
to
keep
intact
a
level
of
mysticism
accessible
only

to
those
cultural
insiders.
In
fact,
Barton
claims
that
while
the
map
does
provide

“actual
advice,”
it
also
goes
so
far
as
to
“[poke]
fun
at
these
downtowners”
who
will

make
the
trek
up
to
Harlem
in
pursuit
of
the
Black
cultural
experience.
15

Cultural

theorist,
Ernest
D.
Mason
contends
that
“poking
fun”
at
the
conventional
and

cultural
outsiders
is
a
common
trope
in
Black
art,
stating:
“Black
art
has
systemically

satirized
conventional
belief,
punctured
smugness
and
condemned
the

81

oppressiveness
and
injustice
of
a
wide
variety
of
human
conditions.”
16

While

Campbell
makes
plain
and
plots
some
of
the
most
well-‐known
night
spots
in
Harlem,

he
also
makes
clear
that
despite
the
thoroughness
of
his
endeavor,
“the
only

important
omission
is
the
location
of
the
various
[500]
speakeasies.”
17

This
written

addendum
highlights
that
there
is
an
“uncharted”
and
somewhat
“inaccessible”

Harlem
that
can
only
be
experienced
by
those
in
the
know—and
likely,
this
“hidden”

Harlem
offers
the
most
authentic,
unadulterated
cultural
experience.

Cornell
West
explains
that
the
“marginalized
First
World
agents’”
gesture
of

simultaneously
welcoming
and
shunning
the
empowered
majority
results
in
a

cultural
product
that
is
at
once
“progressive
and
coopted.”
18

The
“twoness”
in

Campbell’s
piece
makes
accessible
a
foreign
Black
American
world
and
experience

while
simultaneously
giving
a
cunning
nod
to
cultural
insiders.
In
effect,
the
map,

with
a
Black
illustrator
at
its
helm,
is
bestowed
with
a
unique
sense
of
cultural

ownership
and
as
a
result
defiantly
subverts
and
repositions
W.E.B.
Du
Bois’
double

consciousness
theory.

Du
Bois’
most
renowned
theoretical
framework
introduces
the
concept
of

Black
Americans
being
burdened
with
living
in
a
state
of
double-‐consciousness.
In

his
1903
essay,
“Of
Our
Spiritual
Strivings,”
he
explains
that
skin
color
has
a
“veiling”

affect,
which
highlights
not
only
racial
difference,
but
also
social
difference
in

America.
For
this,
Black
Americans
are
stripped
of
their
self-‐conscious,
and
instead

are
forced
to
see
themselves
“through
the
eyes
of
others.”
19

For
Du
Bois,
double-‐
consciousness
is
the
residual
effect
of
racist
white
dominant
ideologies;
it
is
a

82

mechanism
that
deprives
Blacks
of
agency
over
their
representation,
forcing
their

identity
instead
into
a
culturally
and
psychologically
fractured
state
of
“otherness.”
20

Campbell
works
to
challenge
and
upend
the
burdensome
strictures
of
the

Black
double-‐conscious
state.
He
is
given
the
public
space
(the
white
magazine)
to

represent
his
own
cultural
space
(Harlem),
and
as
a
result
is
able
to
steer
Black

double
consciousness
towards
Black
self-‐consciousness
and
authentic

representation.
With
respect
to
Du
Bois’
theory,
being
“othered”
is
an
imposition

placed
upon
passive
receivers—“the
veil”
that
Black
Americans
are
forced
to
wear
is

a
biological
burden.
For
Du
Bois,
Black
subjects
not
only
have
no
control
of
this

“mark,”
but
also
have
no
control
of
how
the
white
hegemony
perceives
this
mark,

nor
how
Blacks
themselves
are
able
to
perceive
themselves
in
a
white
dominated

society
built
on
a
foundation
of
racist
ideologies.
Thus,
“double-‐consciousness”
is
an

effect
that
develops
from
a
lack
of
control
over
ones’
self-‐consciousness
and
self-‐
representation—the
theory
strips
Black
subjects
of
their
representational
power,

and
positions
them
as
passive
receptors
of
racist
white
ideologies.
However,
in
the

case
of
Campbell’s
“A
Night
Club
Map
of
Harlem”,
the
control
of
the
“the
other”
and

the
resulting
“double
consciousness”
is
subverted,
as
a
Black
man
is
given
the

agency
to
direct
outsiders
through
the
Black
cultural
space.

Calloway’s
1935
Jitterbug
Party,
shot
in
late
1934
and
released
in
May
of

1935,
builds
upon
these
concepts
in
Campbell’s
work
three
years
later—essentially

bringing
his
map
to
life
through
film-‐-‐
though
with
an
even
greater
social
class,

cultural,
and
geographic
audience
reach.
Adapting
Campbell’s
methods
to
a
different

medium,
the
film
uses
cinematic
and
narrative
devices
to
take
viewers
on
an

83

excursion
through
Harlem-‐-‐
with
Calloway
as
their
guide.
Film
and
the
Black
pop

cultural
subject—Calloway
in
this
case—are
used
in
tandem
to
demystify
the
Black

urban
experience
for
white
viewers;
meanwhile
the
performance
is
encoded
with

cultural
insiderism,
demonstrating
the
nuance
of
Black
cultural
life
rarely
found
on

the
big
screen
during
the
period.
For
this,
Jitterbug
Party,
and
other
short
films

featuring
Black
popular
entertainers
from
the
period
are
instilled
with
a
sense
of

ownership,
agency,
and
authenticity
that
is
absent
from
most
other
major
studio

films
during
Hollywood’s
Golden
Age.

This
control
of
representation—though
often

encoded—subverts
the
typical
passive
reception
associated
with
double

consciousness
and
gives
Blacks
back
access
to
their
self-‐consciousness
in
a
defiant

manner.

Jitterbug
Party
narrativizes
Du
Bois’
concept
of
the
bifurcation
caused
by

double
consciousness
by
using
two
separate
and
distinct
locations
to
represent
the

Black
characters’
unmediated
“twoness.”
21

The
first
act
begins
in
Harlem’s
most

popular
white-‐oriented
nightclub:
The
Cotton
Club.
Variety
classified
the
Cotton

Club
as
one
of
eleven
Harlem
nightclubs
that
catered
predominantly
to
whites;
22

of

the
eleven
clubs,
The
Cotton
Club
was
the
largest,
most
popular,
and
most

expensive,
and
was
known
to
enforce
the
color
line
most
strictly.
23

Thus,
though
in

the
center
of
America’s
most
progressive
Black
area,
and
though
singularly

showcasing
Black
performative
culture,
the
Cotton
Club
was
a
white
space.
24

The
“whiteness”
of
this
space
is
established
up
front,
as
the
film
begins
with
a

white
radio
announcer
playing
emcee,
both
welcoming
the
white
cinematic
viewer

into
the
space
and
vetting
the
performance
over
the
radio
waves
for
the
white

84

listeners
at
home.
Initiating
the
film
with
a
white
body
is
a
visual
“high
sign”
for
the

white
viewer,
a
comfort
technique
used
to
assuage
any
preconceived
cultural
fears

about
traveling
to
Harlem
(figuratively
and
cinematically)
or
any
anxieties
about
the

Black
cultural
product
that
is
to
follow.
This
signal,
however,
was
not
merely
a

narrative
technique
for
Jitterbug
Party;
this
“
cultural
nod”
was
authentic
to
the

Cotton
Club,
and
was
consistently
utilized
as
the
white
radio
broadcasters
ushered

the
Black
cultural
product
into
white
households
across
the
country
several
nights
a

week
in
the
late
1920s
and
throughout
the
1930s.

Beginning
in
1927,
the
Cotton
Club
program
began
to
be
broadcast
nationally

on
CBS
radio
(and
eventually
internationally)
after
having
local
success
on
regional

stations.
The
show
was
broadcast
between
five
and
six
times
a
week
to
the
broader

demographic;
Cotton
Club
historian
Jim
Haskins
suggests
that
“nearly
every

American
who
had
a
radio
knew
of
the
Cotton
Club.”
25

Historian
James
Lincoln

Collier
similarly
suggests
that
through
the
reach
of
the
radio
broadcasts
that
the

Cotton
Club
was
“becoming
the
most
famous
nightclub
in
the
country,”
because

“what
could
be
more
glamorous
to
a
radio
listener
in
Des
Moines
than
to
tune
in
to

the
Cotton
Club,
where
show
business
celebrities,
politicians,
and
famous

columnists
sat
around
with
big-‐time
gangsters
and
murderers?”
26

What
is
neither

inferred
nor
made
explicit
by
either
Haskins
or
Collier
however,
is
the
prevalence
of

white
consumption
of
the
Cotton
Club’s
Black
cultural
product.
The
broader

American
demographic,
“listener[s]
in
Des
Moines,”
and
glamorous
attendees
at
the

segregated
Cotton
Club
were
all
white.
Thus
despite
the
performance
of
Black

85

cultural
product
on
stage,
the
Cotton
Club
as
a
space—physical
(live
attendance),

visual
(cinematic
projection),
or
figurative
(radio
transmission)—was
truly
white.

Jitterbug
Party
conveys
this
distinction
visually,
demarking
the
white

audience
members
from
the
Black
performers
on
stage;
this
visual
division

reinforces
cultural
power
dynamics
and
underscores
the
whiteness
of
the
Black

performance
space.
This
is
a
representation
of
Harlem
as
a
safe
space—a
space
in

which
the
performativity
of
an
“acceptable”
version
of
Blackness
by
extension

underscores
Black
double
consciousness,
in
which
Blacks
can
only
see
themselves

“through
the
revelation
of
the
other
world.”
27

This
portrayal
of
the
Black
cultural

experience
and
Black
cultural
performativity
is
the
version
that
was
most
commonly

accessible
to
cultural
outsiders
and
was
represented
at
the
surface
level
of

Campbell’s
map.

However,
what
makes
this
film
particularly
subversive
is
the
fact
that

without
the
audience’s
consent,
the
film
uses
music
as
a
vehicle
to
travel
away
from

the
area
of
Harlem
deemed
“acceptable”
for
whites,
and
into
an
entirely
new
and

authentically
Black
space;
the
white
viewer
by
extension
is
along
for
the
ride
and

given
access
into
a
world
otherwise
off
limits
to
cultural
outsiders.
Popular
music

scholar
Josh
Kun
contends
that
music
is
“a
connection,
a
ticket,
a
pass,
an
invitation,

a
node
in
a
complex
network,”
28

and
as
Jitterbug’s
white
radio
announcer
introduces

Calloway’s
second
number
“Long
About
Midnight”
as
a
“musical
description
of

darkest
Harlem”,
the
white
viewer
is
being
prepared
for
a
journey
into
an
uncharted

Black
space.
The
song
is
the
bridge
between
the
two
worlds,
as
Calloway
then
takes

86

the
audience
on
a
lyrically
descriptive
journey
that
could
serve
as
an
accompanying

piece
to
Campbell’s
map:

Just
take
a
look
at
Harlem
after
sundown

Any
time
you
choose;

It's
hard
to
find
the
people
feeling
run-‐down;

There's
no
time
for
blues

If
you
don't
know
just
what
to
really
do

Just
take
a
walk
along
the
avenue;

You'll
hear
the
sounds
come
a-‐floatin'
through

Along
about
midnight

They
close
the
windows
and
they
dim
the
light

To
hide
their
doings
from
a
stranger's
sight;

Everything
is
going
right

'Long
about
midnight

Pianos
tinkle,
and
the
couples
sway

Taking
the
pleasures
they
find

They
don't
care
how
they
live
by
day

Why
not
leave
trouble
behind?

They're
not
pretending
like
the
hoy-‐falloy;
29

They
really
mean
it;
it's
the
real
McCoy

They
turn
an
ounce
of
booze
into
a
pound
of
joy

'Long
about
midnight!

The
song,
written
by
manager
and
publisher,
Irving
Mills,
30

and
Black
jazz

arranger
Alex
Hill,
31

gives
not
only
a
detailed
description
for
the
cultural
outsiders,

but
also
works
on
crafting
an
experiential
feel
and
overall
Black
cultural
aesthetic
of

Harlem,
its
inhabitants,
and
its
activities
for
the
listener.

Cultural
theorist
Ernest
D.
Mason
explains
that
the
“Black
Aesthetic”
cannot

simply
be
measured
by
the
same
traditional
formal
characteristics
as
other
art;

instead,
the
Black
Aesthetic
has
an
ephemeral
quality
that
relies
on
feel
and

experience.
Further,
he
contends
that
the
art
that
is
produced
via
the
Black
Aesthetic

87

is
part
of
a
dual
feedback
system,
as
“the
Black
Aesthetic
critical
methods
quickly

move
from
works
of
art
to
everyday
Afro-‐American
experiences
without
which

these
artistic
creations
would
never
have
come
into
existence.”
32

For
this,
art

enveloped
with
the
Black
Aesthetic
embodies
a
sense
of
“truth”
and
“reality”
that

may
not
be
found
in
Black
representations
that
do
not
also
convey
the
Black

Aesthetic.
Thus,
the
viewer
experiences
an
authenticity
that
is
not
present
during

the
scene
at
the
Cotton
Club;
the
feel
created
by
the
musical
journey
into
Harlem

takes
the
viewer
from
a
representation
of
a
Black
cultural
space
into
an
authentic

Black
cultural
space.

Harlem
Renaissance
poet
Jean
Toomer
writes
about
the
power
of
music

being
able
to
transport
listeners
into
different
worlds,
but
he
also
mentions
the

limitations
of
the
journey,
noting
that
it
“cannot
keep
[the
listener]
in
that
different

world…Once
it
is
over
for
the
time
being,
[the
listener]
slide[s]
back
into
this

world.”
33

However
the
Black
musical
short,
with
its
fusion
of
sound
and
the
visual,

as
well
as
with
the
feel
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
layered
throughout
allows
for
a
greater

permanence
in
the
journey.
The
music
in
Jitterbug
Party
is
a
porthole
for
the
white

viewer
into
the
Black
space,
but
the
Black
Aesthetic
and
visuals
allow
the
viewer
to

linger
after
the
music
has
ended.

With
“A
Long
Way
to
Go”
providing
the
music
for
the
Black
exodus
from
the

white-‐catered
fringes
of
Harlem
into
the
“dark”
heart
of
Harlem,
34

the
group

traverses
past
many
of
the
well-‐known
locations
represented
on
Campbell’s
map,

including
Tillie’s
Chicken
Grill,
the
Log
Cabin,
and
the
Lafayette
Theater.
A
sense
of

broader
Black
“community”
is
established,
as
a
large
swath
of
inhabitants
are

88

featured,
from
a
child
buying
a
bag
of
peanuts
to
Black
police
officers
happily

greeting
the
passersby;
additionally,
the
variety
of
activities
and
class

representations
demonstrate
the
complex
texture
within
the
Black
community
in
a

manner
not
typically
shown
on
film
during
this
era.
Images
of
poverty
in
Harlem

(poor
children
sleeping
on
a
door
stoop)
are
counterbalanced
with
images
of
the

Black
middle
class
reveling
in
the
Harlem
night
life
(well-‐dressed
couples
carousing

about
town),
and
images
of
“elevated”
culture
(The
Lafayette
Theatre)
are
blended

with
“low”
activities
(a
craps
game,
public
drunkenness).
Though
not
intended
to
be

exhaustive,
this
montage
takes
the
characters
and
the
viewer
into
the
heart
of

Harlem,
and
works
to
upend
the
monolithic
representations
of
Blackness
typically

on
the
screen
by
showing
a
diversity
in
the
Black
image.
The
result
is
a
cinematic

conversion
of
the
traditional
voyeuristic
portrayal
of
Black
bodies
and
Black

activities
to
a
representation
of
the
Black
experience.
As
the
group
moves
deeper

into
Harlem
and
physically
puts
distance
between
itself
and
whiteness,
it
also
moves

closer
to
Black
authenticity
and
self-‐representation,
and
away
from
the
burden
of

double
consciousness.

The
final
act
of
Jitterbug
Party
continues
to
allow
a
space
for
the
unburdening

of
the
Black
players’
double
consciousness.
The
characters’
exodus
through
the

heart
of
Harlem
culminates
at
a
“Jitterbug
Party”—essentially
a
“rent
party”
that

represents
a
space
of
Black
insularity,
and
the
innermost
concentric
circle
in
the

Black
Harlem
nightlife
experience.

As
Calloway
and
his
band
play
again,
there
are

no
longer
any
cultural
outsiders
in
the
frame,
no
white
viewers
in
attendance
as
the

band
performs,
and
in
fact,
no
passive
viewers
at
all;
thus,
the
burden
of
double

89

consciousness-‐-‐an
experience
that
can
only
be
upheld
when
barriers
of
difference,

class
and
racial
stratification
are
established-‐-‐
is
lifted
in
this
space.

As
a
result,
the

Black
players
are
unburdened
due
to
the
lack
of
white
gaze
(both
physically
and

conceptually)
and
are
able
to
act
and
react
in
what
is
perceived
to
be
a
more
natural

manner.

The
process
of
disengaging
from
the
strictures
of
double
consciousness

allows
the
Black
players
a
unique
on
screen
experience:
they
are
able
to
participate

in
their
Blackness
and
cultural
aesthetic
instead
of
performing
it.
This
conversion
is

made
literal
in
the
film
when
Calloway’s
Cotton
Club
performance
is
juxtaposed

with
its
reconfiguration
in
the
Black
space;
here,
there
are
no
barriers
between

those
being
“gazed
at”
and
“the
gazers,”
and
the
musicians
opt
to
dance
with
female

partygoers—instruments
in
hand
as
they
two
step.

Without
“the
veil,”
the
performance
space
is
equalized;
there
is
no
difference

between
a
performer
and
a
viewer.
As
a
final
comment
on
the
oneness
between

performer
and
viewer
achieved
in
this
space,
Calloway
begins
the
same
“Call
of
the

Jitterbug”
refrain
that
he
called
out
to
his
white,
Cotton
Club
audience
at
the

beginning
of
the
film-‐-‐
however
in
this
Black
space,
the
refrain
becomes
antiphonal,

as
the
Black
viewers
naturally
react
and
respond
to
the
unspoken
cultural
clues
that

signal
“call
and
response.”
Finally,
the
musical
dialogue
culminates
with
all
of
the

partygoers
randomly,
yet
seamlessly
falling
into
step
with
one
another.

This
insular

space
uses
both
musical
sound
and
performance
to
boast
Black
cultural
insiderism,

and
to
allow
the
inhabitants
of
the
Black
screen
space
to
move
freely
and
without

the
burden
of
the
“veil.”

90

By
the
film’s
end,
the
white
cinematic
viewer
is
imbued
with
a
sense
of

voyeuristic
triumph;
through
film
and
music,
they
have
been
on
a
secret,
peripatetic

journey—navigating
spaces
and
witnessing
rituals
that
would
otherwise
be
off

limits
to
them
as
outsiders.
However,
Calloway
unexpectedly
disrupts
the
viewer’s

voyeuristic
experience
in
the
film’s
final
moments
by
breaking
the
fourth
wall.
As

Calloway
addresses
the
viewer
directly,
he
makes
it
known
that
he
and
the
other
on

screen
Blacks
have
in
fact
been
aware
of
the
white
presence
all
along;
importantly,

despite
this
awareness
of
being
in
mixed
company,
they
have
rebelliously

unburdened
themselves
from
the
veil.
In
this
moment,
the
power
dynamics
between

Blacks
and
whites
and
the
theory
of
double-‐consciousness
are
restructured.

The
act
of
being
undeterred
in
the
practice
of
Black
insular
culture,
despite

the
voyeuristic
white
gaze,
is
particularly
impactful
in
this
film
because
the
act
is

anomalous
in
Hollywood
films
from
the
Golden
Age.

While
the
narrative
of
many

films
of
the
era
cause
white
protagonists
to
“catch”
Black
characters
in
a
state
of

their
natural,
non-‐veiled
Blackness,
once
the
Black
characters
discover
the
white

gaze,
they
are
immediately
shrouded
with
the
veil
again.

This
is
notably
evidenced
in
the
Harlem
Congaroo
dance
sequence
in

Universal’s
Hellzapoppin’
(Potter,
1941).
While
delivering
instruments
to
an
estate,
a

Black
porter’s
accidental
striking
of
a
single
piano
key
balloons
into
an
impromptu

jazz
improvisation
session.
Hearing
the
music,
all
of
the
other
Black
characters,
each

costumed
as
“the
help”
(porters,
kitchen
staff,
handymen,
maids,
maintenance
men,

valet,
etc.),
converge
from
various
areas
of
the
estate
to
participate
and
contribute
to

the
performative
activity.
Understanding
that
this
space
is
culturally
insular,
the

91

characters
are
freed
from
their
rigid
affectations
(as
well
as
their
imposed
work

responsibilities)
as
they
all
come
together,
discard
the
veil,
and
put
on
a
grand

display
of
the
Black
cultural
aesthetic
through
dance
and
music.

However,

unbeknownst
to
the
Black
characters,
as
the
cultural
practice
continues
the
white

characters
(Chic
Johnson,
Ole
Olson,
and
Jeff
Paige)
secretly
peer
in
on
the
space

from
behind
a
curtain.
They
are
gleeful
their
voyeurism,
as
they
seem
to
understand

that
they
are
witnessing
an
act
and
activity
that
would
normally
be
inaccessible
to

them
as
cultural
outsiders.
The
white
characters
have
the
rare
opportunity
to

witness
Blackness
in
its
natural,
“participatory”
state,
as
opposed
to
the

“performative”
manner
in
which
it
is
normally
relayed
to
a
white
audience.

Yet,

unlike
in
Jitterbug
Party,
the
act
of
participating
in
the
Black
cultural
aesthetic
is
not

defiant;
thus,
when
the
Black
characters
realize
they
are
being
peered
in
on
by

cultural
outsiders,
they
react
as
though
they
have
been
seen
naked,
quickly
re-‐
veiling
themselves,
and
scattering
away
out
of
eyesight.

This
reversion
to
embodying
the
theory
of
double
consciousness
when
Black

spaces
are
infiltrated
by
cultural
outsiders
happens
outside
of
the
performative

arena
as
well
in
films
of
the
era.
Warner
Brothers’
antebellum
period
piece
Jezebel

(Wyler,
1938),
has
several
Black
supporting
characters
that
are
featured
throughout

the
movie,
but
only
two
scenes
in
which
the
characters
are
able
to
congregate
and

create
an
insular
cultural
space.

In
the
first
such
scene,
the
Black
representation
is

performative
and
crafted
for
the
white
gaze.

In
an
effort
to
antagonize
her

progressive-‐thinking,
former
lover
(Henry
Fonda)
and
his
new
Northern
wife

(Margaret
Lindsay),
Julie
calls
for
the
Black
slaves
on
her
plantation
to
gather
and

92

perform
Negro
spirituals
for
the
white
group.
Though
the
group
is
amassed
to

perform
the
Black
cultural
aesthetic,
the
space
is
curated
by
Julie,
a
white
character,

for
the
white
audience.

As
a
result,
the
Black
musical
expression
is
veiled
with
the

burden
of
double-‐consciousness.

A
second
gathering
of
Black
characters
occurs
later
in
the
film,
but
this
time

in
the
kitchen—an
insular
Black
space
in
which,
without
the
presence
of
whites,
the

characters
are
unburdened
by
the
requirement
of
the
veil.
In
this
traditional
Black

workspace,
the
characters
crowd
around
a
kitchen
table
to
quietly
discuss
newly

discovered
details
about
the
Yellow
Fever
outbreak;
suddenly,
the
Black
nucleus
is

unknit
as
Julie,
a
cultural
outsider
in
this
Black
work
area,
infiltrates
the
space.
As
in

Hellzapoppin’,
the
very
moment
the
Black
characters
realize
the
space
has
been

breached,
the
cultural
power
dynamics
shift,
and
the
veil
is
reinstated
as
they

abruptly
disengage
from
their
insular
activity.

This
reordering
of
socio-‐cultural

power
and
Black
consciousness
is
a
trope
present
in
countless
Golden
Age

Hollywood
films;
35

the
presence
of
whites
in
Black
spaces
has
an
uncontrollable

“oppressive”
effect,
instantly
converting
Black
participants
into
Black
performers

and
reburdening
them
with
the
veil
of
double
consciousness.
36

Calloway,
however,
bucks
this
Hollywood
trend
in
in
Jitterbug
Party.
First,
his

breaking
of
the
fourth
wall
is
not
merely
a
self-‐reflexive
device,
but
also
speaks
to

Mason’s
concept
of
the
satire
in
Black
art.
Much
like
Campbell’s
map,
Calloway

“pokes
fun”
at
the
cultural
outsiders
who
have
attempted
to
infiltrate
and
witness

the
world;
Calloway
makes
it
explicit
that
despite
the
fact
that
he
was
in
an
insular

Black
space,
that
he
has
been
aware
all
along
that
outsiders
have
been
spying
on
the

93

practices
therein.
There
is
a
tongue-‐in-‐cheek
quality
to
his
address,
and
the
spying

viewer
is
made
to
feel
as
though
the
joke
is
really
on
them.
This
simple
cinematic

strategy
when
in
the
hands
of
a
Black
character
practicing
the
Black
Aesthetic

becomes
profoundly
political;
Calloway’s
use
of
cinematic
self-‐reflexivity
and
satire

is
an
astute
but
subversive
power
play
for
equality.

Fig.
3.2
Calloway
breaks
the
4
th

wall
and
shifts
the
dynamics
of
double-‐

consciousness
in
Jitterbug
Party
(Paramount,
1935).

Equally
significant
is
Calloway’s
refusal
of
the
veil
in
this
moment
in
which
he

acknowledges
white
presence
in
this
Black
cultural
space.
Unlike
the
historic

tendency
to
be
startled
by
the
white
gaze,
and
to
react
as
though
one
has
been
seen

without
suitable
cover,
Calloway
remains
not
only
unaffected
by
being
peered
at,

but
also
returns
the
gaze.
Thus,
while
the
standard
of
Du
Bois’
double-‐consciousness

is
“Blacks
seeing
themselves
through
the
eyes
of
whites,”
Jitterbug
Party

demonstrates
a
dynamic
in
which
double-‐consciousness
turns
in
on
itself
to
the

94

Black
subject’s
benefit.
In
this
circumstance,
the
gaze
(and
double-‐consciousness
by

proxy)
becomes
a
circuitous
feedback
loop,
causing
the
whites
who
see
Blacks

through
their
white
eyes
to
be
seen
through
Calloway’s
Black
eyes.

With
Calloway’s

gaze
and
direct
address,
the
power
dynamic
shifts,
his
ability
to
be
self-‐conscious
is

reclaimed,
and
he
is
given
equal
footing
with
the
gazer.

Du
Bois
himself
had
tested
this
concept
of
the
racially
inverted
gaze
at
the

1900
Paris
Exposition
with
his
“American
Negro”
exhibit.
Like
both
Campbell’s
map

of
Harlem
and
Calloway’s
Jitterbug
Party,
the
exhibit
was
meant
to
showcase
a

modern
representation
of
Blackness
not
often
seen
by
the
white
viewing
public.
In

his
exhibit,
Du
Bois
engaged
with
the
“visual
theory”
of
race,
curating
over
300

portraits
of
middle
class
Blacks
who
looked
directly
into
the
camera,
resulting
in

photographic
prints
of
subjects
that
look
directly
back
at
the
viewer.
Many
of
the

images
are
arresting—forcibly
causing
the
viewer
to
engage
directly
with
the

subject.
Du
Bois
hoped
that
these
images
would
create
a
new
dialogue
around
Black

visual
representation,
challenging
many
of
the
negative
and
prejudicial

preconceptions
about
Black
Americans.

Moreover,
as
scholar
Shawn
Michelle
Smith
argues,
the
returned
gaze
in

these
photographs
is
not
merely
progressive
in
its
attempt
to
disrupt
staid

socioeconomic
and
moral
stereotypes
about
Black
Americans,
but
is
also
a
“critical

cultural
position,”
as
it
both
defies
and
inverts
historic
power
dynamics.
37

The
act
of

returning
the
gaze
is
defiant
and
assertive.
Despite
being
showcased
in
this
white

space,
the
Black
gaze
is
confrontational
and
demanding;
with
this
returned
gaze,
the

95

photographic
subjects
stake
a
claim
to
their
right
to
exist
in
the
art
space—and
by

extension,
cultural
space-‐-‐
without
the
veil.

Fig.
3.3
and
3.4
Two
portraits
from
The
Exhibit
of
American
Negroes,

World’s
Fair
1900,
Paris

Calloway’s
returned
gaze
at
the
end
of
Jitterbug
Party
functions
similarly,
but
uses

the
additional
capabilities
of
music
and
the
devices
unique
to
moving
images
to

push
the
impact
of
the
returned
gaze
even
further.
Calloway
confronts
the
viewer

both
visually
and
audibly,
and
makes
it
clear
that
they
are
all
sharing
the
same

world—and
he,
happily
without
the
veil.
Further,
the
music
that
has
drawn
the

viewer
into
the
world
serves
as
an
additional
confrontation.
Kun’s
claim
that

“musical
listening
is
a[n]…encounter
of
the
meeting
of
worlds
and
meanings”
serves

as
a
point
of
interrogation
for
both
the
white
viewer
and
the
Black
subject
38

—while

96

the
white
viewer
gains
access
into
the
Black
world
via
music,
the
Black
subject
also

gains
freedom
in
the
white
world
as
a
byproduct
of
music.

The
Black
Aesthetic
proliferated
in
Jitterbug
proved
problematic
for

Paramount
before
the
short
was
even
released.
The
Production
Code
Administration

required
the
film
to
be
edited
and
re-‐submitted
numerous
times
over
several

months
before
it
was
given
a
seal.

Even
after
Paramount
complied
with
all
of
the

changes
requested
by
the
board,
the
PCA
still
found
the
film
objectionable—
although
no
one
seemed
to
be
able
to
pinpoint
why.
Vince
Hart,
head
of
the
New

York
branch
of
the
PCA,
claimed
that
even
though
“Paramount
had
done
everything

requested
[by
the
organization]
the
atmosphere
(negro
background)
was

questionable
and
[he]…could
not
issue
Code
Certificate.”
39

Desperate
to
solve
the

problem,
Paramount
chose
to
send
the
film
directly
to
PCA
head
administrator

Joseph
Breen
on
the
West
Coast.
Breen
found
the
content
similarly
inappropriate,

but
like
Hart,
was
unable
to
name
any
specific
issues
with
the
material,
claiming
that

“the
general
flavor
and
atmosphere
of
the
picture
are
such
as
to
make
it
definitely

objectionable
and
unacceptable.”
40

The
problem
seemed
to
be
undefinable
–
more
a

feeling
that
upon
initial
review
was
unusual
and
disconcerting
for
whites.
The
feel
of

the
Black
Aesthetic-‐-‐
its
confidence
and
its
defiance-‐-‐
caught
the
content

gatekeepers
at
the
PCA
off
guard
and
kept
them
unsettled.

The
overall
vagueness
of
Breen
and
the
PCA’s
issues
with
Jitterbug
Party
is

notable.
The
goal
of
the
self-‐regulating
PCA—unlike
the
tangentially
governed,

Catholic-‐led
Legion
of
Decency,
as
an
example—was
not
to
obstruct
the

dissemination
of
material,
but
instead
to
rework
and
retool
material
to
avoid

97

obstruction
down
the
line
by
localized
censor
boards.
For
this,
the
PCA
worked
to

proactively
resolve
potential
censor-‐worthy
concerns
in
films
by
giving
extremely

detailed
accounts
of
controversial
elements.
In
addition
to
the
comprehensive
list
of

requirements
stated
in
the
“General
Principles”
and
“Particular
Applications”

section
of
the
Code,
the
PCA
provided
studios
with
thorough
and
enumerated

feedback;
the
feedback
would
pointedly
specify
specific
activities,
costuming,

suggestive
body
language,
dialogue,
etc.,
that
would
be
considered
objectionable,

and
at
times
would
offer
suggestions
on
how
to
rectify
the
violation.

Although
there

is
evidence
of
one
such
elimination
required
by
the
New
York
Censor
Board
in

which
a
man
patting
a
woman
on
her
back
while
the
two
danced
was
considered

“indecent,”
41

the
PCA
as
the
overarching
governing
body
has
no
such
specifications

nor
suggestions
whatsoever
in
its
existing
records.
The
lack
of
clarity
in
correction

in
the
correspondence
is
a
bit
of
an
anomaly,
and
points
perhaps
to
larger
themes

and
preconceptions
about
racial
representation
that
exist
outside
of
the
text.

The
film
was
eventually
approved
by
both
the
Motion
Pictures
Producers
and

Distributors
of
America
(MPPDA)
and
the
National
Board
of
Review,
and
was
widely

released
and
distributed
three
months
later,
though
it
is
not
evident
that
any

specific
changes
were
made
per
recommendation
of
the
PCA;
further
the
“general

flavor
and
atmosphere”
with
respect
to
the

“negro
background”—an
element
that

made
the
film
entirely
unreleasable
according
to
the
PCA-‐-‐
seem
to
remain
fully

intact
in
the
cut.
42

The
release
of
Jitterbug
Party
was
a
destabilizing
representation

of
Blackness
to
the
mainstream,
and
was
uncharted
territory
for
the
Studio
System.

The
Black
studio
short
created
a
platform
for
the
“othered”
to
bring
forth
cultural

98

representations
that
might
otherwise
be
considered
resistant
and
subversive
in
the

feature
world.

While
Jitterbug
Party
incited
an
explicit
reaction
from
the
censor
boards
due

to
the
boundary
pushing
representation
of
Black
culture
on
screen,
there
were
other

Black
short
films
from
this
era
that
were
likewise
subverting
the
status
quo.
During

the
same
year
in
which
sound
film
was
emerging
and
the
racially
degrading

tradition
of
Blackface
minstrelsy
was
being
adapted
for
the
screen
in
The
Jazz
Singer

(Crosland,
1927),
Duke
Ellington
released
his
musical
composition
“Black
and
Tan

Fantasy”-‐-‐
the
name
of
which
was
derived
from
the
comparatively
racially

progressive
“Black
and
Tan”
clubs
in
Harlem
that
“permitted
casual
race
mixing.”
43

Two
years
later
in
December
of
1929,
RKO
adapted
the
composition
and
concept

into
a
film
short,
Black
and
Tan
(Murphy),
with
Ellington
as
the
star.

Black
and
Tan
was
the
second
Black
musical
short
for
Murphy
after
his
work

on
St.
Louis
Blues
(1929),
starring
Bessie
Smith,
was
released
a
few
months
earlier
in

September.
44

Black
and
Tan
centers
on
Ellington
(playing
a
loose
version
of
himself),

a
composer,
and
his
girlfriend
(Fredi
Washington),
a
dancer
with
heart-‐problems,

landing
a
much
needed
gig
at
a
nightclub.
Despite
his
initial
excitement,
Ellington
is

wary
of
Washington
putting
such
strain
on
her
body,
but
Washington
insists.
By
the

film’s
end,
Ellington’s
initial
hesitation
is
proven
credible,
as
Washington
passes
out

during
the
performance,
and
later
passes
away
in
her
sickbed
while
Ellington’s
band

plays
a
mournful
dirge.

Murphy’s
film
background
was
in
directing
“visual
symphonies”
(including

the
foundational
avant-‐garde
film,
Ballet
Mécanique
[1924],
alongside
Fernand

99

Léger),
and
unlike
the
majority
of
filmmakers
who
felt
that
New
York
was
a
place
of

Hollywood
exile
for
industry
professionals,
Murphy
relished
in
the
promise
and

possibilities
of
independent
production
that
was
beginning
on
the
East
Coast.
Self-‐
exiling
himself
to
the
coast
that
was
more
willing
to
experiment
and
take
risks
in

film,
he
sold
major
studio
RKO
on
the
idea
of
trying
their
hand
at
producing
Black

musical
shorts.
45

For
Black
and
Tan,
he
is
said
to
have
brought
in
resident
Harlem
Renaissance

cultural
outsider
Carl
Van
Vechten
as
an
uncredited
advisor
to
capture
the
feel
of

Harlem.
46

Murphy
brought
many
of
his
artistic
techniques
to
Black
and
Tan,
creating

kaleidoscopic
optical
illusions
that
not
only
showed
off
the
medium,
but
also
served

as
a
dizzying
visual
device
to
underscore
the
lead
actress’
(Fredi
Washington)
own

dream-‐like
fever
state.

Murphy’s
use
of
abstract
images
also
specifically
pointed
to
the
Black
cultural

content
he
was
portraying,
as
he
incorporated
an
emblem
of
Black
modernity
that

began
to
emerge
during
the
time,
and
continued
to
be
developed
by
a
variety
of

Harlem
Renaissance
visual
artists
from
the
mid-‐1920s
through
the
1930s.

Specifically,
in
the
final
scenes
of
Black
and
Tan
as
Fredi
Washington
clings
to
life

due
to
overusing
her
weak
heart
in
a
dance
routine,
Murphy
projects
the
shadows
of

the
swaying
Black
characters
in
an
attempt
to
make
visual
the
abstract
nature
of

praise,
despair,
and
spirituality.

The
incorporation
of
this
silhouetted
imagery
in
Black
and
Tan
was
a
direct,

cinematic
reference
to
the
imagery
made
most
popular
by
modernist
Black
painter

Aaron
Douglas;
through
its
use,
the
Black
Aesthetic
was
emblematized
and
the

100

emergence
of
“The
New
Negro”
was
highlighted
on
screen.
Douglas’
visual
concept

permeated
the
Black
Arts
movement
and
quickly
became
an
oft-‐used
cultural

signifier
of
Black
modernity.
Throughout
the
Harlem
Renaissance
period,
he
was

commissioned
to
create
his
signature
silhouetted
illustrations
for
nearly
every

important
literary
contributor,
including
Alain
Locke,
James
Weldon
Johnson,

Langston
Hughes,
Zora
Neale
Hurston,
Paul
Morand,
Claude
McKay,
Wallace

Thurman,
and
even
white
author
and
photographer
Carl
Van
Vechten.
He
also

provided
cover
art
for
the
National
Urban
League’s
magazine,
Opportunity,
the

NAACP’s
magazine,
The
Crisis,
as
well
as
other
Black
journals
such
as
Fire!
and
Spark.

In
fact,
Douglas’
social
realist
style
was
so
representative
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
and

the
rise
of
Black
urbanity
of
the
period
that
he
was
commissioned
by
the
Roosevelt

Administration
as
part
of
the
Public
Work
Art
Project

(the
predecessor
to
the

Works
Progress
Administration)
under
the
New
Deal
to
create
a
piece

representative
of
“The
American
scene.”
47

101

Fig.
3.5
and
3.6
Silhouettes
from
Black
and
Tan
(RKO,
1929)
and
Song
of
the

Towers
(Aaron
Douglas,
1934)

These
silhouetted
figures
were
unique
in
their
ability
to
straddle
the
line
between

Black
cultural
specificity
and
generic
Black
ambiguity:
while
the
physical

composition
and
features
of
the
figures
were
explicit
and
clearly
identifiable
in
their

Blackness,
without
identifying
features,
they
were
also
generic
enough
to
represent

and
incorporate
the
Black
community
at
large.
“Generic”
Blackness
in
images
can
be

either
progressive
or
regressive
in
its
ability
to
unify,
based
on
the
intent
derived

from
an
artist’s
body
of
work,
and/or
overall
ability
to
convey
the
Black
Aesthetic.

Based
on
Douglas’
background
and
cultural
proximity
to
the
Black
Aesthetic,
his

pieces
were
widely
lauded,
and
universally
incorporated
within
the
Black
literary

and
artistic
communities.
The
adoption
of
this
technique
by
cultural
outsiders

however—in
this
circumstance
a
story
conceived
by
cultural
outsider
Murphy
and

overlooked
for
authenticity
by
cultural
imposer
Van
Vechten-‐-‐

cannot
be
read

102

without
considering,
intent,
cultural
proximity,
inclusion
of
Black
agency
in

representation,
and
the
work
or
artists’
body
of
work
in
its
entirety.

Additionally,

this
visual
trope
became
customary
in
Black
spiritual
sequences
in
film;
the

silhouetted
figures
and
projected
Black
shadows
were
used
in
countless
films,

including
King
Vidor’s
Hallelujah
(1929),
Cab
Calloway’s
sequence
in
The
Singing
Kid

(Lord,
1936)
starring
Al
Jolson
again
in
blackface,
and
as
a
comical
set
up
in

Bubbling
Over
(Jason,
1934),
amongst
many
others.

It
is
only
through
considering

these
elements
that
one
can
determine
whether
cultural
representations
are

expressions
of
a
culture,
or
exploitative
signifiers.

103

In
the
case
of
Black
and
Tan,
despite
the
incorporation
of
Douglas’

emblematic
Black
Aesthetic
technique
at
the
short
film’s
climax,
the
scene
cannot
be

read
singularly;
the
cultural
representations
throughout
the
film’s
entirety
must
be

considered
and
positioned
as
a
whole.
Particularly
problematic
to
the
progressive

vision
of
portraying
“The
New
Negro”
and
Black
urbanity
on
screen
is
the
degrading

inclusion
of
the
piano
movers
in
the
beginning
of
the
film.
Decoding
the
racialized

degradation
of
the
Black
and
Tan
piano
movers
is
particularly
evident
when
put
in

conversation
with
the
successful
Laurel
and
Hardy
vehicle
that
was
released
3
years

later,
The
Music
Box
(MGM,
1932).
The
plot
of
Stan
Laurel
and
Oliver
Hardy’s
Oscar

winning
short
in
simple:
a
rich
woman
buys
a
player
piano
for
her
husband,
and

Stan
Laurel
and
Oliver
Hardy
must
deliver
it
up
a
seemingly
endless
flight
of
stairs-‐-‐

dealing
with
a
slew
of
comedic
obstacles
along
the
way.
For
nearly
30
minutes,
the

fool-‐hardy
and
dimwitted
duo
struggles
to
make
the
delivery,
but
there
is
no

obstacle
that
stops
them
from
seeing
their
job
through
to
completion.

Although
they

make
quite
a
mess
of
everything
in
their
wake,
they
work
tirelessly
to
complete
the

task
at
hand.
Beneath
the
inanity
are
themes
of
hard
work
and
dedication
that
drive

the
film,
which
according
to
film
historian
Rick
Jewell
were
emblematic
Hollywood

themes
during
the
Golden
Age.
48

Laurel
and
Hardy’s
relentless
representation
of

“unity,
teamwork,
and
perseverance,”
49

even
when
fabricated
for
laughs,
is

representative
of
the
essential
elements
of
a
successful
and
thriving
America—
particularly
during
the
Great
Depression.

Despite
Laurel
and
Hardy’s
chaos,
they

work
persistently
to
reestablish
order.

104

On
the
other
hand,
the
narrative
presence
of
the
Black
piano
movers
(Edgar

Connor
and
Alec
Lovejoy)
in
Black
and
Tan,
moves
in
opposition
to
the
white
piano

movers
in
The
Music
Box.
While
The
Music
Box’s
white
movers
represent
the
robust

machinations
of
consumerism
amongst
upper-‐middle
class
individuals
in
a
healthy,

capitalistic
society,
Black
and
Tan’s
movers
conversely
represent
American

capitalism’s
biggest
woe—the
economically
burdensome
who
do
not
uphold
their

end
of
the
capitalist
contract.
Unlike
Laurel
and
Hardy,
the
Black
movers
are
not
out

to
deliver
a
piano—they
have
been
sent
to
repossess
a
piano
on
which
payment
has

not
been
made
since
(as
the
mover
explains
in
stereotypical
and
grammatically

incorrect
vernacular
that
is
used
to
demonstrate
a
lack
of
education)
“last
Ocawary”

(a
jeering
blend
of
“February”
and
“October”).
Though
Ellington
retains
his
dignity

with
respect
to
his
diction
and
visual
representation,
his
low
class
position
and

economic
delinquency
work
to
racialize
the
space
in
a
negative
and
stereotypical

manner,
and
narratively
typify
him
as
a
racial
representation
that
The
New
Negro

was
diligently
attempting
to
move
away
from.

More
regressively
derivative
is
the
characterization
of
the
piano
movers

themselves,
and
the
racial
inscription
of
their
comedic
acts.

Unlike
Laurel
and

Hardy,
who
must
fight
against
outside,
physical
obstacles
to
complete
their
tasks
(a

woman
descending
the
staircase
with
a
baby
carriage,
a
cop
stopping
them
for

questioning,
a
professor
jockeying
for
space
on
a
narrow
passageway,
a

troublesome
fountain,
a
closed
door,
and
the
staircase
itself),
the
biggest
obstacles

for
the
Black
movers
is
their
own
stereotypical
Blackness.
Though
there
are
no

physical
barriers
that
impede
the
Black
duo
from
completing
their
task
of
picking
up

105

Ellington’s
piano
(in
fact,
they
rudely
enter
Duke’s
apartment
without
even

knocking),
they
are
instead
hindered
by
their
coonish
characterization:

illiterateness,
the
inability
to
tell
time,
shiftlessness,
laziness,
easily
enticed
by

bribery,
and
a
love
for
alcohol.
The
characterization
of
the
Black
piano
movers
falls

under
what
Donald
Bogle
classifies
in
his
seminal
work,
Toms,
Coons,
Mulattoes,

Mammies,
and
Bucks,
as
the
most
“blatantly
degrading
of
all
black
stereotypes”
in
the

configuration
of
his
“black
pantheon”
of
screen
characters:
the
“pure
coon”-‐-‐
the

“no-‐account
niggers,
those
unreliable,
crazy,
lazy,
subhuman
creatures
good
for

nothing
more
than…
shooting
crap,
or
butchering
the
English
language.”
50

The
brief

scene
works
meticulously
to
disparage,
demonstrating
that
they
are
not
only
unfit,

but
are
also
unwilling
to
perform
every
single
aspect
of
their
menial
jobs;
in
fact,
the

scene
ends
with
the
task
of
retrieving
the
piano
incomplete.

While
the
narrative
in
The
Music
Box
revolves
around
the
actions
of
the
piano

movers,
the
presence
of
the
Black
piano
movers
in
Black
and
Tan
is
instead

categorically
jarring
(this
is
the
only
comedy
scene
in
the
otherwise
melodramatic

short)
and
thematically
and
narratively
disjointed.
The
piano
movers
serve
no

narrative
purpose
outside
of
comic
relief
for
the
white
viewer,
at
their
own
racially

encoded
expense.
Additionally,
although
the
inclusion
of
these
inconsequential

characters
seems
a
bit
frivolous
with
respect
to
the
narrative,
their
racialized
antics

work
to
overpower
the
film’s
star.
As
Ellington
is
moved
into
the
background
of
the

scene
while
the
piano
movers
take
center
stage,
their
racialized
characterization
is

given
greater
weight,
and
Ellington’s
signature
practicality
and
dignified

sophistication
are
entirely
occluded
by
the
stereotypical
cooning
of
the
piano

106

movers.
Thus,
the
inclusion
of
the
piano
players
is
an
othering
device,
and
serves
as

a
prescriptive
on
how
to
view
the
racialized
content
throughout
the
rest
of
the
film-‐-‐

despite
the
adoption
of
the
Douglas’
technique
in
this
film
(a
technique
that
in
the

right
cultural
hands
is
ensconced
in
expressive
Blackness
and
is
celebratory
of
Black

culture)
the
film
still
remains,
in
the
hands
of
white
writers
and
producers,
largely

exploitative.
With
these
othering
and
exploitative
measures,
a
nod
to
white
cultural

scopophilia
becomes
evident,
causing
one
to
question
whose
“fantasy”
Black
and
Tan

refers
to—that
of
the
”black
and
tan
people”
within
the
diegesis,
or
that
of
the

passive,
white,
cultural
outsider
viewer.

By
the
time
that
Ellington
began
doing
projects
with
Paramount
and
Fred

Waller
in
the
1930s,
the
tone
and
Black
cultural
ownership
of
his
short
musical

projects
had
shifted.
Both
A
Bundle
of
Blues
(Waller,
1933),
and
Symphony
in
Black:
A

Rhapsody
of
Negro
Life
(Waller,
1935)
moved
away
from
creating
a
“fantasy”
world

for
the
white
viewer
and
instead
delved
into
a
world
more
representative
of
the

reality
of
the
Black
Aesthetic.

With
Ellington’s
1931
international
tour
hiatus
from
his
residency
at
the

Cotton
Club,
the
musician
begin
to
take
greater
control
of
his
image,
associated

cultural
representation,
and
cultural
product.
Likely
as
a
marketing
mechanism,

Ellington
began
to
distance
himself
from
the
Cotton
Club
and
promote
his
autonomy

in
concrete
ways:
a
1931
press
release
advised
that
though
he
and
his
orchestra
had

“won
its
reputation
at
the
Cotton
Club
in
Harlem,
New
York….do
not
refer
to
it
as
the

Cotton
Club
orchestra.”
51

However
this
act
of
distancing
made
an
additional

statement;
the
Cotton
Club
was
known
for
crossing
the
line
of
Black
degradation-‐-‐

107

from
its
plantation
based
set,
jungle
themes,
and
whites
only
policy,
the
club
was
not

representative
of
modern
Black
strivings
for
mobility
and
equality.
Though
Ellington

later
claimed
that
his
“engagement
at
the
Cotton
Club
was
of
the
utmost

significance,”
52

his
release
from
the
Cotton
Club
also
released
him
from
a
setting
of

white
dominant
ideologies
about
Black
representation.

Ellington’s
autonomy
solidified
his
persona,
which
in
turn
informed
all
of
his

projects.
As
a
result,
after
1931,
a
sense
of
personal
autonomy
and
cultural
agency

can
be
detected
in
all
of
Ellington’s
films.
In
Ellington’s
films,
the
audience
is
given

access
to
an
autonomous
Ellington;
likewise,
though
Ellington’s
films,
the
audience

is
given
access
to
an
autonomous
representation
of
Black
culture.
This
move

towards
more
realistic
and
culturally
upstanding
representations
was
a
byproduct

of
an
increase
in
Ellington’s
agency
over
the
cultural
product;
with
Black
music

serving
as
the
dramatic
focal
point
instead
of
as
the
offshoot
of
a
fictionalized

narrative,
Ellington
gained
a
creative
control
uncommon
for
Black
players
in

mainstream
Hollywood
films
of
any
type
during
the
period.

One
foundational
difference
that
informed
the
tone
of
Black
Aesthetic
realism

in
Ellington’s
films
succeeding
Black
and
Tan
was
that
Ellington
never
again
played
a

character,
and
instead
only
was
filmed
portraying
himself
and
his
established
star

persona.
This
technique
not
only
enhanced
the
illusion
of
reality
by
pointing
to
a

documentary-‐style
representation,
but
also
worked
to
show
a
Black
subject
on
the

screen
who
bucked
the
stereotypical
Black
representations
that
had
taken
root
and

become
normalized
during
the
Golden
Age.

108

While
Donald
Bogle
contends
that
most
all
Black
subjects
in
Hollywood
film

have
been
historically
typed
as
one
of
five
categories
(toms,
coons,
mulattoes,

mammies,
and
bucks),
Ellington’s
representation
in
his
short
films
was
a
remarkable

departure
from
this
trend.
After
the
fictionalized
and
stereotypical
turn
in
Black
and

Tan,
Ellington’s
following
films
instead
pivoted
more
closely
around
his
true-‐life

persona.
Notable
Ellington
historian
John
Edward
Hasse
classifies
Ellington
as

“practical
man
who
maintained
his
personal
dignity;”
53

Cohen
claims
he
had
a

demeanor
that
was
“constantly
associated
with
values
of
quality
and

respectability.”
54

It
was
these
traits
that
were
exemplified
in
every
Ellington

representation
after
Black
and
Tan.

What
remains
most
essential
however
when
considering
Ellington’s
stage

persona
is
the
artist’s
control
over
his
own
representation.

In
a
1952
interview,

Ellington’s
manager
Irving
Mills
explained,
“I
never
tried
to
persuade
Duke
to

sacrifice
his
integrity
as
Duke
Ellington,
the
musician,
for
the
sake
of
trying
to
find
a

short-‐cut
to
commercial
success.”
55

Ellington’s
agency
over
his
persona
and
cultural

representation
allowed
for
an
uncommon
Black
authenticity
to
be
brought
to
the

screen
and
disseminated
to
the
white
viewing
public.

Unlike
Bogle’s
restrictive
categorizations
of
Black
Hollywood
“types,”

Ellington’s
persona
was
not
an
industry
construct,
but
was
instead
a
product
of
his

reality—his
Black
middle
class
upbringing
and
social
status.
Thus,
Cohen’s
claim

that
Ellington
was
the
“architect”
of
his
own
image,
and
that
manager
Irving
Mills

merely
exploited
and
marketed
the
image
that
Ellington
approved
is
true,
but
a
bit

misleading.

109

Ellington’s
persona
was
not
entirely
individuated,
but
was
instead
a

constituent
of
the
Black
middle
class
community
at
large.
56

Author
and
cultural
critic

LeRoi
Jones
(Amiri
Baraka)
positioned
the
Black
middle
class
as
one
that
prioritized

a
representation
of
“respectability
and
prestige
and
their
concomitant
privilege;”
57

these
same
communal
desires
and
descriptors
were
those
most
commonly

associated
with
Ellington
personally.
Through
Ellington’s
stage
persona,
the
public

was
not
witnessing
a
masked
performer,
but
was
instead
given
access
to
an
entire

segment
of
the
Black
community;
Ellington’s
persona
reflected
the
Black
middle

class—not
the
white
imagination.

Ellington’s
dignified
practicality
in
his
1930s
Paramount
shorts
is

particularly
notable
because
Bogle
claims
that
though
the
Black
“entertainer”

emerged
as
a
type
in
the
1930s
in
Hollywood,
58

the
specific
persona
of
the

“bourgeois
Negro”
often
affixed
to
the
entertainer
was
not
showcased
on
the
screen

until
after
World
War
II.
59

However,
Ellington’s
composure
as
a
“bourgeois
Negro”

was
a
vital
aspect
of
his
celebrity
persona,
and
was
solidly
portrayed
in
both
his

1933
and
1935
Paramount
shorts.
Ellington
not
only
disrupts
the
common

stereotypes
portrayed
by
Blacks
on
screen
during
the
Golden
Age
in
his
shorts,
but

also
serves
as
a
prototype
for
a
version
of
on
screen
Black
dignity
that
would
not
be

fully
pursued
until
Sidney
Poitier’s
Hollywood
career
began
almost
25
years
later.

Secondly,
Ellington’s
Paramount
films
also
use
the
medium
itself
to
amplify

the
sense
of
“reality”—specifically
“Black
cultural
reality“-‐-‐
being
portrayed
on
the

screen.
Bundle
of
Blues
(filmed
on
May
23,
1933
and
released
on
September
1st
of

the
same
year)
pursues
the
portrayal
of
this
Black
cultural
reality
in
a
direct,
but

110

unique
manner.
Unlike
the
majority
of
Black
musical
shorts
released
in
the
1930s,
A

Bundle
of
Blues
is
not
narrativized,
and
is
instead
comprised
of
three
distinct

performances:
the
band
plays
“Rockin’
in
Rhythm,”
Ivie
(sometimes
“Ivy”)
Anderson

sings
“Stormy
Weather,
and
two
dancers
(Florence
Hill
and
Bessie
Dudley)
dance
as

the
band
plays
“Bugle
Call
Rag.”

As
a
result,
the
film
does
not
highlight
a
fantasy
or

fictionalized
Black
world,
but
instead,
works
to
intensify
the
illusion
that
a
real
show

performance
is
being
filmed.

Cinematic
techniques
such
as
tracking
shots,
close
ups,

and
wipes
are
additionally
used
to
demonstrate
the
medium-‐specific
was
in
which

film
can
relay
reality
by
drawing
the
viewer
closer.
In
this
way,
the
audience
is

likewise
being
instructed
to
read
the
performance
as
“real”
and
“authentic”—a

representation
of
on
screen
Black
cultural
product
that
is
only
manipulated
to
bring

the
viewer
in
closer
and
immerse
them
into
the
“authentic”
performance
more
fully.

This
technique,
though
seemingly
simple
and
perhaps
even
uninspired,
allows
for
a

move
away
from
the
typical
fantasy
representation
of
the
“othered”
Black
world

towards
a
more
naturalized
representation.

However,
although
the
understylized
simplicity
of
this
Black
short
seems
to

catalogue
the
film
with
other
conventional
concert
films
by
white
musicians,
the

organization
of
the
trifecta
of
performances
serves
an
additional
purpose.
The

standard
stage
performance
format
in
A
Bundle
of
Blues’
opening
and
closing

sequences
are
largely
positioning
tools—orienting
the
audience
to
“normalize”
the

content
(Black
cultural
product)
and
“unother”
the
performers
(Black
musicians
and

dancers)
at
the
start,
and
again
at
the
end
of
the
film.

However,
in
the
middle

segment,
Ivie
Anderson’s
performance
of
“Stormy
Weather”
is
a
jarring
centerpiece

111

that
attempts
to
slip
in
some
of
the
distinctions
of
the
Black
Aesthetic
once
the

audience
has
been
primed
to
read
the
film
as
both
“authentic”
and
“conventional”

(instead
of
“exotic”
and
“other”).
60

Anderson’s
segment
begins
on
the
stage,
as
she
emerges
from
behind
the

curtain
in
an
elegant
dress
looking
forlorn;
her
slow
pace
towards
the
microphone
is

somber
and
keeps
time
with
the
music
being
played
by
Ellington’s
band.

As
she

begins
to
sing,
the
lyrics
of
the
song
reveal
the
source
of
her
downtrodden
mood:

Don’t
know
why

There’s
no
sun
up
in
the
sky

Stormy
weather

Since
my
man
and
I
ain’t
together

Keeps
rainin’
all
the
time

Life
is
bare

Gloom
and
misery
everywhere

Stormy
weather

Just
can’t
get
my
poor
self
together

I’m
weary
all
the
time,
the
time

So
weary
all
the
time

…

Although
Anderson’s
solemn
delivery
of
the
song
attempts
to
emulate
its

emotion,
the
overall
“feel”
of
the
song
is
enhanced
through
the
use
of
apparatus-‐
specific
techniques
that
simultaneously
work
to
make
the
innate
ephemerality
of
the

Black
Aesthetic
visual.
Much
like
Calloway’s
Jitterbug
Party,
the
audience
is
moved

from
the
public
white
performative
space
into
a
private
Black
cultural
space.

Through
a
transposure
shot,
Anderson
is
transported
from
the
cultivated
urban

nightclub
to
a
small
and
humble
countryside
cabin.
Stylized
wipes
–
some
looking

like
dripping
water—transition
the
segment
from
stormy
shot
to
shot,
providing
an

on-‐the-‐nose
literal
underscore
for
the
lyrics
of
the
song.
Yet,
all
of
these
thematic

112

elements
work
to
convey
a
mood;
the
traditional
narrative
was
been
replaced
with
a

focus
on
the
Black
Aesthetic
“feel”
and
“experience”
in
order
to
convey
a
sense
of

“truth”
and
“reality”—much
like
Calloway’s
Jitterbug.

In
Anderson’s
segment,
we

have
an
early
film
attempt
to
harness
Black
cultural
product
and
make
the
Blues

visual.

In
what
seems,
with
a
cursory
reading,
to
be
a
rather
unprovocative
and

“literal”
segment,
lies
messaging
that
highlights
the
complexity
and
variety
of
Black

thought
and
approaches
around
issues
of
positive
and
progressive
representation

during
the
period.
With
respect
to
New
Negro
discourse,
Anderson’s
diegetic
move

from
the
nightclub
to
the
cabin
would
have
been
seen
as
taboo
and

counterproductive.
In
his
blueprint
of
the
“New
Negro,”
Alain
Locke
equates
Blacks

living
in
the
countryside
to
an
American
primitivism
that
Blacks
must
flee
for
any

chance
of
equality,
social
and
economic
freedom,
and
democracy.
Locke
contends

that
the
plight
of
Black
Americans
can
begin
transformation
with
the
simple

transplantation
from
the
countryside
to
the
city,
and
specifically
towards
the

Eastern
hubs.
61

Through
the
total
embrace
of
modernity
and
urbanity,
the
New

Negro
is
able
to
make
upwardly
mobile
strides
and
gain
social
citizenship
in

America.

With
this
framework,
Anderson’s
transition
to
the
cabin
is
representative

of
a
social
regression—a
move
away
from
the
possibilities
and
opportunities
for

modern
Blacks
back
towards
the
racial
restrictions
of
“medieval
America.”
62

The
explicit,
visual
connection
made
in
the
film
between
the
Black
urban

middle
class
and
the
rural
lower
class
challenges
the
prominent
images
of
Black

urbanity
that
were
being
carefully
constructed
within
the
Black
community
by
the

113

Black
elite.
Jones
claims
that
the
desire
for
Black
upward
mobility
caused
a
fracture

in
the
Black
community
at
large;
he
explains
that
the
goal
of
the
“New
Negro”
was
to

not
only
distinguish
himself
from
the
struggling
lower
class,
but
also
to
create

distance
from
his
own
historic
past
which
might

“connect
them
with
the
poor
man

or
slave.”
63

The
film’s
visual
effect
does
not
create
distance
between
the
Black

historic
past
and
Black
modernity,
but
instead
literally
fuses
and
overlaps
the
two
to

make
the
Anderson’s
connection
to
the
two
spaces
explicit.

Anderson’s
move
from
the
urban
stage
space
to
the
rural
cabin
is
not
merely

geographical—it
is
also
categorical
of
class
status,
as
there
are
also
several
markers

of
manual
labor
and
lower
class
status
that
shape
the
space.
The
pliability
of
her

stage
persona
is
demonstrated
as
her
elegant
gown
is
exchanged
for
a
plain
and

unglamorous
housecoat;
a
lone
broom
leans
against
a
wall
in
the
corner
of
the
room

as
a
reminder
of
her
daily
chores;
a
soggy
grinding
wheel
sits
in
a
lonesome
work

shed
and
a
forgotten
ax
remains
lodged
in
a
stump
as
the
rain
beats
down
(adding
to

the
feeling
of
the
“blues”
as
an
insinuation
that
the
man
who
used
these
tools
is
no

longer
on
the
premises).
She
is
surrounded
by
markers
of
social
circumstances
that

were
imposed
upon
Blacks
due
to
a
history
of
oppression
and
degradation—
signifiers
of
what
Locke
demands
that
the
New
Negro
must
leave
in
the
past:
a
lack

of
opportunity,
a
lack
of
economic
freedom,
a
lack
of
spirit
to
seize,
and
lack
of

ability
to
improve
one’s
conditions.
64

However
though
the
use
of
cinematic
language,
the
film
delivers
an
alternate

perspective
on
the
manner
which
modern
Blacks
should
navigate
the
American

landscape.
As
opposed
to
the
“forgetting”
and
distancing
oneself
from
the
traumatic

114

past,
Bundle
of
Blues
instead
suggests
that
Blacks
should
embrace
and
celebrate

their
past—because
the
“medieval”
past
informs
modernity.
As
such,
Anderson’s

sequence
does
not
end
with
her
transplantation
from
the
nightclub
to
the
cabin,
but

instead
returns
her
to
the
nightclub—the
world
of
possibility
and
opportunity.

The

film
concludes
in
this
urban
world,
with
Ellington
and
his
band
playing
upbeat

numbers
for
the
dancers.

The
film
shows
the
recognition
of
the
difficult
Black

past—the
figurative
“return”
to
the
rural
world-‐-‐
can
be
a
momentary
detour,
and

not
a
permanent
regression.

Though
Black
representation
in
Bundle
of
Blues
stands
in
opposition
to
the

ideologies
of
the
“New
Negro”,
it
was
representative
of
Ellington’s
own
ideologies

about
race
and
mobility.
Two
years
before
the
release
of
the
film,
he
wrote
an
article

for
the
British
magazine,
Rhythm,
in
which
he
positioned
Black
music
as
a
signifier,

and
expressed
the
importance
of
its
the
connection
to
the
past
in
modern
Black

expression:

The
music
of
my
race
is
something
more
than
the
“American
idiom.”
It
is
the

result
of
our
transplantation
to
American
soil,
and
was
our
reaction
in
the

plantation
days
to
the
tyranny
we
endured.
What
we
could
not
say
openly
we

expressed
in
music,
and
what
we
know
as
“jazz”
is
something
more
than
just

dance
music.
65

Ellington
claims
that
not
only
does
the
Black
past
inform
Black
modernity,
but
also

that
without
understanding
the
Black
past,
Black
modernity
is
illegible.
His

perspective
on
Black
modernity
and
advocacy
of
the
recognition
of
the
difficult

Black
past
was
brought
to
his
Bundle
of
Blues,
as
it
likewise
underscored
the

importance
of
historical
Black
trajectory
and
amalgamated
complexity
of
American

115

Blackness.

In
Ellington’s
film,
modern
Blackness
did
not
appear
out
of
the
ether
as

the
result
of
ties
cut
from
the
past,
but
instead
was
the
evolution
of
the
historic

Black
experience—an
experience
to
which
Black
people
were
still
innately
tethered.

Conversely,
Bundle
of
Blues
comments
that
Black
modernity
is
rooted
in
America,

and
by
proxy
makes
a
claim
of
national
belongedness
that
positions
Black
people

within
the
American
social
citizenry.

Bundle
of
Blues
portrays
the
Black
Modern
Movement
as
a
recursively

centripetal
progression
as
opposed
to
the
linear
progression
embraced
by
New

Negro
philosophies-‐-‐-‐
as
a
complex
series
of
departures
and
returns
that
create
a

looping
inertia
of
forward
movement.
It
is
through
the
process
of
revisiting
and

revision
that
the
Black
Aesthetic
is
able
to
develop
and
continue
to
evolve
in
the

current
day.
This
process
is
shown
in
Anderson’s
return
from
the
rural
cabin
to
the

modern
stage
as
she
holds
on
to
the
emotional
experience
she
experienced
in
the

rural
world,
and
continues
to
articulate
it,
through
song
and
body
expression,
in
the

urban
world.
The
sequence
makes
visible
the
cultural
seepage
of
the
Black

Aesthetic,
and
demonstrates
its
place
in
Black
Modernity.
Through
Bundle
of
Blues,

Black
modernity
and
the
Black
Aesthetic
is
seen
as
an
expansive
and
complex

practice—an
ongoing
exchange
between
past
conditions
and
future
strivings
to

create
robust
reflections
of
the
contemporaneous
Black
psyche.
In
the
simple

sequence,
the
act
of
marrying
Black
modernity
to
a
rural
past
through
medium

specific
techniques
of
spatial
navigation,
pushes
back
on
the
dogmatic
ideologies
of

the
New
Negro
demonstrating
that
upwardly
striving
Blacks
could
be
and
were
both

“this”
and
“that.”

116

This
practice
also
challenged
the
dominant
white
constructions
of
Blackness

as
singular
and
“other,”
bringing
a
rare,
dynamic
representation
of
Blackness
to
the

mainstream
screen.
Although
Bundle
of
Blues
(like
all
of
the
other
films
in

Hollywood
of
the
period)
was
written,
directed,
and
produced
b