Author: thehorsesheadblog

The Plot: Little Joe Jackson (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson) is a chronic gambler who keeps trying to quit at the behest of his devoted wife Petunia (Ethel Waters). When Joe skips church to gamble at a local club, he is shot by gangster Domino Johnson (“Bubbles” John W. Sublett). As Joe lies on his deathbed, he is visited by angel The General (Kenneth Spencer) and devil Lucifer Jr. (Rex Ingram), who fight over custody of Joe’s soul. They agree on a deal to keep Joe alive for six more months, allowing him a chance to repent, but if he slips up, he goes to Hell with Lucifer Jr. Upon returning to his body, Joe vows to be a better husband and spends more time with Petunia, but Lucifer Jr. has a few tricks up his sleeve, including the services of Joe’s old flame Georgia Brown (Lena Horne). Oh, and did I mention it’s a musical with an all-Black cast?

Why It Matters: The NFR calls the film “a glittering cultural record of outstanding African American artistic talent”, though concedes that the film simultaneously “demonstrates the limited film opportunities and acting compromises” of Black entertainers at the time.

But Does It Really?: While the film doesn’t add up to a whole lot, “Cabin in the Sky” has a few things working for it; the sensational on-screen talent, the directorial debut of Vincente Minnelli, and progressive-for-its-time casting. Yes, there are plenty of negative stereotypes to go around, but they’re never at a grotesque extreme, and while the film may be less entertaining than it was 80 years ago because of that, it is still very watchable. If you’re willing to overlook these stereotypes, “Cabin in the Sky” is a fun musical with plenty of big talent on display, and its historical significance helps seal its NFR status.

Shout Out: In a great bit of recycling from MGM, the storm at the end of the movie is the tornado sequence from “The Wizard of Oz”. They’ve got the footage and damn it they’re gonna use it!

Everybody Gets One: No history of great 20^th century entertainers is complete without Ethel Waters. A staple of the Black vaudeville circuit since she was nine years old, Waters spent the 1920s and 1930s as one of the most successful (and highest paid) African American blues singers in the country, with such hits as “Dinah” and “Am I Blue?”. She also originated the song “Stormy Weather” during her tenure at the Cotton Club. In addition to headlining the original Broadway production of “Cabin in the Sky”, Waters starred in 1939’s “The Ethel Waters Show”, making her the first Black performer with their own TV show (albeit a one-time special that aired only in New York). Ethel Waters was living in Los Angeles and had already made a handful of films when MGM started production on “Cabin in the Sky”.

Title Track: Sung by Ethel Waters and Eddie Anderson (in his least gravelly work), the song “Cabin in the Sky” is one of only three that made the transfer from stage to screen (the others are “Taking a Chance on Love” and “Honey in the Honeycomb”).

Seriously Oscars?: “Cabin in the Sky” received a Best Song Oscar nomination for “Happiness Is a Thing Called Joe”. While the song lost to “You’ll Never Know” from the Alice Faye musical “Hello, Frisco, Hello”, composers Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg had already won their “Over the Rainbow” Oscar at that point, so they’re fine.

• Say what you will about the stereotypes in this movie, but it’s refreshing to see Butterfly McQueen play something other than an anxiety-ridden ditz. She doesn’t have much to do in her few scenes, but at least she’s not running around in hysterics.
• “Cabin” is often linked with “Stormy Weather”, Hollywood’s other all-Black movie of 1943, released three months after this film. In terms of overall quality, “Cabin” outpaces “Stormy” thanks to its book musical foundation and inventive direction. Unfortunately, much like “Stormy”, our two Black leads aren’t allowed to be as affectionate as an on-screen White couple. Come on, let them kiss!
• I went into this movie cold, so I definitely wasn’t expecting the Devil to be in this. (Excuse me, the son of the Devil). Proving the old adage that the Devil is more interesting to play than God, Rex Ingram is clearly having a blast; certainly more fun than Kenneth Spencer is as the strait-laced General. Along with Ethel Waters, Ingram is the only other actor reprising their stage role for this film.
• Other than a hymn during the opening church scene, “Cabin” doesn’t really become a musical until after Joe comes back and a relieved Petunia sings “Happiness is a Thing Called Joe”. In terms of what happiness is, where does Joe rank among a puppy and a warm gun?

• Showing up briefly as Lucifer Jr.’s idea men are Mantan Moreland, Willie Best, and the comedy team of Fletcher Rivers and Leon James, aka Moke and Poke. Also popping up in this scene: Louis Armstrong, whose brief appearance here makes more sense once you learn they cut his song from the final film. At least we get to hear him play the trumpet for about five seconds.
• Line that made me laugh out loud: Lucifer Jr. complaining about having to work with the B team of devils because “the A boys are over there in Europe!”
• While this isn’t Lena Horne’s film debut, it’s the performance that made audiences take notice of her. Her Georgia Brown is a sort of precursor to Lola from “Damn Yankees”, the seductive vamp under the influence of the Devil. Perhaps Horne’s most notable scene in this movie is the one they cut: a reprise of “Ain’t It the Truth” (Armstrong’s excised song) performed by Horne while taking a bubble bath! Apparently, the censors felt a Black woman in a bathtub was too risqué for 1943. Fortunately, that footage survives and pops up in “That’s Entertainment! III”.

• “Taking a Chance on Love” has nothing to do with anything, but it’s a sweet number, featuring dancer Bill (brother of Pearl) Bailey showing off some impressive tap dancing. I’m pretty sure Bill just invented the moonwalk!

• So let me get this straight: You cut Lena Horne’s first solo number, and when she finally sings it’s a duet between her and Eddie Anderson where he does most of the singing? What is wrong with you people?

• Once we return to the gambling club (the not-so-subtly named Paradise), the film ditches the plot for a parade of song and dance numbers. Sure we get Duke Ellington and his orchestra, some aggressive jitterbugging, and more numbers for Lena Horne and Ethel Waters, but get on with it already!
• [Spoilers] I was ready to go along with this movie’s somewhat dark ending with Joe and Petunia in the afterlife (and one of the rare deus ex machina’s to actually involve God), but then they tack on an “it was all a dream” ending that’s not in the original play! What a cop out! They didn’t need to lift everything from “Wizard of Oz”.

• While the stage version of “Cabin in the Sky” doesn’t show up that often outside of the odd concert staging, the song “Taking a Chance on Love” has become a standard. The film’s “Happiness is a Thing Called Joe” also gets the occasional cover, including recently by Cher of all people in support of Joe Biden!

• Although Lena Horne worked primarily in film for the next decade or so, she reunited with composers Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg for the Broadway musical “Jamaica”. Among the songs she sang every night was “Ain’t It the Truth”, her deleted song from this movie.

• And as we soon learned, Vincente Minnelli was just getting warmed up with “Cabin in the Sky”, cranking out hit after hit for MGM for the next 15 years. Among his follow-ups are fellow NFR entries “Meet Me in St. Louis”, “An American in Paris”, and “Gigi” for which Minnelli won the Best Director Oscar.

The Plot: By 1939, African American contralto Marian Anderson was one of the most celebrated singers in both America and Europe. Her annual Washington D.C. concerts sponsored by Howard University grew in popularity each year, meaning the university had to seek larger venues annually. When Howard approached the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) for use of the Constitution Hall (D.C.’s largest venue at the time) for Anderson’s 1939 concert, they were turned down due to the venue’s Whites-only policy. Anderson’s manager Sol Hurok took this story to the press, and the discrimination made headlines. With support from First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt (who resigned from the DAR in protest) and Interior Secretary Harold L. Ickes, Marian Anderson performed a free concert in front of the Lincoln Memorial on Easter Sunday, April 9^th, 1939, for an integrated crowd of over 75,000 people. What followed has been described as “the concert that awakened America”, and a pivotal moment for American civil rights.

Why It Matters: The NFR gives the footage its proper historical context and praises Anderson’s “gooseflesh-inducing” performance. I have never heard the phrase “gooseflesh-inducing” before, and I doubt I ever will again.

But Does It Really?: As a historic event, “Marian Anderson: The Lincoln Memorial Concert” should absolutely be on the NFR. My one quibble: There’s only about five to six minutes of surviving footage of the concert, and most of that is Harold Ickes’ introduction. Marian’s only on camera for about a minute! I can give this footage a historical pass, but the corresponding NBC radio broadcast of the concert is a much better documentation (see “Other notes” and “Listen to This” for more information about the broadcast).

Everybody Gets One: Born to a devout Christian family in Philadelphia, Marian Anderson began performing in her church choir at age six, which led to singing at local functions for as much as 50 cents (almost $20 today). In 1925, Anderson won a singing competition and performed with the New York Philharmonic, launching her professional career. America’s Jim Crow laws of the time meant significantly less venues for Anderson to perform in, so she toured Europe in the 1930s, receiving praise from the likes of Arturo Toscanini, who said, “What I have heard today one is privileged to hear only once in a hundred years.” Upon her return to America, Anderson still faced segregation laws, with the Lincoln Memorial concert becoming a major turning point for the small but growing civil rights movement. Despite her role in this movement, Anderson never considered herself an activist, citing her participation in civil rights as “a culmination of the goodwill of people who…saw me as I am, and not as somebody else.”

• Hearst Metronome News ceased production in 1967 (one of the last theatrical newsreels to fold) and in 1981 the entire Hearst Metronome catalog was acquired by the UCLA Film and Television Archive. At some point, the Marian Anderson concert raw footage was reconstructed by UCLA with support from (among others) the National Film Preservation Foundation, which led to its NFR induction (or possibly vice versa).
• Marian Anderson’s Lincoln Memorial concert held the record for “Most Important Historical Event in Front of the Lincoln Memorial” for a solid 24 years. Not so coincidentally, Marian Anderson attended the March on Washington in 1963, and performed “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” in almost the exact same spot in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

Listen to This: The National Recording Registry inducted the NBC radio broadcast of Marian Anderson’s Lincoln Memorial concert in 2008. NRR regular Cary O’Dell is on hand with a very comprehensive essay.

Bonus Clip: Eddie Murphy performed his first stand-up special “Delirious” at the DAR Constitution Hall in 1983, and closes out his set with a shout-out to Marian Anderson (who he erroneously calls “Mary”).

The “Cab Calloway Home Movies” can be viewed online at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture. Of the six documented reels of film, reels 1, 2, and 4 are available for online viewing (roughly 35 minutes).

The Plot: Cab Calloway is best remembered as the epitome of scat and jazz singing in the 1930s, but did you know he also filmed home movies? “Cab Calloway Home Movies” offer us brief glimpses of Calloway’s family life in Long Beach, Long Island with his wife and children, plus footage from family vacations, as well as from Calloway’s South American performance tour. And…yeah, that’s about it.

Why It Matters: The NFR gives a brief overview of the collection, with the only superlative going to the “handsome” footage. Huh.

But Does It Really?: Maybe I’m experiencing some NFR home movies fatigue, but why is this on the list? No disrespect to Cab Calloway and his family, but as wonderful as it is to see this footage, I’ve tried to justify its inclusion on the NFR, and I keep running into other titles that cover the same ground. Home movies from a prominent 20th century entertainer? “Nicholas Brothers Family Home Movies”. Amateur footage of a Black community? “The Solomon Sir Jones Films”. Documentation of Cab Calloway? “Stormy Weather” and “The Blues Brothers”. All these films made the NFR before “Cab Calloway Home Movies”, which makes its inclusion seemingly redundant. I’m glad the “Cab Calloway Home Movies” have been preserved and made available, but I’m still on the fence about their NFR standing.

Everybody Gets One: Cabel Calloway III started taking singing lessons and performing in night clubs when he was a teenager. After honing his craft in Chicago, Calloway moved to New York and found himself performing at the Cotton Club with the Missourians, who quickly changed their name to Cab Calloway and His Orchestra. In 1931, Calloway recorded “Minnie the Moocher”, which became his signature song and the first record by an African American artist to sell one million copies. By decade’s end Calloway would also become a star on radio and in the movies, including NFR titles “Stormy Weather” and “Snow-White”. At the time of these home movies, Cab was married to his second wife Zulme “Nuffie” Calloway, and the two were living in Long Beach raising their three daughters: Chris, Cecilia, and Cabella.

Listen to This: Among Cab Calloway’s posthumous achievements are two honorary Grammys, induction into the National Rhythm & Blues Hall of Fame, and the 2018 inclusion of “Minnie the Moocher” on the National Recording Registry. An essay by author and journalist Herb Boyd is a rundown of the song and Calloway’s contribution to pop culture.

The Plot: How the hell do I describe “Early Abstractions”? Created by the Beat generation’s resident jack-of-all-trades Harry Smith, “Early Abstractions” is a seven-part collision of art, film, shapes, and music. Don’t try to figure it out, just let the images wash over you and go with it.

Why It Matters: The NFR gives a rundown of Harry Smith’s many achievements, and calls the films “a lovely, ever-moving collage of abstraction, color and imagery.”

But Does It Really?: We’ve covered a lot of autodidactic avant-garde filmmakers on this list, but even in that unique group Harry Smith stands out. Although his compilation of American folk music is his greatest legacy (more on that later), Smith’s film work is also worthy of recognition, and “Early Abstractions” fits the bill. As for the films themselves, it’s hard to critique them. Each of the “Early Abstractions” is a free-flowing work in progress that was never meant to be categorized or analyzed, certainly not by the likes of me. My takeaway from them is the experience of watching an artist’s evolution as he figures out what his “voice” is, with the films becoming more complex and polished as they go. “Early Abstractions” won’t suit everyone’s tastes, but they represent yet another creative voice in the experimental art movement of the 20^th century.

Everybody Gets One: Born in Portland, Oregon and raised in the Seattle, Washington area, Harry Everett Smith developed two major hobbies at an early age: collecting records and painting. As an adult, Smith moved to San Francisco, where he joined the experimental film scene and amassed as many as 20,000 records (by his estimation) including folk, blues, gospel, and the traditional music of practically every country and region in the world. After moving to New York and running out of money, Smith tried to sell his record collection to Folkways Records, who instead countered with a proposal for Smith to create a folk music compilation album. The result, 1952’s “Anthology of American Folk Music”, chronicled the genre’s more obscure entries from the 1920s and 1930s and has maintained a legacy of its own (see “Listen to This”). Very little is known about the creation of Smith’s “Early Abstractions” series as he kept no record of their production (the 1939-1956 timeline is a generous estimation). Each film in the “Abstractions” series was initially longer (anywhere from 10 to 15 minutes each) and subsequently cut down by Smith himself to synchronize with a selected piece of music that varied from showing to showing. The films didn’t receive their official titles until some point in the 1950s or early 1960s when the Film-Makers’ Cooperative started distributing prints. Smith had of history of selling, destroying, or misplacing his films, and numbers 6, 8, and 9 of the “Early Abstractions” series are presumed to no longer exist.

Listen to This: Smith’s “Anthology of American Folk Music” was added to the National Recording Registry in 2005. The NRR write-up gives a summary of the album and its “seminal role in the folk music revival of the 1950s and 1960s.” An essay by music researcher Ian Nagoski is a detailed overview the album and Harry Smith, who I guess I should have been calling St. Harry this whole time.

The Plot: The sleepy town of Cologne, Minnesota gets the artistic amateur film treatment in “Cologne: From the Diary of Ray and Esther”. The Ray and Esther in question are Dr. Raymond Dowidat, a general practitioner, and his wife Esther. The couple have lived in Cologne for two years and document the summer of 1939 with their 16 mm camera. With Esther’s journal entries as a framing device, “Cologne” is a snapshot of what this small town has to offer, with seemingly endless farmland, the town’s feed mill, and the “good-natured German or Hollanders” that comprise Cologne’s population of 350.

Why It Matters: The NFR praises this amateur film for exhibiting “a cinematic sophistication and artistry not usually found in home movies”. An essay by Scott Simmon is an equally brief overview of the movie.

But Does It Really?: While not the first amateur film on the NFR that attempts a narrative, “Cologne” is among the first, marking the start of a recurring trend in the Registry’s 2000s inductees. In a brief 14 minutes, “Cologne” paints quite the picture of small-town Americana, along with commentary that evokes more questions than answers. I always air on the side of giving a pass to any amateur filmmakers on the list, and while I don’t strongly advocate for “Cologne” being in the NFR, I don’t begrudge its induction, so another pass it is.

Everybody Gets One: Like every other amateur filmmaker on this list, any scraps of biographical information about Ray and Esther Dowidat are few and far between. We know that Ray and Esther married in 1937 in Iowa, and later that year moved to Cologne, Minnesota following Ray’s completion of his medical internship. They had three children, the third being born shortly before Ray and Esther started filming “Cologne”. Assuming the Dowidat kids were all born in wedlock, that would mean Esther spent the majority of her two years in Cologne pregnant.