This is an incredibly well-researched biography of Dorothy Dandridge from eminent film historian and frequent TCM guest Donald Bogle. First published in 1997 at a time when he had access to many of the people whose lives intersected Dandridge’s, it’s chock-full of details and personal stories that really bring her story to life. And as Bogle put it so perfectly in the preface, this story is three-fold:

“Foremost, it was a personal story about a gifted, complex woman. Then, it was something of a family drama, a web of tangled relationships. And, of course, finally, it was a look at the movie industry and the Black Hollywood that existed within the larger filmland culture.”

I found that in each of these areas, the story was compelling. Dandridge was talented and alluring, but massively insecure, something that stemmed from trauma in so many areas of her life. As a child, her mother Ruby took her sister and her away from their father and told them that he had abandoned them. Her mother began a closeted lesbian relationship with a woman who abused Dorothy through her adolescence, culminating in a humiliating forced vaginal exam to ensure she was still a virgin. She married Harold Nicholas (of the Nicholas Brothers dancing duo fame) with romantic ideas about a perfect life together, but his frequent adultery and lack of simply being there, even abandoning her on the day their baby was born, ruined their marriage. Their daughter, Lynn was severely mentally disabled, requiring constant care beyond what Dorothy could provide, and was raised in the hands of others. In all of these ways she thought she had somehow failed, with is an incredible shame.

Dandridge’s career is of course detailed, from the earliest days of dancing with her sister to early roles, like the brilliant performance of ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ number with the Nicholas Brothers in Sun Valley Serenade (1941) and her performance of ‘Taking a Chance on Love’ in Remains to Be Seen (1953), which was apparently the closest approximation to her charismatic nightclub performances. Her breakout role was of course Carmen Jones (1954), for which she garnered the first Oscar nomination for an African American in the Best Actress category. Tragically, just eleven years later at the age of 42, she would be dead.

Dandridge’s rise in the film industry coincided with a fascinating period of transition for African American actors. Long accustomed to being relegated to minor, often degrading roles as servants, some older black actors feared that the NAACP’s push for better roles after WWII might impact their careers – though notably, not Hattie McDaniel, who supported women like Lena Horne and Hazel Scott for presenting a new, more sophisticated image. That’s one of the things I loved about Bogle’s work – he took the time to explore and explain these things which represented the larger context of Dandridge’s life. As he puts it, she “marked a bridge between two generations of African Americans who had been working in films.”

Of Carmen Jones (1954), Bogle writes “Dandridge exuded throughout the film a larger-than-life glamor and allure that had never been afforded Black women in Hollywood cinema before.” As importantly, “From the sound of her voice, with its warm honey tones, to her movements, and, of course, her attitude, her Carmen always seemed to be speaking directly to her Black audiences, saying, ‘The picture may not be real, but I am.’” At the same time, he recognized that director Otto Preminger “wisely understood the power and isolation of Dandridge’s Carmen, whose individuality and sense of emotional/sexual freedom set her apart from her community. It is another Dandridge portrait of the beauty-as-loner. In some respects, in part because of her look, she seems to play out the concept of the tragic mulatto, which depicts the mixed-race character as not being able to function as a part of any community. That may well, strangely enough, explain some of Dandridge’s appeal and the complexity of her screen persona.” This combination – both representing an advance for a community and yet being in some way isolated from it – is emotionally powerful.

Marilyn Monroe was a friend of hers, which is of course ironic because Dandridge was similarly damaged by being overly sexualized by men, tyrannized by Otto Preminger, suffered from depression, and had her life cut short tragically. Even their names – Norma Jean Baker and Dorothy Jean Dandridge – eerily have the same middle name. Regardless, it was astonishing to read just how quickly her fall from grace was, and the depths to which she plumbed. After being on top of the world in Carmen Jones, she struggled to find parts worthy of her, made a career misstep in turning down the role Rita Moreno took in The King and I, was swindled in an oil well venture (along with others), and made a disastrous decision to marry grifter Jack Denison in 1959. Despite her magnetic charm, others whom she loved (like Peter Lawford and Otto Preminger) left her, and her appearance in Hollywood came at a time when Americans were not willing to accept a black woman in leading roles in mainstream films. She had success on the nightclub circuit, but was disillusioned by its racism and its “oversexed club atmosphere.” She increasingly turned to alcohol and antidepressants, which would be her undoing.

While it’s heartbreaking to think what might have been for Dandridge, this is a story of trailblazing and courage during a conservative and racist era. The scrutiny of her innocent involvement at the Actors Lab by the HUAC as well as her simply dancing with white actor Anthony Quinn is represented, a chilling reminder of the period. When friend and fellow actor Joel Fluellen took concerns about the treatment of black actors to the Screen Actors Guild, he was ignored by SAG’s leader at the time, Ronald Reagan, who also had members pledge to a patriotic “loyalty oath.” Hedda Hopper, supporter of HUAC and blacklists, named people and ruined careers, almost including Dandridge’s. As Dorothy so eloquently wrote the California Eagle:

“I have just returned from Europe where I was received with cordiality and respect both professionally and socially. In answering queries about the Negro artist in America, I was ashamed to admit the humiliation to which we are subjected. Europeans are suspicious of pious mouthings about Democracy for other countries when right here in America the most abominable discriminatory practices and ideas are still being perpetuated as reflected in the Hollywood Reporter column.”

Bogle doesn’t shy away from the “abominable discriminatory practices” that Dandridge faced, including black performers like her being headliners at hotels in Las Vegas or Miami Beach, but not allowed to mingle with white audiences, use the front entrances, elevator, or pool. The Last Frontier threatened to drain the pool if she went anywhere near it. Oftentimes they were forced to take a cheap hotel miles away because they couldn’t be guests.

Then of course there was the Production Code office, where in 1954, 66-year-old conservative, anti-Semitic Catholic Joseph Breen still ruled, dictating what Americans could see. Of Carmen Jones he was concerned with what he viewed as lust and immorality, requiring all sorts of changes. Of her film Island in the Sun (1957) the office required a rationale for the “immoral” sin of a pre-marital affair be explained by the shock of discovery of having “black blood,” which among other things Bogle points out suggested “a black woman was sexually ‘looser’ – less moral – than a white one.” There were many other examples, often spurred by the fear of reaction from the Southern market.

The book is certainly a tome, coming in at 649 pages before the extensive notes and bibliography at the end, so personally I would have been as happy had it been a little shorter. At the same time, what an incredible service Bogle did to Dorothy Dandridge here, capturing her life and times so methodically. To his credit, I didn’t feel that he got mired in extraneous details, he was just thorough, and he always presented the bigger picture with great insight. It’s a great read, and will also serve as a great reference. ( )

Dorothy Dandridge is considered the Black Marilyn Monroe of her time. She was the first African American actress that defined beauty, poise, courage and sadness. From her long affair with director Otto Pemminger to marrying a money hungry gigilo, she made wrong choices. She of course was a very talented actress, singer and dancer. The book was informative and well written. ( )