Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only

by Patrick McGilligan

Oscar Micheaux was the Jackie Robinson of film, the black D. W. a bigger-than-life American folk hero whose important life story is nearly forgotten today. Now, in a feat of historical investigation and vivid storytelling, one of our greatest film biographers takes on one of the most talented and complex figures in the history of American entertainment. The son of freed slaves, Micheaux grew up in Metropolis, Illinois, then roamed America as a Pullman porter before making his first mark as a homesteader in South Dakota. Disaster and defeat there led him to forge a career publishing a successful series of autobiographical novels. Ever the entrepreneur, when Hollywood failed to bid high enough for film rights to his stories, he answered by forming his own film production company. Going on to produce or direct twenty-two silent and fifteen sound films in his lifetime, Micheaux became the king of the "race cinema" industry at a time when black-produced films had to scrounge for venues in a segregated society. In this groundbreaking new biography, award-winning film historian Patrick McGilligan offers a vivid and fascinating portrait of this little-known pioneer. Part visionary, part raffish Barnum-like showman, Micheaux was both a maverick filmmaker and an inveterate hustler who used every weapon at his disposal to break the color barrier and thrive in a profession he helped to invent. He made a fortune and lost it again, and launched repeated con games that were followed by public arrests and bankruptcies. He eagerly took credit for the work of others—including his unsung-heroine wife. In his desperate later years, he even sunk to plagiarizing his final novel—a discovery McGilligan reveals here for the first time. In this searching exploration, McGilligan tracks down long-lost financial records, unpublished letters, and unmarked pauper's graves, pinpointing Micheaux's birthplace, his tangled personal life, and the circumstances of his tragic death. The result is an epic that bridges a fascinating period in American history, and offers lessons for anyone who would understand the role of black America in forming the culture of our time.

Genres: Biography, Film, History, Nonfiction, African American, Biography Memoir, African American Literature

416 pages, Hardcover

First published June 1, 2007

About the author

Patrick McGilligan is the author of Clint one of America’s pre-eminent film biographers. He has written the life stories of directors George Cukor and Fritz Lang — both New York Times “Notable Books” — and the Edgar-nominated Alfred Hitchcock: A Life in Darkness and Light. His books have been translated into ten languages. He lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Reviews

[Adeyinka Makinde · Rating 4 out of 5]

The mention of the term ‘filmmaker’ brings to mind the likes of John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, Francois Truffaut, Luis Bunuel and kindred scions of the cinema. More than being merely a paid cog in the machinery geared towards producing a motion picture, the filmmaker is not merely a director. He is usually the instigator as well as the facilitator whose visualised product bears the personalised imprint of a series of techniques and themes that are instantly recognisable to connoisseurs of the art. To audiences, Hitchcock was the ‘Master of Suspense’. With Ford it was his compelling constructions of the American West. Bunuel’s excursions into surrealism engrossed viewers fascinated by his endless enquires into and his denunciations of the malevolent social control practices of ideologies and religious institutions while Martin Scorsese has consistently provided authentic insights into the psychological and cultural dimensions of gangsters in America.

Among the earliest filmmakers, the life and works of a number including Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Cecil B. DeMille are remembered. Many of course are not. But one figure among the ‘forgotten’ is, according to biographer Patrick McGilligan, a distinguished author of books on Alfred Hitchcock and George Cukor, clearly deserving of a serious assessment.

It is paradoxically both an accurate and inaccurate description to refer to Oscar Micheaux as a forgotten figure. For a fairly lengthy period of time, he made a good number of pictures –silent and talking- which were consumed by a predominantly Black American audience but at the same time, while living in a rigidly segregated society, he was shut out by the Hollywood studio system and ignored by the mainstream press. Micheaux was a pioneer in the truest sense of the word. Black orientated films did not begin in the 1980s with Spike Lee or in the 1970s during the era of ‘Blaxploitation’ movies. Micheaux’s efforts pre-date the spate of ‘Sepia movies’ of the 1930s of whom several stars, including some Micheaux discoveries, were co-opted into a number of Hollywood all-black set pieces.

Although a black production company run by George and Noble Johnson technically produced movies for a short period prior to Micheaux entering the business, these largely consisted of 2-reel shorts. It was Micheaux who presented and would continue to present fuller length 8 reel productions of what in those times were referred to as ‘Race movies’. For his abiding obsession was to bring to the screen the realistic portrayal of Black Americans which was largely ignored by the wider society.

Although Micheaux filmed a wide variety of subject matter including love stories, gangster stories, detective stories and at least one boxing movie, the themes which he explored obsessively were recurring features. These included the phenomenon of ‘passing’; the ability of light-skinned Blacks to pass themselves off as White, corrupt Black preachers, and racial lynchings. His drive for authenticity meant that he did not shirk from portraying members of his race carousing in speakeasies while shooting craps. It also meant that some of his characters frequently used the word ‘nigger’; a tendency that raised protests from the black community.

Micheaux’s entrance into movie making came about from his publication of a novel entitled 'The Conquest' which was actually an autobiographical account of his experiences as a homesteader in South Dakota. Again, many of his movies would draw upon from this and his other novels which essentially recapitulated his own story with variations of plots and sub-plots. Many were thus invariably about a ‘tall firm jawed hero’, usually a homesteader in search of his ‘one true love’ who has a problematic romance with a white woman who for the purposes of his movies is at the end often revealed as having ‘black’ ancestry.

Micheaux’s offerings involved ‘Preachment’; essentially movies with a message. He was a long time supporter-believer in the views of Booker T. Washington, whose picture could usually be espied on his sets, although he had flirtations with Washington’s contemporary and rival W.E.B. DuBois and Marcus Garvey. His second movie, entitled 'Within Our Gates' (1920), was his riposte to and his rebuttal of D.W. Griffith’s Klan-romantising epic 'The Birth of Nation' with scenes of lynchings and the implied rape of black slave women (the antecedent /lineage-type of the story’s light-skinned heroine) and a scene depicting her attempted rape at the hands of the brother of the owner of the plantation on which she was born.

Micheaux also impliedly examined the state Black-Jewish relations in two offerings which were based on the case of Leo Fisher, a Jewish factory manager who was convicted of the murder of a 13-year-old White girl in Atlanta after having got a black janitor to dispose of the body. Fisher was later lynched by a mob. The case forms the backdrop of 'The Gunsaulus Mystery' (1921) and 'Lem Hawkins’ Confession' (1935). The films, like a number of his novels give clues as to his opinions on the guilt or innocence of Fisher, as well as his complex attitudes to Jews.

How good was Micheaux at his craft? McGilligan ranks him highly enough to be considered as an ‘auteur’; that is, a French-inspired term coined in the 1950s as a reference to those American directors whose levels of expertise were such that they “wrote for the camera” regardless of whether they wrote the scripts in their films. Micheaux certainly had his high points. His first film, 'The Homesteader' (1919), featured several innovative touches linked to lighting and the use of deliberately distorted camerawork evocative of German Expressionist Film. Micheaux often used the flashback as a tool of unfolding the mysteries and motivations of characters.

But while he was a man capable of stretching his comparatively meagre resources, it is apparent from a number of his later films that quality was often compromised with evidence of poorly edited movies, amateurish acting, poor lighting and continuity. While at the start of his career, he had been able to hire highly competent and cultured actors and actresses from established ensembles such as the Pekin Stock Players and Lafayette Players, later on Micheaux was often forced through financial constraints to use untried actors.

Part of the difficulty of assessing him is that many of his films are considered as “lost”; that is, the original prints are not available either because like many films of the silent era, they were not properly preserved and thus subject to natural degeneration or they are stored in some unknown location. The process of constructing and analysing the plots and performances in many his films is achieved by referring to press releases and contemporary reviews.

Oscar Micheaux’s story is a truly engrossing one. His experiences as a widely travelled Pullman porter, as a farmer battling the elements and as the writer of a successful batch of self-published books, portray a man imbued with copious amounts of energy and belief in self. He was a charismatic individual with a winning sales pitch which he had honed as a boy selling his parents farm produce at the local rural market. At the same time he earned and lost large amounts of money and at the end was subjected to arrests for unpaid debts and succumbed to bankruptcy.

He billed himself as “The Great and Only”, and while McGilligan compares Micheaux to Muhammad Ali for his tendency to be braggadocios, it is even truer that he like Ali and innumerable Black American men was extraordinarily adept at the ability to improvise and adapt to differing situations. 'The Life of America’s First Black Filmmaker', is an expertly written and well-researched story about a man who according to McGilligan’s description was the Jackie Robinson of film. That is not a strictly correct analogy since Robinson was allowed to join mainstream Baseball from the Negro League where he proved his mettle while Micheaux remained permanently excluded from Hollywood and the mainstream. For that reason his legacy as a filmmaker is both a triumph and, despite the later revival of interest in his works, also an irremediable tragedy.

Adeyinka Makinde (2009).

[Tim Collingwood · Rating 5 out of 5]

I knew about Oscar Micheaux through his films and info bites on the Internet- but I did not know his production approach that really make him a frontrunner in the independent film movement with the way he worked on barely even a shoe-strong budget, not to mention, his business relationship with the famed writer Charles Chesnutt, his trips to Cleveland, Ohio, and his family background.

[Debra Pawlak · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oscar Micheaux was a fascinating man. Although he is mostly remembered for his 'race' pictures dating back to the silent era, there was much more to him. He was an author, Pullman porter, and homesteader just to name a few professions he excelled at. I enjoyed the book because I knew so little about Micheaux before I began reading it, but most of the early biographical information was gleaned from the semi-biographical novels he had written. It was kind of hard to tell what was fact and what was fiction. What I found most fascinating was the black actors and actresses who appeared in his films. They were hardworking, talented people who found it hard to get work because of their skin color; for example, handsome Lorenzo Tucker was known as 'The Black Valentino' and Ralph Cooper who was called 'The Dark Gable'. The most famous was probably Paul Robeson. At any rate, it opened my eyes to a whole new area of early filmmaking. I definitely want to know more about these players who did not get the recognition they deserved.

[Bart · Rating 2 out of 5]

Oscar Micheaux: the great and only is poorly written. Patrick McGilligan romanticizes Micheaux and perpetuates a myth around him. Micheaux, also, comes off flat, even in all of McGilligan's hyperbole. Oh, and McGilligan's race analysis is shallow. Interesting are some parts of Micheaux's life.

[Carl Rollyson · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only: The Life of America's First Great Black Filmmaker," is a culminating work, the result of more than 35 years of scholarship intent on returning its subject to his rightful place in the history of American cinema. Micheaux (1884–1951) "deserves to be considered in the same breath as the sainted D. W. Griffith," argues Patrick McGilligan, who pays handsome tributes to the biographers and critics who have made his comprehensive biography possible.

But what made Micheaux great? Like Griffith, Micheaux's best work was state of the art, employ ing deft use of close-ups and mon tage, for example, but also taking on epic and controversial subjects Indeed, Griffith's heroic depiction of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan and disparaging portrayal of blacks in "The Birth of a Nation" (1915) so enraged Micheaux that he decided to present a counter argument in films that would match his rival's high aesthetic standards.

To call Griffith a rival, however, is misleading. Although Micheaux wanted to compete, his films never reached more than 300 theaters whereas between 1919 and 1951 (during which Micheaux made something like 45 films), Griffith and other Hollywood filmmakers had access to between 16,000 and 20,000 movie screens. As an independent filmmaker Micheaux never had access to the kind of production funding that even low-budget Hollywood films could count on. Hollywood was almost exclusively white, employing black actors, to be sure, but usually in minor, demeaning roles.

Micheaux persevered, seeking the backing not only of black entrepreneurs but also of a few Jewish theater owners, who ran his "race pictures" in venues ranging from Harlem to the Southwest. That Micheaux had only one subject, really — the ramifications of being "colored" — also limited his audience, not only among whites but even among blacks who felt his focus on the color line impeded the progress of the race or was simply passé.

The director constantly fell afoul of censors, who mutilated his films, forcing him to delete, for example, references to miscegenation and scenes that castigated religion. Although Micheaux had a popular following, he was criticized in the black press for not providing his audience with positive role models. He fought back, sometimes showing his films in uncensored form, or even attaching censors' seals of approval from earlier films to his new releases.

Micheaux was his own man. He began his career as a homesteader in South Dakota, writing about his experience in self-published novels and in the Chicago Defender, a black newspaper, touting his success but also chastising blacks for not striking out on their own. As the only black homesteader in his part of South Dakota, Micheaux was at first a novelty tolerated by his white neighbors, and then a highly respected authority the whites came to for advice. He fell in love with a Swedish woman, sharing both an emotional and intellectual bond with her that he broke at painful cost to himself.

Deciding he must marry a black woman, he chose one in thrall to a pompous father, a corrupt preacher who eventually got hold of some of Micheaux's land, selling it for a pittance. Micheaux's disgust with his father-in-law fueled a distrust of established religion and black leadership that would make Micheaux a controversial figure in the black community and would lead to the production of one of his masterpieces, "Body and Soul," starring Paul Robeson.

The essential theme of Micheaux's fiction and films was how the black man could remain true to himself and his race while developing his full human potential. James Weldon Johnson's "The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man" (1912) had a profound impact on Micheaux, who used the phenomenon of lightskinned blacks passing as white in many of his films. Micheaux sympathetically portrayed the temptations of passing as a way to assimilate into the majority culture, but ultimately his films show that blacks cannot deny their roots.

Micheaux did not politicize the issue of passing so much as present it as a psychological and ethical issue. He thought his race could rise only through individuals taking responsibility for their own fates. He distrusted movements and organizations, especially the Communist Party, which exploited black disenchantment and provided no encouragement for individual endeavor.

Micheaux's films do not discount the injustices blacks have suffered, but as Mr. McGilligan demonstrates, what makes Micheaux "the great and only" is his unswerving devotion to an art that explores his own characters' failings as well as their triumphs. This pioneering filmmaker, unbowed by criticism, censorship, and controversy, has finally been honored by a biography that does justice to his provocative and indispensable work.

Micheaux & Robeson

Although Patrick Gilligan estimates that Oscar Micheaux made something like 45 films, only 15 survive, and most of those are in terrible condition. Unlike Hollywood filmmakers, who would have 30 or more prints of a film available for distribution, Micheaux could afford only four, and those copies were lost in the distribution cycle. Censors chopped up his work, and he did not have the resources to restore it. His second wife made no effort to preserve his films and even destroyed many of his papers.

Of the 15 extant films only a few are available on DVD, such as "Lying Lips" (1941), a murder mystery set in Harlem. It is an awkward potboiler. The acting is atrocious. Clearly Micheaux thought he could make a quick buck by inserting nonsensical but crowd pleasing musical numbers that have only a tangential relation to the plot. The DVD is of poor quality: Images are blurry and lines of dialogue are lost in this scratched and patched print.

"Body and Soul" (1925), on the other hand, is available in a stunning restoration from the George Eastman House. Paul Robeson is mesmerizing in his screen debut. He plays an ex-convict who has recast himself as the Reverend Isaiah T. Jenkins. Women adore him — especially Martha Jane, who is obsessed with the idea that her daughter Isabelle should marry Jenkins. Martha Jane tells her lady friends she is going to give all her savings to Jenkins when he marries Isabelle.

Robeson's portrayal of Jenkins's self-satisfied villainy is a tribute not only to his acting (without the aid of his superb voice), but also to Micheaux's script and direction. Jenkins is not sentimentalized as a lovable rascal or as a tormented sinner; he is an evil man who relishes his ruses. Micheaux's unforgiving and riveting portrait is intensified by Robeson's second role as Jenkins's twin, the meek Sylvester, who seeks to wrest Isabelle away from his nefarious brother.

But what truly elevates the film is Micheaux's portrayal of the mother, who is so besotted with Jenkins that she cannot bear to hear Isabelle's story. In a brilliantly conceived scene Jenkins rapes her, although only his huge shoes are shown as he advances toward his victim. Micheaux scholar Pearl Bowser, who supplies a commentary for the restoration of "Body and Soul," suggests that Martha Jane has sublimated her own sexual desire in offering Isabelle to Jenkins. Perhaps. Although Micheaux's point, it seems to me, is much larger: the blindness of the black community in failing to detect the hypocrisy and criminality of leaders who cloak themselves in the sanctity of the church.

[Mike Trippiedi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Patrick McGilligan's book on Oscar Micheaux, the first Black filmmaker, is not only a glimpse at the artistic and personal struggles of a minority trying to succeed in early Hollywood, but also a peek into the little known world of the "Race Films" of the 1920's and '30's. And as a person who is a fan of many of these gems, I am so grateful this book exists.
My only problem, and it's not the author's fault, is that I wanted to know more. But since Oscar Micheaux had to lie, cheat, and steal just to get his films shown and his novels read, I completely understand why this biography didn't always have all the facts. This is an eye opening read, though, and highly recommended for any fan of the controversial filmmaker. You will not be disappointed.

[Elisabeth · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars

[Steven · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wonderful account of the life of the first black filmmaker, Oscar Michaeux. The writing is exciting and very informative though sometimes very repetitive in details. The sadness and heartfelt nature of learning of all his lost work is baffling, but the genius and artistic achievements he started were immeasurable. A definite read for the film buff!

[Jen H · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had heard of, but knew little of Micheaux before reading this book. The author gave Micheaux credit for his cinematic accomplishments while acknowledging his imperfections. Readers with an interest in film history will enjoy this book.

[Steven Spector · Rating 4 out of 5]

A trailblazer, pioneer and ground breaker, although the furthest thing from a good businessman. Very detail-oriented without becoming boring. A must read for students of either film or black history, whether or not enrolled.

[Michelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fascinating chronicle of his life. Interesting.

[RK Byers · Rating 4 out of 5]

the writing was kinda dry but there was good detail.