Bisexuality on the Screen

‘Bessie’: Unapologetically Black, Female, and Queer

‘Bessie’ is one of the rare mainstream films that shows an unapologetically Black, female and queer protagonist. That alone is groundbreaking in an otherwise straightforward biopic.

Written by Lisa Bolekaja.

See-line woman
Wiggle wiggle
Turn like a cat
Wink at a man
And he wink back

Now child
See-line woman
Empty his pockets
And wreck his days
Make him love her
And she’ll fly away

Writer/director Dee Rees opens the film Bessie with the Nina Simone classic “See-Line Woman” playing as the camera takes in Queen Latifah in close-up, her face drenched in resplendent blue lighting. The color, framing and music told me from jump that the narrative would be coming from a place of womanist Blackness. Nina Simone, the High Priestess of Soul, was signifying musically the proper introduction to Bessie Smith, the woman known in her day as the Empress of the Blues.

The story of Bessie Smith has been a long time coming, and it was quite timely that she should be given her due just a few days after the passing of the Blues legend B.B. King. Most people know very little about Bessie Smith, and it is almost a given that biopics are never truly satisfying, typically following a rise to fame and falling into trouble narrative. All I wanted to know was, would Rees be true to the highly unorthodox life of Smith? Or would we be subjected to a safe narrative that tip-toed around the raunchy, bisexual and profane realness of the Bessie Smith I read about in college?

Rees kept it real. Bessie is one of the rare mainstream films that shows an unapologetically Black, female and queer protagonist. That alone is groundbreaking in an otherwise straightforward biopic. Within ten minutes of the film, we see Bessie fooling around with a male paramour whom she beats up after he gets a little too fresh for her tastes, and then we see her in bed with her longtime female lover, Lucille (the gorgeous Tika Sumpter). It comes off natural, not some forbidden plot device to be used later to create conflict. It is what it is, and Bessie doesn’t waste time fretting over it. When she jumps on a train owned by Ma Rainey (Mo’Nique) to beg for a singing job and observes Ma interacting with her own female lover who prances around comfortably topless, Ma asks her straight out, “Watchu know about it?” Bessie tells her, “Same thing you do.” And that is that.

It was very powerful to see Black queer women openly affectionate with one another, and openly sexual in private spaces, especially for that time period. Black queer women, hardly ever get to see themselves on film without the narrative making them act secretive of fearful. Throughout the viewing, I kept waiting for Bessie’s bisexuality to become a big issue with her family, her band, or even her husband (and many lovers). It didn’t.

Ma Rainey takes Bessie under her wing, teaches her the ropes and how to sing the Blues to make the audience want more. She even teaches Bessie how to dress as a man and enjoy the thrill of smoking and gambling with men dressed that way. It reminded me of the stories I read that told of private clubs where women could be gender fluid and embrace masculine expressions without fear of bodily harm from violent homophobes.

Black love in all forms is front and center, and a new love comes in the form of Jack Gee (Michael Kenneth Williams being fierce and nuanced in this role), a man who sees Bessie perform, and goes to her hotel uninvited. As Bessie lies in bed, still in her nightgown and headscarf, her brother and business partner Clarence (Tory Kittles) watching her back, Jack Gee tells her his personal stats and proclaims without haste, “I’m auditioning to be your man.” He’s bold as brass and Bessie eventually marries him, and keeps her girlfriend Lucille too.

Jack seems very much Bessie’s equal, and they do go toe to toe with their hard loving, hard fighting and hard drinking. It’s a fragile relationship that hinges on Bessie’s Achilles heel, which is a bottomless hunger that stems from the loss of a mother at an early age, and the dysfunctional relationship she has with her older sister Viola (Khandi Alexander). Viola used to lock up food in the family refrigerator and beat on Bessie. This back-story told in flashbacks is the key to Bessie’s insatiable need for more success, more money, more lovers, and more control over her family. She eventually buys a large house without telling Jack, bringing everyone (including her sister Viola and Lucille) under one roof. She ignores her husband’s complaints and forces her will on everyone. She will live the life she felt was denied her, and even brings home a little boy on Thanksgiving to be her and Jack’s son. It’s Bessie’s world and everyone is expected to fall in line and gravitate around her.

The best part of Bessie is how she handles the intrusion of the White Gaze on the storyline. Bessie’s world seems insulated from white intrusion, and this allows us to focus on the Black characters just being themselves without having to focus on the known and ubiquitous racism. Whiteness does seep in through the colorism issues that Bessie encounters with the infamous paper bag test (Black performers, even in Black entertainment spaces of the period, did not hire darker skinned Black women who were not lighter than a paper bag). White intrusion is most prominent in two scenes, one involving the Klan showing up at one of Bessie’s performances, and the other at a prominent white patron’s home.

In the Klan sequence, Bessie simply walks outside and cusses the white men out and chases them away. She doesn’t quake in her boots or shrink behind the protection of Black men. She then turns around and goes back to performing, winning over the respect of the frightened Black men and women who were prepared to run away from White terrorism intruding onto Black space. In the home of Carl Van Vechten (Oliver Platt), a controversial patron of Negro artists whom he finds crude, primitive, and folksy, Bessie turns the White Gaze (and cultural appropriation) on its head by being true to her unfiltered Blackness. When a white woman puts her hands on Bessie in an attempt to hug her and says, “I heard that you were wild,” Bessie pushes her away and says, “Get the fuck off me.” Bessie in one fell swoop refused to let the white woman turn her body into a commodity. She turns on Carl Van Vechten too when he tells her about his book Nigger Heaven. This is a tremendous sequence because Bessie doesn’t allow the White characters to hijack the narrative and center the story on Bessie having to impress Van Vechten to get something from him for her survival. Bessie doesn’t give a fuck about anyone in that room except for herself and the two lovers she brought with her. In fact, Bessie doesn’t even care what Langston Hughes (Jeremie Harris) has to say when he tries to warn her about Van Vechten’s fetishizing of Black culture and Black people.

I found it fascinating watching Hughes take in Bessie’s behavior towards Van Vechten, because Hughes had to depend on White patrons much like Van Vechten to supplement his income in order to write and survive. Bessie didn’t. She had her voice and she had regular working class Black people who came out to see her when she travelled. Eventually she made records, (there’s the hilarious moment where she goes to a Black record company called Black Swan Records and discovers the company isn’t as Black as she thought, and that she is too Black for them), and was able to gain new revenue from vinyl sales. Bessie never had to water down her personality to make White folks feel comfortable. Unfortunately Hughes and other writers of their time (like my favorite Harlem Renaissance writer, Zora Neale Hurston) had to walk a thin line of creating the art they wanted without offending Whites who funded that art. It still happens today. Recently, poet and Buzzfeed Literary Editor Saeed Jones wrote about this same issue with his recent piece Self-Portrait Of The Artist As Ungrateful Black Writer.

Bessie is a good primer movie for people who know nothing about Bessie Smith, and it is a breakthrough performance for Queen Latifah. The cast is flawless and I expect Emmy nods for Queen Latifah, Mo’Nique and Khandi Alexander. (Khandi can do anything and just be dynamite. Period.) It was a pleasure watching unapologetic Black, female, queerness. I hope HBO takes more chances on projects like this. Somebody get Dee Rees financing for a new movie stat. It is maddening to think that she hasn’t had an opportunity since Pariah in 2011 to show us her voice. She has more radical stories to tell. I can feel it.

The Coolest of Them All: An Ode to Marlene Dietrich

What modern cinema audiences should be interested in is his or her place in Hollywood history, and socio-cultural significance. Dietrich is a radical, and progressive cultural figure in terms of her sexual and gender identity. On and off screen. Her off-screen identity was also subversively androgynous and was often signified by her masculine attire.

Written by Rachael Johnson.

Marlene Dietrich (1901-1992) was one of the most captivating, ground-breaking movie stars of the 20^th century. There were more talented Hollywood contemporaries, but perhaps none of them had that heady combination of characteristics that made up her extraordinary screen persona: supernatural beauty fused with transgressive, gender-subversive sexual magnetism. Dietrich challenged traditional definitions of femininity, and bourgeois notions of respectability in her own life too. Biographical accounts reveal that the German-born star had numerous affairs with both men and women. But Dietrich was not solely an uninhibited sexual non-conformist. She was also a woman of considerable political courage. A committed anti-Fascist, the actress denounced Hitler’s Germany, and worked actively, and unstintingly, against the Nazi regime. (She became a US citizen in 1939.) Dietrich was a fearless, resilient woman who entertained throughout most of her life. She became a cabaret singer in her fifties, and toured the world into her seventies, soldiering on despite injury, illness and addiction. Was Dietrich a feminist movie star? Yes, and no. Although it seems that she was ultimately imprisoned by heterosexist Hollywood ideals of feminine beauty (she was a recluse in her later years), she should, nevertheless, be appreciated as an iconic figure of female sexual independence, individuality, and strength.

As Amy Jolly in Morocco — As Amy Jolly in *Morocco*

Hollywood marketed Dietrich, from the start, as an expressly seductive, “exotic” European star. Time and again, she portrayed scandalous lovers, and glamorous femme fatales. Dietrich did not embody the modern, professional American woman on screen. She never played a lawyer or reporter like Katherine Hepburn. Many of her films are about the pleasures, and dangers of romantic and physical love. They deal with obsession, sacrifice, and betrayal. Dietrich’s heroines are, also, of course, invariably ultra-glamorous. The star first caught Hollywood’s attention in The Blue Angel (1930), a German production directed by the Austrian-American filmmaker, Josef von Sternberg. In The Blue Angel, Dietrich plays cabaret singer, and femme fatale, Lola Lola. The Blue Angel secured her a contract with Paramount and she made six other films with von Sternberg: Morocco (1930), Dishonored (1931), Shanghai Express (1932), Blonde Venus (1932), The Scarlet Empress (1934), and The Devil is A Woman (1935).

As Shanghai Lilly in Shanghai Express — As Shanghai Lilly in *Shanghai Express*

The glamorous, dreamy Dietrich look is at its most iconic in von Sternberg’s atmospheric, stylish films. In The Blue Angel, Dietrich is plumper, and more voluptuous, but in Morocco, she becomes slender and more angular. She would remain so. Von Sternberg, with whom the actress was romantically involved, has been described as a Svengali-like character. A maestro of light and shadow, influenced by German expressionism, the director is credited with sculpting the face of Dietrich on the screen, and shaping her mystique. The nature of Dietrich’s role in their personal, professional partnership will always be subject to debate but it was, ultimately, a creative union. It is also important to note that Dietrich gained knowledge during this period that would be employed throughout her career. It is said that she greatly understood lighting and was an inventive make-up artist.

Dietrich was not a traditional Hollywood star although she looked like a perfect example of constructed feminine beauty. Her beauty, in fact, transcends conventional glamour in its unearthliness. It’s also remarkable, and considerably subversive, that she frequently played economically independent women living, and working, outside the domestic space, and prescribed bounds of sexual propriety. In von Sternberg’s films, Dietrich plays cabaret entertainers (The Blue Angel, Morocco, and Blonde Venus), a courtesan (Shanghai Express), a prostitute-spy (Dishonored), an adulterous queen (The Scarlett Empress), as well as a predatory “vamp” (The Devil is a Woman). She also plays a saloon singer in the George Marshall-directed Western Destry Rides Again (1939), and a Baroness brothel owner in her final film, Just A Gigolo (David Hemmings, 1978). But the most unique aspect of Dietrich’s screen persona is her sexual presence. The modern viewer is, perhaps, most intrigued by her androgynous aspect and sexually subversive behavior.

As Catherine the Great in The Scarlet Empress — As Catherine the Great in *The Scarlet Empress*

In Morocco, Dietrich provides one of the most radical sexually charged moments in Hollywood history when her cabaret singer character, Amy Jolly, sings “Give Me The Man Who Does Things” in French. She appears on stage elegantly dressed in a tux, and top hat, with a cigarette between her lips. Stopping at a table after the performance, she downs a glass of champagne, takes a flower from the hair of a female customer, and kisses her directly on the mouth. She then throws the flower to a male admirer (Gary Cooper as a French legionnaire). It’s a deeply seductive display of bisexuality, and Dietrich’s performance is fluidly, and perfectly, executed.

Dietrich was also the star of a scene that can be only be described as both sexually “out there,” and racist, in terms of its setting and images. I refer to the “Hot Voodoo” number in Blonde Venus where Dietrich’s character, once again a seductive cabaret entertainer, wanders around in a gorilla costume, slowly emerges from the suit, dons a blonde Afro wig, and starts to sing imperiously and suggestively, with hands on hips, in front of accompanying “native girls.” It’s a both bizarre and unsettling number.

As Lola Lola in The Blue Angel — As Lola Lola in *The Blue Angel*

Von Sternberg’s films are set, for the most part, in “exotic,” worlds such as 1920s China (Shanghai Express) and imperial Russia (The Scarlett Empress), and his depiction of non-American places is simultaneously ultra-stylized, and offensive. The audience is, also, at times encouraged to associate Dietrich’s heroines with “otherness.” The end of Morocco is quite interesting in that it shows a European woman rejecting domesticity, stasis, and marriage for love, and a nomadic existence. In pursuit of her great love, Amy Jolly eventually heads off into the desert and joins the North African women who shadow the legionnaires.

Dietrich made her most celebrated, and extraordinary films with von Sternberg but there were at least a couple of other good, and remarkable films. A riotous energy and charisma are evident in Destry Rides Again where she plays a sassy saloon singer called Frenchy. She also puts in a fascinating, idiosyncratic performance in Orson Welles’s astonishing, and greatly stylized Touch of Evil (1958) as an outlandish cigar-smoking madam, and fortune-teller. She radiates personality, and insolence in the role. Dietrich moved away from the movies, and remade herself as a cabaret singer in the 50s. She worked with Burt Bacharach, and toured extensively for decades, before retiring in her 70s. The entertainer was the ultimate show business survivor.

In A Touch of Evil — In *A Touch of Evil*

Dietrich also had an interesting, unconventional private life. She did the conventional thing early on in her career by marrying a fellow German, director Rudolf Sieber, and bearing a child (a daughter named Maria) but soon took a radically different track. Although she remained married to her husband until his death in 1976 (as well as good friends), she separated from him, and reportedly had many affairs with both men and women. Which brings us briefly to the intimate Dietrich.

Characterizations of public personalities by the people who know them are often contradictory, and human beings are, of course, different people to different people. Biographical accounts attest that Dietrich was both deeply flawed as a mother, and hugely sympathetic as a friend. No doubt Dietrich’s bed-hopping must have caused pain to some of her lovers too. The function of film criticism, particularly star studies, is, however, not to marvel at, or judge a star’s number of partners. Leave that to biographers and the Daily Mail. What modern cinema audiences should be interested in is his or her place in Hollywood history, and socio-cultural significance. Dietrich is a radical, and progressive cultural figure in terms of her sexual and gender identity. On and off screen. Her off-screen identity was also subversively androgynous and was often signified by her masculine attire. There is, in fact, no overstating Dietrich’s modernity as fashion and erotic icon. Both the star’s bisexuality and sexually independent lifestyle, challenged patriarchy and she helped change the way 20^th century women looked and behaved. In light of this, it is all the more baffling and maddening that the star slammed feminism in her later years. Her views are expressed in Maximilian Schell’s 1984 documentary, Marlene, which features interviews with an unseen Dietrich eager to preserve her glamorous persona. Nevertheless, the star’s spirit of sexual autonomy and freedom remains extraordinary, a spirit which, no doubt, had its roots in the sexually liberated Germany of the 1920s. During this creative, volatile period, Dietrich had been a chorus-girl and theatre actress who also took boxing lessons. A product of the Weimar Republic, Dietrich was, indeed, the living antithesis of the puritanical, patriarchal Nazi regime.

Dietrich exhibited backbone and a principled, political consciousness during World War II. She not only condemned her own homeland’s nefarious government but also vigorously campaigned against it. The star raised war bonds, recorded music for the OSS (Office of Strategic Services), and toured with the USO (United Service Organizations). She even entertained troops near the front. Both Hitler and propaganda minister, Goebbels, tried to get woo her back to Germany but she refused to be a Third Reich star. The Nazis responded by defaming her, and banning her movies. Dietrich was recognized by both the US and France for her war work. She was awarded with the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1945 and the French Legion of Honor. The star regarded this work as “the only important work I’ve ever done.” It is perhaps worth noting that both her father and step-father had been military men. There were German citizens who considered Dietrich a traitor– she received hate mail, and was once even spat at when she returned to her native land during post-war visits–but her anti-Nazi stance was also appreciated at home, and in 2002, the city of Berlin made her an honorary citizen.

The global screen star was a modern cosmopolitan woman who had friends, and lovers of many nationalities and backgrounds. She was a buddy of Asian-American actress Anna May Wong, and reportedly had affairs with legendary French singer, Edith Piaf, Cuban-American writer, Mercedes de Acosta, French actor, Jean Gabin, German writer Erich Maria Remarque, as well as American stars John Wayne, Gary Cooper, and James Stewart. It is also said that she had a romantic relationship with Greta Garbo. Dietrich moved to Paris in her later years, after touring the world as a cabaret artist. She died in the French capital in 1992 at the age of 90.

Dietrich has endured as a cultural icon because she was, simply, way ahead of her time. Her chic, sexually ambiguous screen, and star personae have remained hugely influential in popular culture. Madonna, who somewhat resembles the actress, has, famously, paid homage to her style in her performances, most memorably perhaps in her 1993 Girlie Tour. But Dietrich’s name is not only immortalized in “Vogue”; she haunts Suzanne Vega’s very different track “Marlene on the Wall” too. Interestingly, Indiewire reported earlier this year that Megan Ellison is planning a TV show about Dietrich and Greta Garbo. It sounds like an exciting project but we can only hope the filmmakers will fully appreciate Dietrich’s sexual, and gender non-conformity, cosmopolitan lifestyle and anti-Fascist spirit. The star deserves no less. She was, after all, the coolest of them all.