"They didn't make me into a maid, but they didn't make me into anything else either. I became a butterfly pinned to a column singing away in Movieland."
This is how Lena Horne described her time as an MGM contract player in her 1965 autobiography, Lena. She was, as Vogue described her, "Hollywood's first black beauty, sex symbol, singing star." Hers was a heavy burden as the path of a trailblazer is not an easy road to travel. From the Cotton Club to Hollywood films, from television to the Broadway stage, Horne made numerous transcendent appearances and contributions to the American artistic landscape and cultural lexicon. Yet there were roadblocks every step of the way, acceptance came with an asterisk, and her final years were spent in a flurry of self-affirmation and survivalist grit.
Horne's entry to show business came in 1933 when she became a chorine in the Cotton Club. She was all of sixteen at the time, and in her own words, "I never planned to go on the stage, but it was the Depression.... I couldn't sing or dance, but I was young and cute, exactly what those gangsters who owned the Cotton Club were looking for." Cab Calloway's Jitterbug Party, a 1935 short film, offers a brief glimpse of Horne's time as chorus girl in the final scene where everyone performs the titular dance.
Ralph Cooper would eventually go on to start Amateur Night at the Apollo, becoming the first emcee and possibly its longest running as he hosted the event from inception until just after a debilitating stroke. Cooper’s Million Dollar Productions specialized and focused on creating race films for the black film circuit. Million Dollar Productions was one of the first and major independent producers of black cinema, blazing the path for latter day movements like blaxploitation and artists like Melvin Van Peebles, Spike Lee, and Tyler Perry.
With that bit of historical import out of the way, let's loop back around to Horne. She's stuck in a variation of A Star Is Born, yet her innate star quality is obvious even in this embryonic form. Her version of "I Know You Remember" is aces, and she just needs some finessing before the formula would cohere. It would take the guiding hand of Vincente Minnelli in Cabin in the Sky to show what Horne was capable of as an actress, but her smile is magnetic and her musical numbers are all solid, if unremarkable. It's no wonder that the eventual re-release at the height of Horne's MGM days would re-title this film The Bronze Venus and prominently display her glamorous visage. (The Duke Is Tops is currently in the public domain, and can be viewed on YouTube.)
Filmed in 1941 but not released until 1944, Boogie-Woogie Dream is a dynamite twelve-and-a-half minutes of all-singing, all-jazz piano talent with only minor detours into plot and dialog. She's still a vibrant and glowing presence, but has not matured into the aloof and gritty performer we recognize her as quite yet. Trying to dress her down as a plain Jane waitress is an effort in futility the moment she smiles and it's always a pleasure to hear her sing.
Horne was signed to a studio contract by 1942, but this was something she met with trepidation and enormous outside whispering. The NAACP wanted to make inroads on representation in Hollywood films and thought Horne the right actress to function as the proverbial canary in the coalmine. In her own words, "I was unique in that I was a kind of black that white people could accept. I was their daydream. I had the worst kind of acceptance because it was never for how great I was or what I contributed. It was because of the way I looked." Now think back to that butterfly pinned to a column quote above, because we're about to hammer this point home repeatedly.
Horne's first appearance under contract was in 1942's Panama Hattie in two isolated musical sequences. She belts out "Just One of Those Things" and performs "The Spring" with Vincente Minnelli's staging and the Berry Brothers dancing around her. These are jewels in an otherwise uneven, tepid film.
She rarely played a character or got much to do besides waltz in to perform a song or two in sequences that could be easily removed for southern audiences then vanish. Her screen appearances were often the highlights of the surrounding films given her emotive voice and ability to act out a song through body language and line readings. But institutional racism is going to do what it's going to do, and this first screen appearance is emblematic of Horne's time as a major Hollywood player.
Cabin in the Sky is a morality play concerning the soul of Little Joe (Eddie Anderson) as Lucifer Junior (Rex Ingram) and the General (Kenneth Lee Spencer) battle over it. Ethel Waters plays Joe's devout wife, Virginia, while Horne gets to play the vamp, Georgia Brown. She practically ignites the screen with just a swish of her body and a flash of her smile. While Waters is the clear lead of the film, Horne holds her own and is tremendous during her character's narrow escape from a tornado by effectively projecting her trauma and delirium.
Horne tempts during Anderson during "Life Is Full of Consequences," a sequence that pulsates with Horne's carnality and earthy sensuality. Later on she emerges from a flurry of ostrich feathers in "Honey in the Honeycomb." This scene finds her more playful and kittenish. I wish she got a few more numbers in Cabin in the Sky, but she's got a plum supporting part in a great movie so it balances out in the end. (Side piece of trivia: Pearl Bailey's brother, Bill, is credited with introducing the "moon walk" dance step in this film.)
Made while on loan, Stormy Weather gives her a bigger role to play, and she's simply divine in it. Granted, by even the wispy standards of a musical, the narrative of Stormy Weather is practically nonexistent. This isn't a major drawback, in fact, the plot merely functions as loose connective from one rousing sequence after another. Thunderstruck is the best word for it as Fats Waller, Ada Brown, Cab Calloway and His Cotton Club Orchestra, the Nicholas Brothers, and Bill "Bonejangles" Robinson tear the roof off the place every chance they get.
Then there's Horne's various musical sequences that demonstrate the versatility of her talent. She floats on an ethereal, elegant cloud in "I Can't Give You Anything but Love," is achingly romantic in "There's No Two Ways About Love," and playful in "Diga Diga Doo." Nothing compares to her rendition of the title song, though. Horne gives a masterclass in the art of acting a song for the silver screen during "Stormy Weather." Wearing a glamorous dress, filled with heartache and a gentle quiver in her voice, she leans against a wall and belts it out with the impression that her entire life depends upon this one moment. Throughout the film Horne is a earthy, charming, graceful, and sexy presence.Added to the National Film Registry in 2001, Stormy Weather is an important film for a variety of reasons. Chief among them is the historical importance, being one of only two major studio releases during the era comprised of an entirely black cast. Another is how it allows them to star as movers and shakers entirely throughout their world, with the businesses and theatrical troupes, orchestras, dance companies and army troops all being owned and populated by black people. Yet another reason is how every single one of these performers brought their best to the film, and all you’ll want to know is where so many of them were hidden during the era. This is why Stormy Weather endures, and why it remains a vital and essential film from the studio era.
Sadly, these two triumphs were mere blimps during her Hollywood years. It was right back to bit parts in her other 1943 films, Thousands Cheer, I Dood It, and Swing Fever. These films varied in quality, but generally fall somewhere between forgettable but enjoyable to awful spiked only by various bright spots.
Thousands Cheer is two different movies spliced together. The first half is Gene Kelly as a military man who falls in love with a colonel's daughter, Kathryn Grayson. That's the entirety of it, and the second half is a morale booster with Mickey Rooney as the emcee and MGM's stable of stars paraded out to sing, dance, tell some jokes, or some combination of all of the above. Horne performs "Honeysuckle Rose" in a lovely white dress and some fun work with mirrors, but this is not one of the more memorable one-scene sequences of her career. "Honeysuckle Rose" would become a staple of her cabaret acts in the years to come.
I Dood It rests entirely upon your tolerance for Red Skelton, and my tolerance for him extends to minor bits or as a supporting player/part of an ensemble. Much of the film is a lead balloon, but Horne teams up with Hazel Scott to tear the roof off the joint. Scott arrives early with a large entourage in tow and performs a fabulous instrumental number for everyone’s enjoyment. She’s a sensational, sophisticated vision, revealing an attractive smile as she pounds on the keys with masterful precision and style. In addition, once Horne shows up, with some lines to spout (which she does fine with, landing her laugh) in full diva mode complete with a fur draped over her shoulders, it’s off and running.
Here is a chance to watch a massive ensemble of extremely talented and under-utilized black talent do what they do best. “Jericho” proves that Minnelli brought out the best in Horne out of all of her film collaborators thus far; making her diamond-in-the-rough qualities displayed in The Duke Is Tops shine their brightest. She looks fabulous, filmed with great tenderness and care, and she and Scott play off each other well. The film gets a massive dose of energy that it desperately needed, but it’s a pity that the moment the song ends that they’re shoved off and we’re back to Red Skelton mugging through a sleepy series of comedic set-ups. “Jericho” is one of the two sequences (the other being Eleanor Powell performing rodeo tricks) that make I Dood It worth watching, even if you’ll be fighting the urge to fast-forward through so much of it.
1944 was a thin year for Horne as she only appeared in two features that year: Broadway Rhythm and Two Girls and a Sailor. Two Girls and a Sailor's "Paper Doll" is fine. Horne is uniformly magic in her small scene but that's about it. All things considered, it's a bit forgettable in the context of her complete body of film work.
She performs two songs in Broadway Rhythm. "Somebody Loves Me" plants her near a piano so she can literally walk off the screen and out of the movie once she's done. Far better, both in the context of this movie and her entire filmography, is "Brazilian Boogie." Horne gives “Brazilian Boogie” her typically sensual and sophisticated strength. She looks positively lovely, revealing her gorgeous legs in a high-slit dress, and gives most drag queens a lesson in how to perform with your face and hand gestures. It's a lovely moment where a whole ensemble of talented black dancers get a chance to shine. A sight that's far too rare even in a newer film musical.
1946 was another thin year, but Horne's sporadic film appearances rank among her best. There's the short film Studio Visit, a glimpse into film-making on the MGM lot with a deleted scene of Horne in a bathtub from Cabin in the Sky. This scene, "Ain't it the Truth," was removed from Cabin in the Sky for appearing too suggestive and the studio feared racist backlash over depicting a black woman...singing in a bubble bath? Look, it's a cute little scene and Horne is kittenish in it, but there's nothing worth censoring here.
So that just leaves us with Till the Clouds Roll By and this tiny segment to show what might have been. Horne is stunning in the part. Her reading of "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" is an exquisite case of a singer building a song towards a huge climax and it just feels like a perfect marriage between performer and material. What might have been, we'll never know, but we do have this tiny piece of cinema to give us a small entry point.
Ziegfeld Follies was a long-gestating film that sought to recapture the overwhelming experience of the stage show in a cinematic context. William Powell reprises his role of Florenz Ziegfeld, seemingly the entirety of MGM's stable of musical and comedy stars do bits, and Fanny Brice pops up as the lone member of the ensemble who also appeared in the original Follies. The film is only as good as any particular segment, and they do vary wildly in terms of scope, execution, and overall entertainment factor. Ziegfeld Follies has Horne singing "Love," the standard torch song in a Caribbean setting. Horne delivers her typically assertive, strong and sensual performance, and the costumes, lighting, makeup and color scheme all seem to have dovetailed together to make her look at her most intoxicatingly glamorous and beautiful.
Horne appeared in one film in 1948, Words and Music, a biographical film about Lorenz Hart and Richard Rogers that plays fast and loose with the truth. She appears in a nightclub sequence where she performs two numbers back-to-back. "Where or When" is all slow burning intensity, she gives the song a dramatic reading that made the song a very popular addition to later live shows. "The Lady Is a Tramp" is even better, a playful gas in which Horne does some nimble dance moves, plays with her dress, and delivers the lyrics with a knowing wink and a tongue planted firmly in her cheek. She looks positively radiant in this section, wearing a white gown adorned with pink and purple accessories, and proves that she didn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to make a large impression in a film loaded with top-tier talent (such as Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and Ann Sothern).
In 1949, MGM engaged in some back-patting with Some of the Best: Twenty-Five Years of Motion Picture Leadership. Lionel Barrymore is our narrator and presents a slideshow of their greatest cinematic achievements between 1924 and 1948. There's acknowledged classics (The Wizard of Oz, The Philadelphia Story, Mutiny on the Bounty, The Big Parade) and some of my personal favorites (The Flesh and the Devil, National Velvet), but this is nothing more than a major studio engaging in a pissing contest with the others. MGM is proudly, loudly proclaiming, "Look at what we've made and try to keep up plebs!"
Of course, there's an exhaustive preview of things to come in 1949, some of them forgettable, some classics, and a class photo. MGM touted itself as having more stars in its roster than there was in the sky. It is here that Horne is briefly glimpsed near Katharine Hepburn. She looks isolated, lonely, and angry at being used as a prop for the studio's myth-making machinery. Horne's seven-year contract was coming to a close, and looking at how little opportunity she'd been given, she chose to leave Hollywood for something else.
1950's Duchess of Idaho would be her final film at MGM. She would only sporadically return to the screen, and the detached, aloof, alternately contemptuous and seductive stage performance she'd adopt throughout club, cabaret, and television appearances had emerged by this point. She admitted that this performing style was born from rage at a system that wanted her talents but had little to no use for her personhood. Nothing more perfectly symbolized her time in Hollywood than being thrown up on the screen to be gawked at but experiencing no meaningful interaction.
It would be another thirteen years before we'd see Horne on the big screen. But you can hear her voice in Now! A five-minute documentary about police violence against the Black community during the Civil Rights era, it remains a painfully relevant short. Over a collage of civil unrest and protests, Horne performs a overly arranged and orchestrated version of the title song. This Cuban documentary still retains a forcefulness and power that cannot be diminished.
Horne returned to the big screen in 1968's Death of a Gunfighter, a film about the passing of the Old West into mythology by depicting exactly what its title is about. Richard Widmark plays the sheriff while Horne is his long-time lover and local brothel madame. While she gets second billing here, her role is really that of supporting player but we do get to hear her sing "Sweet Apple Wine," and that's a plus. It's an odd little film, partially owing to the conflicting directoral styles of Don Siegel and Robert Totten both credited as "Alan Smithee," the first credit to that pseudonym, but one worth seeking out. There's something nearly poetic about it's passing, through violence and force, from the old into the modern.
With her film career over for the moment, Horne found success on Broadway (a Tony nominated turn in Jamaica), nightclubs, and television. She appeared on all of the classic shows of the era, and it would be impossible to hunt them all down and write about them, but I'll focus in on a particular favorite of mine. Horne made a guest appearance on The Judy Garland Show that is just delightful. Judy Garland and Horne have a playful, teasing chemistry together, most evident in a medley where they sing each other's hit songs from their MGM films. (The medley is available to watch on YouTube.)
What I will focus on will be her various appearances in TV variety/musical specials and guest appearances on sitcoms. First up, Harry and Lena, a 1970 special that found her teaming up with Harry Belafonte to recreate their successful Las Vegas act. It's a wonderful hour of television that sticks the focus on two incredibly talented individuals and stays out of their way. Horne and Belafonte have a cute chemistry together, most notably during the introductory speech where he sets up the jokes and Horne's honeyed voice provides the zingers.
The opening "Walk a Mile in My Shoes" is wonderful, Horne does a devastating beautifully "In My Life," give exquisite romantic ache during a duet of "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," and the two of them share personal stories about the hard road towards stardom. Everything about this special is transfixing from the anecdotes they share, to the towering weight of social activism and industry experience, to the ways they balance out and play off of each other. Horne gives Belafonte more grit, he brings more sophistication, and you weep over the fact that they never made a film together. Think of what might have been!
Sanford and Son's second season episode, "A Visit from Lena Horne," is built around Fred G. Sanford's undying love (and borderline obsession) with "The Horne," as he affectingly dubbed her. While touring NBC Studios, Fred gets word that Horne will be a special guest and is currently rehearsing somewhere in the lot. Fred manages to wander into her dressing room and devises a plot to get her to visit their home. It's a whooper of a sob story built upon the premise that Lamont is lame and views her as a second mother.
Horne honestly doesn't do much aside from her introductory scene and eventual visit at the very end. The biggest joke here is that Lamont has a heart attack upon seeing Horne, understandable, and repeats a variation of his father's typical spiel. The best part is when Horne gets wind of the scheme and unleashes a verbal torrent on Fred. It's all fine and good if a little underwhelming for a talent as robust as hers.
Horne and Tony Bennett went on a joint-tour during 1973, but first they made a special, Tony and Lena, a breezy hour of all-singing from two entertainment thoroughbreds showing off. It's delightful and their chemistry crackles throughout. Most evidently during a call/response of "The Look of Love" (Horne) and "My Funny Valentine" (Bennett), although some of the lyrics are laughable when sung to Horne, and a Harold Arlen melody that wraps up the special. Bennett belts out a few lines of "Stormy Weather" to Horne's imminent delight. The whole thing zips by so fast you don't even realize it's already over until they're saying "goodnight" to each other and the audience.
Children's television in the early-to-mid-70s was a sweet spot for Horne. Not only did she have two episodes of Sesame Street, but an entire guest appearance on The Muppet Show. Her Sesame Street appearances are uniformly charming, from teaching the alphabet in a funky manner to showing Grover how to overcome shyness to, most memorably, singing "Bein' Green" with Kermit the Frog. There's a comforting sweetness in her scene with Grover, and she makes this moment feel real as if you are Grover, the shy child, and she's a sweet older relative offering words of encouragement and tenderness. Yet nothing prepares you for the power of her rendition of "Bein' Green," a song that was always metaphorical but made a near exorcism of racial animosity and healing empathy in her powerhouse vocals. When she tenderly touches Kermit at the end you'll swear he's crying - that's how strong a performer she is, how powerful her rendition, how touching this moment is.
But 1976's The Muppet Show is the real delight - a full half hour of Lena Horne and the Muppets filled with torch songs, comedy, and a sublime group singalong finale. Kermit introduces her as a performer who is "synonymous with style, taste, and elegance," and that just about covers it. Her first number, a torch version of Jim Croce's "I Got a Name," is simple refinement, a seasoned performer taking her time to build a song towards something. That something can be read different ways: Horne expressing her hard-fought sense of self, racial identity, some combination of the two (because how could one exist without the other?), or is she merely inhabiting the narrator of the song? The brilliance of this performance is how the answer could be any or all of them.
What's great about Horne's comedy numbers, especially acting opposite Fozzie, is how in on the joke she appears, how at ease, how much she's enjoying herself. She pokes fun at herself, delivers a perfectly withering and sardonic "Day, Doris Day," and generally seems to be telegraphing to us that any fourth-wall breaks are unintentional but she can't help herself because it's all so damn silly, charming, and fun! She also underscores a certain emotional texture that's always palpable in the Muppets work during Gonzo's appearance. Expressing frustration at the audience's lack of respect for his work he wanders into Horne's dressing room where she cheers him up by playing with his hair and singing "I'm Glad There is You." The effect is similar to when she taught Grover how to overcome his shyness.Of course, it all comes to a rousing conclusion with a group singalong, but first a little bit more comedy. Her asking Animal for help with finding her key (for her dressing room) quickly dovetails into him banging her foot with a hammer, her screaming, and Animal turning towards the camera and declaring, "B flat." It's an old joke but the whole thing works. For the finale Horne leads the Muppets through a joyous version of "Sing." It's hard not to smile while watching Horne hug Kermit and Fozzie while imploring us to "sing a song." The tender kiss Fozzie gives her feels both entirely spontaneous and like a natural reaction one would have if they found themselves in the same situation.
Her television work would continue in 1976 with an appearance on America Salutes Richard Rodgers: The Sound of His Music, one of the stranger tributes to a great artist television's cooked up. Gene Kelly stars as Oscar Hammerstein II and Henry Winkler (that's right, the Fonz) as Lorenz Hart, and a grab-bag of guest stars comes out to sing some of the more well-known songs. Horne shows up with Peggy Lee and Vic Damone to perform a fifteen minute medley. Horne performs a few of the numbers she'd become famous for or were mainstays in her nightclub acts, such as "Where or When" and "The Surrey with the Fringe on Top." The best part of the medley is where Peggy Lee sings "My Funny Valentine" while Horne does "The Gentlemen is a Dope" making for an interesting contrast in material and voices.
Ten years would go by before Horne would grace the big screen once more in 1978's The Wiz. The film enjoys a sizable cult following nowadays, and I am one of the members.It’s not perfect, but it’s an excuse to watch Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Lena Horne, Mabel King, and numerous other great talents sing, dance, and deliver comedic bits. If that’s not enough entertainment value for you, what more do you need? The Wiz also has numerous sequences that are full of clever bits and details, or imaginative images, or memorable songs, this is what a musical needs to succeed, and it does. Horne’s Glinda is a glowing presence, and only an icon of her stature would have given the part and the song the gravitas it required. Ross’s elated crying is the only appropriate reaction to Lena Horne singing directly to you, telling you to believe in yourself, and offering encouragement and support.The Wiz would be Horne's final cinematic acting appearance. Her remaining public appearances, outside of a club act, would primarily remain on television. But first, a stop at Broadway where she'd deliver a career-retrospective, a self-defining study of her own iconography, and the evolution of racial opportunities for performers like herself. Luckily for us, PBS' Great Performances captured her Tony award-winning one-woman show, The Lady and Her Music.
On the Playbill for her one-woman show, Lena Horne looked like a lioness celebrating a major victory. Her mouth open in triumph, her arms raised high above her head, she looks like she’s letting out a roar, and alternately, as she’s dressed in a flowing blue gown, like a slightly crazy blue fairy. It’s a striking image, one that perfectly encapsulates the contents of her show, Lena Horne: The Lady and Her Music.
It’s a shame that the only way to easily view this is as a less than stellar upload to YouTube. This version looks more than a little like a well-loved VHS transfer, and the lack of a better one is a pity as The Lady and Her Music is perhaps THE essential document of Horne’s career.
Here she gets to tell her story, unfiltered, with moments of mischievous humor, deep hurt, headstrong tenacity, and iron grit. The show is arranged so that the songs are grouped to describe her life’s journey from the Cotton Club, to Hollywood, to her triumph on Broadway in Jamaica, and finally ending up in her various cabaret acts and putting together this show. She pauses occasionally between songs to banter with the audience. She talks about the racism she endured in Hollywood, poking fun at her lack of dancing talent in the Cotton Club years, cracking jokes about how there wasn’t enough of a budget for major costume changes in this show, even admitting that she defers the stage to other performers on occasion to catch her breath between transitions.
What becomes abundantly clear is that Horne had an inner core of absolute steel, forged in hardship and adversity. She transforms even most blasé moment into a transcendent experience in which her survival becomes its own reoccurring theme. “I Got a Name” and “If You Believe” are re-contextualized into songs about personal growth, and become intensely moving and engaging experiences.Frequently, Horne’s artistic ambitions exceed her vocal ability, but it doesn’t matter. While not all of the notes in “Yesterday, When I Was Young” are perfect, she sings with more heart, soul, and passion than most others do. No matter if some of her belting isn’t in perfect pitch, it still hits you straight in the soul. In a show filled with transformative experiences, none may smack you harder than the reprise of “Stormy Weather.” Her first performance is a straight run-through, her honeysuckle vibrato wrapping itself around the torch song in a manner similar to how she performed it in the film of the same name. The second takes the song from a slow burn into a full-on belting spree in which she has turned a song about heartache into a gospel number. If you’re unmoved by it, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
This doesn’t mean that Horne doesn’t get flirtatious, spunky, or feisty. “Deed I Do” is a campy little number. It’s a slow seduction, building the number in a similar way that Peggy Lee delivers “Fever.” It’s a fun, cutesy moment in which Horne gets to let loose her jazz-tinged vocal tricks, and it’s completely charming. “The Lady Is a Tramp” is always a highlight with Horne’s tongue-in-cheek reading of the song.
In fact, all of her well-known numbers from her MGM days (“Love,” “Where or When,” “Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man”) are given a thorough rendering here. It’s great to watch Horne perform this material, and, more importantly, enjoy herself while doing so. She earns the special Tony award she won for this show with every long note, every belt, and every drop of sweat. Here is an artist purging their soul for the audience, and an appreciative audience laps it up.
This is footage that needs to be readily available on DVD or on a streaming site instead of a questionable upload to YouTube. Shame that the only way to experience the show as it was intended is on the album, which provides more than half of the show but prevents us from watching Horne in action. No matter, any which way you can experience The Lady and Her Music, do so.
The Cosby Show is damn near impossible to discuss given light of recent events, but I'm going to try. She makes a guest appearance in the first season finale, "Cliff's Birthday," once again playing herself. She's unbelieving charming here, seemingly light from within and hitting her jokes with panache. Of course she sings a song, but she also offers words of wisdom and sass to the Huxtable family. In all, it's not a bad half-hour and makes good use of her as a guest star rather than merely having her walk in and out a few times, they've built several scenes around her persona and strengths as an actress. But, yeah, it's hard to watch Bill Cosby play wholesome TV dad nowadays in contrast.
Horne heaped praises in 1993's Aretha Franklin: Duets, a television special, but a golden opportunity was missed for Franklin and Horne to tear the roof off the joint on a number. Think of them performing "Stormy Weather," "Love," "Tain't Nobody's Biz-ness if I Do" and try not to feel sorrow for what might've been.
A Different World's penultimate episode, "A Rock, A River, A Lena," which builds its entire concept around a visit from Horne to its fictional college. The episode is both tribute to her life and accomplishments and a quick representation of what she meant to the Black community. Jenifer Lewis can't compose herself while Jasmine Guy treats her like the Queen of England, both reactions feel appropriate and earned for an artist who had survived, inspired, and contributed so much.
She is full grand dame mode here: warm, funny, making connections with various characters, and exuding a regal confidence. Much like The Cosby Show, this one provides her more to do, and provides a quick primer on her various accomplishments outside of her artistry. An extended scene where she shares a memory of WWII highlights her activism in the face of crushing oppression. The episode ends with a group of children performing a tribute to her legacy that offers a quick reminder on some of the legendary performers she came up with like Cab Calloway, Count Basie, and Paul Robeson.
Frank Sinatra released his first duets album in 1993, and 1994 saw the release of the follow-up album, Duets II. Later that year CBS ran a special about the making of the albums called Sinatra: Duets. Horne appears on Duets II performing "Embraceable You." If both of their voices have aged over the years, then they manage to give the song a lived-in quality that's quite fitting and rich. It makes the yearning romance mean something more, and their voices have tremendous chemistry together.
Her final screen appearance was in 1994's That's Entertainment! III. Horne is one of a multitude of (then) living screen stars from MGM's glory days. The That's Entertainment! trilogy is merely an MGM puff piece, another bit of corporate back-patting that reasserts their dominance of the era. Horne's sequence reminds us of what a truly incandescent and poignant screen presence she was in these later years. She recounts the racism she encountered at the studio. Her infamous bubble bath scene from Cabin in the Sky is here, with her commentary about its censorship and removal. She details the pain and hurt over losing the role of Julie in Show Boat, and, as Roger Ebert says, "the difference between the two song versions is a hint of what MGM lost with that decision."
An Evening with Lena Horne would prove to be the final live outing from Lena Horne, not that she retired after this 1994 Supper Club show (released as a live album the following year). Far from it, she would go on to do a GAP commercial, release another album in 1998, and retire from public life in 1999, before passing away in 2010. But here at age 77, and looking roughly twenty years younger than that, Horne is in exceptionally fine form.
Her voice is remarkably strong, and she's still a lively performer. Her enunciation is still clear, and her phrasing impeccable. She may not be performing with the same energy and strength as in her 1982 Broadway show, but she was a smart enough performer to pick a group of songs that would be deeper and more introspective with her age and voice essaying them to life.
If she had retired, as originally planned, after The Lady and Her Music, Horne's legacy would have been secured. An Evening with Lena Horne is a glorious extra, a fitting caper to a legendary and luminous career. It's legacy work done right. It’s also a fitting way to say goodbye to one of the greatest performers of the twentieth century.She doesn't perform many of her biggest hits, and her signature song "Stormy Weather" appears to be missing from the set, but it doesn't matter. Here we get to witness Horne performing a series of jazz standards and showtunes. "Mood Indigo," "Old Friend," "Do Nothin' Till You Hear From Me," "Yesterday, When I Was Young," and "We'll Be Together Again" all standout as immediate highlights. "The Lady Is a Tramp" is always a welcome addition. Between "Tramp" and "I've Got the World on a String" Horne proves that she still has a kittenish side behind the grand dame persona of the rest of the set.
Thankfully, An Evening with Lena Horne survives as both an album recording and a DVD. Much like with The Lady and Her Music, she ended up winning two Grammys for the album version, much deservedly I say. An Evening with can also be viewed in DailyMotion in two parts. They’re high-quality uploads this time around.
I started this entry a long time ago, much of it spent searching for the rarer film appearances and what television specials I could find, and couldn't have foreseen how prescient it would end up becoming. Lena Horne's career is emblematic of the painful realities of being "the first," the "token," of dreams deferred by societal limitations and a profound lack of creative imagination. The movie career that should've been was never going to be in the 40s.
She spent her life fighting for civil rights and the freedom to simply "be." The interview she conducted for her episode of American Masters features a weary, elder Horne stating that things haven't changed as much as she hoped they would. Paul Robeson promised her that her their grandchildren wouldn't have to fight the same fights that they would, but Horne saw that they were and still waiting for equality. She wondered how much longer would they have to wait.
I wanted to highlight another gay icon for Pride season. I picked Lena Horne because I adored her so much, and couldn't have known that Pride 2020 and Black Lives Matter would smash into each other in so pronounced a way. (Hello parades for Black Trans Lives Matter! And you're goddamn right they do.) It's June 30, Horne's birthday and the end of Pride. It somehow feels appropriate that it ended up being this way.
My Essential Viewing recommendations:
Cabin in the Sky
Stormy Weather
The Wiz
Great Performances: Lena Horne - The Lady and Her Music
An Evening with Lena Horne
Honorable Mentions:
The Duke Is Tops
Till the Clouds Roll By
Ziegfeld Follies
Words and Music
Death of a Gunfighter
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