I love being surprised by a film I’ve never seen before. Not only had I not seen Lydia Bailey but I had never heard of it. Recently, I watched this unusual historical drama unfold on the big screen at Chicago’s Bank of America Theater, a small venue dedicated to showing classic Hollywood films.

 Though Lydia Bailey might not appeal to everyone, and it was not without its weaknesses, I loved the stars, the location photography, the voodoo drums, and the way the movie reflected the issues and problems of the era. And, I don’t mean the era it was set in — 1802 Haiti.  I mean the era it was made in — 1952 America.

 The story takes place in Haiti at the end of Toussaint L’Ouverture’s tenure as Governor of the country. A real-life historical figure, Toussaint had been a slave on a French sugar-cane plantation. The plantation owner allowed Toussaint to be educated, and he became an accomplished thinker and leader. When the slaves revolted against the French in 1771, he participated, though the revolt was crushed. In the complicated series of events that followed, which involved colonialist Spain, France, and even Britain for a short time, Toussaint emerged as a formidable general and leader of the country’s African and mixed-blood population. When the French abolished slavery in 1794, Napoleon named him Commander-in-Chief of Haiti, and the former slave implemented social reforms and improved his country’s infrastructures. Toussaint wrote the country’s Constitution, which mandated freedom for residents of all races; it also established Toussaint  as Governor. Unfortunately, this was more than Napoleon had bargained for, and in 1802, he sent his sister Pauline and his brother-in-law General Charles LeClerc to take back the country by any means necessary. Lydia Bailey, which was based on the 1946 best-selling historical novel by Kenneth Roberts, is set at this point in Haiti’s history. 

 The main character in the film is not the title character but an American lawyer named Albion Hamlin, played by Dale Robertson. The handsome Robertson gives the role a youthful vitality, and he looks really good without a shirt (more on that later), but he pales beside the radiant beauty of Anne Francis as the title character and the commanding presence of William Marshall, who plays a local leader for Toussaint’s Negro Republicans.  (If the name sounds familiar, Marshall played the title character in Blacula in 1972 and its sequel, Scream Blacula Scream.)

DALE ROBERTSON. WOW!

 The tale unfolds through the eyes of Hamlin, who is there to get Lydia Bailey’s signature on a legal document regarding her American father’s estate. Hamlin knows nothing of Haiti, its political problems, Toussaint, or the French colonists who still live there. The story begins as he enters the harbor of Cap Francois, and from that moment, we appropriate his politically naïve perspective. Given that most Americans know little of Haiti and its history, this was a smart storytelling strategy. Hamlin begins his education in the country’s tumultuous history as soon as he arrives at the American consulate, where he finds America’s representative about to turn tail and run from the expected violence. The representative then gives Hamlin — and us — a brief history of Haiti’s relationship with colonial France. Hamlin ignores the stuffy official’s advice to run, because he has a job to do.

 Two early events in the film pull Hamlin’s sympathies — and ours — onto the side of the Haitians right away. Albion hires a cute Haitian kid named Nero to take care of his bag, but two white thieves, who are taking advantage of the turmoil to pillage and plunder, kill him for it. A black gentleman carrying a huge walking stick helps Hamlin retrieve his bag. Just as Hamlin is saddened and outraged at Nero’s death, and grateful for the black man’s help, so are we. The black man turns out to be King Dick, the powerful-looking, deep-voiced leader of the Negro Republicans who support s Toussaint’s efforts for a free Haiti. 

As might be guessed by his phallic-sounding name, King Dick is quite a character. Played with charisma and authority by African American actor William Marshall, King Dick is admirable not only because he is an educated, sophisticated landowner, but also because he is a physically powerful man’s man — the latter suggested by the fact that he has eight wives. At King Dick’s ranch, Hamlin agrees to let King Dick guide him inland to the French plantation of Colonel Gabriel D’Autremont, where Lydia Bailey lives as his fiancée. The trip inland involves traveling through a perilous jungle territory controlled by a band of vicious marauders led by the mulatto Mirabeau. And, in order to get past Mirabeau’s men, Hamlin must pretend to be King Dick’s mentally disabled mulatto field hand.

ANNE FRANCIS AT 21

 I found the sequence in which Hamlin stays at the ranch of King Dick one of the most entertaining, partly because of the sexual innuendo. For several reasons, the Hollywood’s censorship code (the Production Code) had begun to loosen in the early 1950s, and Lydia Bailey seems to push at its limits.  When King Dick tells Hamlin that he has eight wives, the conversation turns to how well he keeps them satisfied and how tiring having so many spouses can be. Of course, the comments can be taken sexually. Later in the sequence, when Hamlin needs to be disguised as a mulatto, King Dick tells his wives to handle it. They surround the handsome young man and begin to tear the clothes from Hamlin’s body, which allows Robertson to show off a terrific physique. The women rub a dark stain made from a mud or clay on Hamlin’s body to darken his skin. Shirt, pants, and other clothing go flying as the women gleefully smear the mud all over the young man who asks if the stain has to go “everywhere.” When King Dick says, “Yes,” the women squeal with delight. 

In his disguise as a mulatto field hand, Hamlin eventually gets to the plantation, where he finally meets Lydia Bailey. Anne Francis was breathtakingly beautiful at age 21 when she made the film, but her character is not just window dressing. She is also feisty and speaks her mind. Hamlin has come a long way to get Lydia’s signature on a document that will allow her deceased father’s land to be given to the American government. Lydia has made her home in France and Haiti for most of her life, and she is contemptuous of what is “happening in America.” She and Hamlin have a heated discussion about what America stands for, with Lydia criticizing American policies and politics and Hamlin defending them. The extended conversation seems a bit out of place in a film about Haiti unless you recall that 1952 was the height of the McCarthy era and the beginning of the Cold War. Debates about the values and ideals of America were part of the zeitgeist in 1952, and this conversation is a sign of those times.    

However, it is the black characters and their goal of liberty for their country that is most interesting about the film. Much has been made about the social dramas of late 1940s and early 1950s, such as Intruder in the Dust and Pinky, which deal seriously with racial issues, but Lydia Bailey is also thought-provoking in its depiction of blacks and race relations. The film’s focus on freedom and dignity, with scenes of blacks and whites working together for the greater good, reflects the values of the American civil rights movement, which is just around the corner.

Many powerful black characters populate the film’s story, and all of them are smart, articulate, and good leaders. In a booming voice that reminded me of James Earl Jones, King Dick makes allusions to philosophy and literature when he explains the political goals of the Haitians under Toussaint. Toussaint is depicted as an intellectual who is willing to sacrifice himself to further his cause. Even the black villains are smart, well-spoken, and powerful, as opposed to being purely evil or brutal, including the mulatto Mirabeau who controls the jungles. 

WILLIAM MARSHALL

 Throughout the film, Hamlin sides with black characters against the white French; however, he becomes their follower, never their leader. Toussaint’s goal of liberty for his country without French interference is just and noble, and Hamlin joins his cause. Because we have appropriated Hamlin’s point of view since the first scene, we also side with the black characters against the white French. In other words, the black characters in this film are not depicted as the “other” — those whom we can’t identify with because they are too different from us, or those who are too far outside our frame of reference.

 Helping with a sense of identification with the black characters are the many scenes in which Hamlin and Lydia  stain their skin to pass as mulattos. Hamlin has his skin stained in order to get to the French plantation, but the need for him and others to pass for black occurs again in one of the film’s longest sequences. As tensions increase because of the presence of the French, marauding gangs attack the estates of the white planters. Colonel Gabriel D’Autremont  has left his plantation to help out General LeClerc, leaving Lydia, his son, and others behind. Hamlin goes back to the plantation to rescue Lydia just as the plantation comes under attack. In the chaos that follows, Hamlin, Lydia, and D’Autremont’s young son stain their skin and escape into the jungle with Lydia’s black maid. They join the large group of black refugees leaving the plantations for Cap Francois. In their disguises, the characters learn what it is like to be displaced black field hands, who are the most vulnerable of Haiti’s residents and live at the mercy of both the French and the marauders.  Because we see the story from Hamlin’s point of view, and he becomes part of the refugee caravan through the jungle, we sympathize with the black refugees, too.

 Though nothing is made of this in the plotline, Lydia’s disguise as a black woman seems particularly meaningful. When Hamlin first sees her, he is in disguise as a mulatto. On her magnificent horse, she towers over him, questioning and belittling a man whom she assumes to be beneath her because he is black and a field hand. When Lydia is forced to pass for black, she discovers what it is like to be on the other side of the fence. Thoughtful audience members will make this connection, even if it is not part of the dialogue or plot.

THE GERMAN TITLE WAS "BLACK DRUMS"

Every film has its antagonists, and in Lydia Bailey, it is the French. Even Mirabeau and his marauders are depicted in a more favorable light than the white French colonialists. The French are more than just Toussaint’s opponents; they are depicted as decadent. Lydia was not only Colonel D’Autremont’s fiancée, she had also been his ward. He had raised her, educated her, and groomed her to be his future wife and mother to his son from an earlier marriage. D’Autremont’s grooming of Lydia has the taint of incest, though technically it is not. At the very least, the audience knows right away that their relationship is not a love match. The aristocratic D’Autremont is older, small in stature, unattractive, and unable to keep Lydia’s affections, because she and the young, virile Albion fall in love. D’Autremont’s jealousy of Albion corrupts his morals and causes him to become obsessed with Lydia. This leads him to make selfish and foolish decisions, ultimately resulting in the death of his little boy.

 Napoleon’s sister Pauline and her husband General LeClerc also convey the decadence of the aristocracy. LeClerc is devious in his dealings with Toussaint. Using the ruse of parlay, LeClerc plans to lure him into Cap Francois, then throw him in prison, or worse. LeClerc looks short and weak, and he is under the thumb of his wife, who calls the shots. Their only scene together is a ball attended by Haiti’s prominent French families, including D’Autremont and Lydia who have been reunited after her trek through the jungle with Albion. When Pauline and LeClerc are seen together, the composition reveals the power relationship between the couple: Pauline looms large in the foreground on a throne-like chair, while her husband stands behind her, looking small and weak. He barely gets a word in edgewise. Throughout the scene, middle-aged Pauline expresses her interest in men too young for her, and she pumps Lydia for information on the handsome, heroic American (Albion) who saved Lydia’s life. In contrast to King Dick, Toussaint, and even Mirabeau, who are fighting for dignity, land, or liberty, the greedy French think only of personal gratification and social position.

 Albion and Lydia end up together and leave Haiti for America, but the last shot is not the happy, handsome couple in an embrace to signify a typical Hollywood ending. Instead, the last image is a low-angle shot of King Dick waving farewell with his huge walking stick. Though in real life, Haiti’s fate was a sad one, and the French succeeded in imprisoning Toussaint, at the end of the film, King Dick looks powerful and triumphant. His vision of a free and equal Haiti for all people — or, by extention, a free and equal world for all people — seems possible.