All cliches are true, including the chestnut that truth is stranger than fiction. No screenwriter would dare invent the drama Dorothy Dandridge lived, so Dickensian are its details.
A forgotten Hollywood star of the '50s, her tale begins with a little girl being raised by her mother's lesbian lover, who physically and sexually abuses her. She grows to be a charismatic beauty, finds work as a singer and actress, then marries a womanizing dancer. Their only child, a daughter, is born severely retarded.
Divorced at 27, she begins a series of unhappy love affairs with powerful men, one of whom, a producer and director, gives her the role of her life. It earns her the first nomination for a best actress Oscar ever given an African American, but parts for a black leading lady prove hard to come by.
She marries an abusive con man who squanders her money, and financial ruin forces her to make her daughter a ward of the state. Depressed and dependent on pills and alcohol, she dies at 42 of a prescription drug overdose. There is $2.14 in her bank account.
Halle Berry, despite enjoying considerable success in Hollywood, believed Dandridge could be the role of her life. For five years, she tried to interest studio after studio in a Dandridge biopic. Although Dandridge was a contemporary of Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn, her name is virtually unknown to today's movie audience. If that didn't make for a tough enough sale, Berry was pitching a woman's story that, even worse, in a commercial sense, centered on a black woman. It wasn't the kind of thing that makes a studio executive's day. Berry recalls, "Everyone said it's a great story and a terrific part, but it will never make any money. They told me, 'This would make a lot of sense for you, but no sense for us.' "
She finally found acceptance at HBO. "Introducing Dorothy Dandridge," which Berry executive produced and stars in, premieres on the cable network tonight at 9.
While there was no bidding war among studios to produce a Dandridge movie, the competition to play her was hot. Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson, Vanessa Williams, Angela Bassett, Jasmine Guy and Jada Pinkett all expressed interest.
In 1996, Berry acquired a biography written by Dandridge's longtime, love-smitten manager, Earl Mills, played in the HBO movie by Brent Spiner. By 1997, when film historian Donald Bogle's definitive Dandridge biography was published, Berry still hadn't secured a deal, so Houston bought the rights to the Bogle book.
That so many actresses were eager to play Dandridge reflected both their respect for her and the sad circumstance that not much had changed since her heyday. There was still a shortage of leading roles for black actresses. And, with apologies to Whoopi Goldberg, especially for stunning, sultry ones who get to kiss the boy, be he black or white.
Berry thought Houston had more box-office clout than she. But Berry had a few strengths of her own, including great persistence and flexibility. She was savvy enough to understand that high-quality movies were being made for cable television that were reaching larger audiences than many theatrical releases.
Dandridge a 'Hero to the Black Community'
Still, perhaps not all cliches are true. Both Berry and Dandridge know what it's like to be underestimated by those who believe that beautiful women are dumb. The two actresses seemed to have a lot in common. Berry was 32 when the HBO film was in production, the same age Dandridge was when she earned her Oscar nomination. They were both born in Cleveland and grew up with absent fathers. Their obvious genetic blessings didn't necessarily make either of them lucky in love.
"I could relate to Dorothy and her struggle," Berry says. "There's still no spot carved out for a black leading lady. I'm still banging on those doors."
Director Martha Coolidge identified a subtle difference. She says: "Dorothy's face was so expressive. All the complex thoughts and ideas showed on it at every moment. . . . [Halle's] a much more serene, less tortured person. So the first goal we set up for her in her performance was showing that vulnerability that Dorothy couldn't disguise."
To realize her dream of both playing a glamorous leading role and acknowledging Dandridge's contribution as an African American battling racism, Berry, as producer, had to confront the question at the core of every filmed biography that aims to be more than a series of vignettes: Which tale to tell? Is it the story of a betrayed child constantly searching for love; the insecure, masochistic man magnet with an abundance of looks, talent and ambition yet little common sense; or the dazzling screen goddess with the courage to insist on first-class treatment?
