This past February, I wrote a feature about unsung film performances given by African-American actresses. Since then, any number of people have offered their own opinions about performances that I inadvertently overlooked.
So two weeks ago, I paid homage to five additional big-screen performances delivered by five talented African-American actresses (Tyra Ferrell, Irma P. Hall, Taraji P. Henson, Sanaa Lathan and Queen Latifah) that I feel haven’t been as sufficiently praised as they should be.
In the second and final part of my latest unsung performances feature, I’ll honor another five indelible performances in films that didn’t get their proper due.
Regina King in Ray (2004)
Dating back to her big professional break playing Marla Gibbs’ daughter on the hit 1980s sitcom “227” (1985-1990), King has often been relegated to playing the smart, good girl that any guy would be lucky to take home to mom. She got the opportunity to branch out from that character archetype in her explosive turn as Margie Hendricks, the angry, sassy, heroin-addicted songstress-mistress of Ray Charles (Jamie Foxx) in director Taylor Hackford’s big screen biopic. As the former member of an all-girls group who would go onto become the most famous of all of Charles’ female back-up singers (coined the Raelettes), King gives an emotionally volatile performance that equals the astounding accomplishment of her Oscar-winning co-stars. Witness the scene where Margie and Ray, playing house in a hotel room while on tour, get into a big fight because he makes it clear that he has no intentions of leaving his wife and that she’s free to either take it or leave it. King and Foxx go toe-to-toe in the scene and give great insight into the emotional complexity that likely was at play in Hendricks and Charles’ affair. Foxx rightfully got the lion’s share of attention for his game-changing work in the title role, but make no mistake about it, King is his equal. Prior to the film, little was known about Hendricks’s personal life; she was best known for her background vocals (repeatedly wailing “Baby!“) on the classic Ray Charles track “Night Time is the Right Time.” Thanks to King, people got to know the complicated, damaged woman behind the big voice.
Lonette McKee in Jungle Fever (1991)
McKee got her big break starring in the 1976 big screen musical Sparkle, which purportedly served as inspiration for the 1981 Tony-winning Broadway musical Dreamgirls and has garnered quite the cult following over the years, especially among the African-American community. Another film of hers that has garnered a loyal following in the 20 years since its theatrical release is writer-director Spike Lee’s incendiary examination of an interracial romance, Jungle Fever. McKee plays Drew, who’s married to Flipper (Wesley Snipes), an African-American architect who engages in a consensual fling with his Italian-American secretary (Annabella Sciorra). He makes the colossal mistake of sharing news of the indiscretion with his best friend (played by Lee), who tells his wife, who then informs Drew. This sets the stage for three powerhouse scenes that allow McKee to burn up the screen as a woman scorned, with the most memorable being a freewheeling, largely improvised discussion between Drew and her closest girlfriends about why men cheat, the ins and outs of the dating scene, why so many black men have complexes regarding color, and so on. As the scene progresses, you can witness McKee run the gamut of emotions (angry, bruised, conflicted, contemplative, resolved), all while lounging in her den trying to make heads or tails about what this all means. Holding down the court, she’s simply superb.
Jada Pinkett Smith in A Low Down Dirty Shame (1994)
Back in the early-to-mid-1990s, Baltimore native Jada Pinkett Smith was carving out quite a niche for herself as a promising Hollywood “It” girl – a position few other African-American actresses have found themselves occupying. In September of 1994, Pinkett Smith played the female lead in the well-received art house romance Jason’s Lyric opposite Allen Payne. That November, she winningly played the sarcastic (and not-so-secretly-infatuated) sidekick to Keenen Ivory Wayans’ suave private investigator in the action-comedy A Low Down Dirty Shame. In typical fashion, Wayans’ character, Andrew Shame, isn’t hip to his assistant Peaches’ (Pinkett Smith) feelings about him, which makes him not the brightest PI in the game. When a cushy assignment reinvigorates the agency’s cash flow but comes saddled with some excess baggage in the guise of an ex of Shame’s that rubs Peaches the wrong way, Pinkett Smith mines the material for everything it’s worth – admittedly it isn’t much – which makes her comic tour-de-force all the more remarkable. It’s a perfect example of a talented actor spinning threadbare material into comic gold.
Sheryl Lee Ralph in To Sleep With Anger (1990)
Perhaps best known for creating the role of Deena Jones in the original Broadway production of “Dreamgirls,” and for playing Brandy’s stepmother on the UPN sitcom “Moesha” and Lauryn Hill’s mother in Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit, Ralph’s best onscreen performance can be found in writer-director Charles Burnett’s third feature, To Sleep With Anger. A blend of folklore, mysticism and melodrama, the film casts Danny Glover as Harry, a charming rogue who pays a longtime married couple (Paul Butler and Mary Alice) a visit; they haven‘t seen one another in the better part of 30 years. So naturally they welcome him into their home where he eventually ingrains himself after Butler takes ill. Is Harry a demonic presence there to cause trouble or is he just a rabble rouser? Ralph has such a handle on Linda’s bravado and high-strung nature, it’s fascinating to see the unexpected choices she makes in playing the role. Just when you think she’s going to go left, she goes right. When you think she’s going to emphasize one thing, she tosses it aside and emphasizes something else. It’s the spontaneity in her performance and the power she commands onscreen opposite Glover that makes her work in Anger so great.
Alfre Woodard in Crooklyn (1994)
Back in February, I paid homage to Alfre Woodard’s superb work in writer-director John Sayles’ dramedy, Passion Fish. Since then, more than one person has asked me how could I forget to single out her funny, moving and painfully real turn as the overtaxed mother of five in writer-director Spike Lee’s semi-autobiographical comedy-drama, Crooklyn. Set in early-1970s Brooklyn, the film tells the story of the Carmichael clan, headed up by high school teacher Carolyn (Woodard) and struggling jazz musician Woody (Delroy Lindo) who own a brownstone where they live with their four sons and only daughter. The film is an intimate, slice of life portrait of a black family that at times is both provocative and poignant, revelatory and familiar, endearing and appropriately messy, with Woodard finding the right balance of devoted wife, loving mother, dedicated teacher, and overextended woman. In one of the film’s funniest and most real moments, Carolyn wakes all of her children up and forces them to clean the house after repeated attempts to get them to do so. And in an argument with Woody about finances (he’s quick to spend her money), he accuses her not respecting his privacy, to which she fumes, “I can’t even take a piss without six people hanging off my tits!” Woodard’s delivery of that choice line (perhaps the best in the entire movie) is funnier than most anything you’ll see on the big screen this year or next. As was the case with Passion Fish, Woodard was overlooked come Oscar time, and when you take some of the performances that did make the final cut into account, her omission was truly a low down dirty shame.
