The Legendary Harry Belafonte

Before I knew him as an actor and activist, Harry Belafonte was a sound to me. That voice letting out a full-throated “DAAAAYYY-O! DAAAAYAYAY-O!” Sure, maybe saying I discovered Harry Belafonte is hardly a unique way of coming to him, but god damn, if it isn’t hard to beat. His voice was big, mellifluous, and perfectly pitched. In a more fair world, he would have been a Jamaican-American Frank Sinatra. Hell, he would have been better. As it was, “DAY-O” went to number one in the US and was the first single to sell a million copies. You have to remember, this was 1956. Calypso music wasn’t on the radio back then. Well, not until Belafonte opened up his mouth and made a record that no one could deny. 

And the scary thought is DAY-O is just the tiniest tip of the grand iceberg that Harry Belafonte was. He was ungodly handsome. His speaking voice had a measure of grit within the honey. He was a fabulous actor, singer, revolutionary, and one remarkable human being. 

I was stunned to discover that despite his obvious dramatic, comedic, and singing gifts, Belafonte only has 22 film and TV credits…total. How is that even possible? That a man with so many gifts would be seen on screen so sparingly. His film breakthrough came two years before his musical success. In 1954, Belafonte made Carmen Jones, a contemporary version of Bizet’s opera, but with an all-black cast. The esteemed Otto Preminger took the directing helm, and Belafonte’s co-star, Dorothy Dandridge earned the first lead actress nomination by a black woman in the history of the Oscars. The film was a sizable success, proving that not only would Black people come out to the cinema if their lives were reflected on screen, but so would white people. The white-hot chemistry between Belafonte and Dandridge didn’t hurt (although it was Dandridge and Preminger who had the off screen affair). 

Despite the film’s success and the obvious star power of its leads, Carmen Jones did not catapult Belafonte to greater screen success. Island in the Sun, Buck and the Preacher, and, particularly, Robert Wise’s Odds Against Tomorrow–a terrific noir about a failed cop trying to pull off a bank heist–were a few of the handful of post-Carmen films that registered. Belafonte’s Odds Against Tomorrow’s co-stars were Robert Ryan, Gloria Grahame, and Shelley Winters, to name a few. The film was well-received by critics and audiences. Abraham Polonsky, a black-listed screenwriter who was enveloped in the tragedy of McCarthyism, was personally chosen by Belafonte to write the script, even if he had to take the credit under a pseudonym. 

I guess this is as good a time as any to get to the activism part, but lord knows, it’s hard to figure out where to start. In the fullness of a long life, Harry Belafonte was seemingly on the right side of every contentious issue this country faced from the ‘50s to the present day. He was a powerful staple of the Civil Rights movement, lending his heart, body, mind, and voice to the cause. Belafonte supported the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King out of his own pocket, he bailed MLK out of that infamous Birmingham jail. In fact, one could argue that for many, many years, if there were a cause worthy of assistance, Belafonte was probably someway involved. At least it seemed that way.

Belafonte worked with UNICEF, fought against Apartheid, and good freaking god, he assembled the musicians for “We Are The World.” While I might lament his absence on film (think of it, he was basically Sydney Poitier with a better singing voice), it’s hard to imagine anyone living such a full life. I mean, he guest hosted The Tonight Show for an entire week once. There was very little that seemed beyond him.

Unsurprisingly, Spike Lee recognized that life and cast Belafonte, at the age of 91, as Jerome Turner, an activist recounting the real-life  lynching of a man named Jesse Washington. Lee brilliantly cuts between Belafonte’s monologue by showing a Klan group discussing their philosophy. The marked difference in humanity doesn’t come just from the truth of the words, but the timbre with which they are delivered. Harry Belafonte had a lot of timbre. With each word he speaks, in this softer–somewhat gravelly–tone of a very old man, Belafonte draws you in further. You might be able to feel your lean towards the screen if you weren’t enraptured by the wisdom coming from a man who has seen both the best and worst of human nature. 

It is a riveting sequence, but aside from Lee’s endlessly inventive directorial skills, the moment belongs to Belafonte. He’s more than a character in the film. He is living history, and he has lived to this moment to expose the pain of the Black experience to all that surrounded him on set, and all of us that saw him on screen. Belafonte represented the struggle of the Black American in a way that probably no other living performer could have. 

In this life, there are people to be liked, admired, and loved, but few are worthy of reverence. Harry Belafonte is worthy of that and whatever else you’ve got.

Harry Belafonte died yesterday. He was 96 years old.