Revenge in Red, White, and Black: Massacre, 1934

Richard Barthelmess, Ann Dvorak, Claire Dodds, Clarence Muse, Dudley Digges, Robert Barrat.

“White folks sure didn’t give the Indians much of a break.” Clarence Muse, as Sam.

Richard Barthelmess was one of the greatest silent film stars. His success began with the seminal director D.W. Griffith, with an astonishing performance in Broken Blossoms, 1919, and a very appealing one in Way Down East, 1920. On forming his own production company, he embarked on a series of popular films notable for their range, from historical dramas to gangster stories to comedies. He also made several films that could be described as socially conscious. Unfortunately, very few of these films survive. So we can’t see them, and we can’t really grasp what a popular star Barthelmess was and the impression he made as a serious person who made honest efforts to reflect serious concerns.

His own production company merged into First National Pictures and continued to make films with social conscience, such as The Dawn Patrol, The Last Flight, The Finger Points, Four Hours to Kill, Son of the Gods, A Modern Hero, and Heroes for Sale. Towards the end of his career, after an absence of two years, he had his last great role in Howard Hawks’ 1939 masterpiece Only Angels Have Wings. In theatrical showings people applauded on his entrance, and I think the reason is that audiences remembered and appreciated his attempts to make films that were relevant to ordinary people’s lives, including people of color.

It’s not that well-meaning people didn’t want to talk about racism in the pre-code era. Several important films show people of color and different ethnicities in a sympathetic, respectful light, including Imitation of Life, Safe In Hell, The Hatchet Man, and Symphony of Six Million. But the same voices eager to condemn such sins as sexual freedom, drinking, and drug use were also strongly against exposing government corruption, institutional racism, bribery, crooked cops, and large-scale graft in institutions like prisons. Or the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Censors wanted not just to limit what audiences could think about, they wanted to make sure no one criticized authority figures – no matter what crimes and misdemeanors they committed.

This movie defied these pressures. Massacre pulls no punches; it’s a fictional story but based on investigative reporting and documented cases. The script carefully explains all the factors that, at the time, kept Native Americans subjugated and helpless to defend themselves against predatory, criminal officials.

Joe signs autographs

The hero, played by Barthelmess, is a modernized Indian (we’ll stick to the language of the era – no one meant to be insulting by calling Native Americans “Indians” at the time). We first see Joe Thunderhorse in a Wild West Show performing at the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair. Thunderhorse’s skills at riding, shooting, and being extremely handsome have made him a highly paid attraction – and the script does not shy away from the fact that some white women are attracted to him because of not in spite of his race. In fact, he’s having a hot affair with a bored, hard-drinking blonde socialite (Claire Dodds). Joe is not in love, and neither is she. But he’s taking advantage of every opportunity that comes his way. And as for her – well, as he tells his manager, she’s doing all right for herself, too, because “Guys like me don’t come in pairs.” In fact, Joe Is quite the wise guy, feeling no hesitation in exploiting his own heritage for profit. He’s going to grab everything he can get while he’s got the chance.

Joe shows off both technique and physique

The trappings of Joe’s success are pretty hilarious. First we see him in performance, dressed as a conventional Wild West Show Indian, bare chested with long black braids. This allows the extremely athletic Barthelmess to show off some stunt work, which he always enjoyed. And he doesn’t hesitate to chat up pretty teenage autograph seekers speaking stereotypical Indian broken English.

But when he returns to his dressing room and the long black braids come off – they’re a wig – he is revealed to be quite a slick character.  He’s got everything money can buy, including a dressing room with a full shower, a sharp custom-made wardrobe, and a stack of promotional items. Best of all, he’s got the invaluable Clarence Muse as Sam, his valet, driver, and henchman.

And here we should note a few things about the social conventions of a racist society. If Muse were working for a white character, he would unquestionably address him as “Mister,” no matter how friendly and mutually respectful they are – Dooley Wilson as Sam refers to Rick as Mr. Richard in Casablanca, or Boss, even when they’re discussing dropping everything and taking off together. But Muse is not working for a white man. To add to the complexity, Joe himself has no intention of calling any white man “mister.” But they don’t want to call him mister, either. The script solves this by having everyone call him “Chief,” from Sam to the Buffalo Bill-like producer of the show (Robert Barrat). This was considered an adequate compromise; note also that the older Native American actors are listed as Chief Standing Bear and Chief Thunderbird in the credits, so it was accepted as a sign of respect.

Joe is off to keep his hot date, but first he stops to speak to the other Indians in the show (who are real Native Americans, including Iron Eyes Cody). He is told that his father, Black Pony, who still lives on the reservation, is ill and wants to see him. Joe hops into his incredibly snazzy car (which I have been reliably informed is a Boat-Tailed Auburn), obviously a custom job, with “Joe Thunderhorse” promotional advertising all over It.

He takes time out to dally with Norma, his upper-crust lady friend, who flaunts him before a crowd of society pals as if she were showing off a trophy, to the disgust of the men and the envy of the women. This one little moment exemplifies Barthelmess acting; Joe knows perfectly well that he’s being used as a status symbol against the women and as a direct insult to the men. While his greeting to the women is friendly, the brief nod and “hello” to the men is a barely concealed sneer. Joe knows how they feel about him, and he also knows there’s not a thing they can do about it. Joe lets Norma know that he’s going out of town, leaving her sulky but not exactly heartbroken. He and Sam take off for an unidentified western reservation.

As they approach Joe’s boyhood home, Sam observes that the land is growing more and more dry, dusty, and empty. “White folks sure didn’t give the Indians much of a break,” Sam says.

When they reach the administration buildings on the reservation, Joe strides confidently into the offices. As a man with connections, a public position, and plenty of cash, he expects to be treated with respect – and he is, at first. But we, the audience, are taken behind closed doors, and we see the main officials who control life on the reservation, the creepy, weaselly Administrator Quissenbery, played by Dudley Digges, Arthur Hohl as Turner, an obviously drug addicted doctor, and Sidney Toler as Shanks, a government licensed vendor who cheats his customers with every transaction. It’s clear that they are motivated only by opportunities for graft. And here this movie clearly and plainly shows how schemes to defraud the Indians who are forced to rely on these men work. The tribespeople must depend on their exploiters for food, water supplies to their hardscrabble farms, medical care, and education for their children. And although they are citizens of the United States, they need permission from the administrator to leave the reservation.

Despite Joe’s flashy appearance Lydia doesn’t seem impressed

Joe may be an egotistical show off, but he’s no fool. A pretty young Indian woman working in the Administration office, Lydia (Ann Dvorak) warns him that he shouldn’t believe what he’s being told. He’s shocked to find his family’s farm dry and barren looking, in an area with little to recommend It for any crop. Not only that, relatives have been forced from their home and taken refuge with Joe’s father, Black Pony. He’s greeted warmly by his younger brother Adam (James Eagles) and sister Jennie (Agnes Narcha).

When he goes inside to see his father, he discovers that the old man has gone blind. Black Pony calls his name, and reaches his hand up to touch Joe’s face. But feeling Joe’s shorn hair he says sadly. “White man.”

“Joe? … White man.”

Black Pony dies that night, and Joe sends word to the neighbors that he wants to have a traditional mourning ceremony for him. Sacred dancers arrive, and the chanting and dancing lasts well into the night. But the family is pressured to hold a Christian funeral as well — in part so the authorities can charge them for a casket and burial plot.  A Christian minister condemns the Indians’ “heathen rites.” “Nobody interferes with your religion,” Joe says bitterly.

The plot kicks into high gear when Shanks lures Joe’s sister Jennie away from the funeral and rapes her. He barely makes any effort to conceal this, and it becomes clear that Indian women have no recourse against assault by white men.

Agnes Narcha as Jennie and Sidney Toler as Shanks

Joe, infuriated, takes his own revenge against Shanks. He is eventually arrested for this, but the bad guys fear that Jennie’s testimony will ensure his acquittal, and they have her kidnapped. Assisted by Lydia, Joe does break out of jail, but quietly, escaping in his souped-up sports car and heading straight for Washington, D.C. to reveal the corruption on the reservation to the government. He does this with the help of Sam, who draws Quissenbery’s henchmen off Joe’s trail by driving the very visible car while Joe secretly doubles back and hops a freight train. It should be pointed out that Sam, a black man, is taking one heck of a personal risk for his friend.

Clarence Muse risks it all for his friend

A political motive for this film emerges here, as the new Roosevelt administration, in office for less than a year, had made a particular point of cleaning up corruption, including in the Indian Affairs Bureau. The resolution of the plot comes down heavily on the side of the new progressive outlook, with good and ethical white people using existing law to punish the bad white people. As soon as Joe testifies before Congress and reveals the truth, the good guys spring into action. But even more than that, it ends with the Roosevelt administration offering Joe a job, thus making a first step towards self-determination for Native Americans. (In real life, this didn’t happen until recently.)

Like most pre-code movies, Massacre was not packaged with other classic era films to be shown on television in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s. It’s not seen more today in part because Richard Barthelmess and Ann Dvorak, both white*, are portraying people of color, which is out of fashion now. (This despite the fact that all the other Native American characters are played by Native Americans.) It’s a shame that films whose creators sincerely meant them to be constructive are now threatened with a new kind of censorship because fashions changed; films like Massacre have something to say about life in the past, and life as a human being.

This is a powerful, fast-moving adventure, with very real revelations about the way Native Americans had been and continued to be mistreated. It also included some pretty raw social observations about corruption amongst authority figures and, even more taboo, interracial sex.

*NOTE: As far as we know. One of the untold stories of Old Hollywood is the unknown number of actors and others who were “passing for white.” Some top stars like Merle Oberon and Boris Karloff came of mixed parentage and would identify today as People of Color. Others included the great jazz singer Mildred Bailey, who was Native American, swing bandleader Ina Ray Hutton, and Carol Channing, who concealed African American heritage. Plenty of other people, then and now, “pass” for white without even knowing it; one of the interesting revelations of widespread dna testing is the fact that many more families concealed racial and ethnic mixing for generations than anybody realized.

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