Let's face it.  Some B-movie horror and mystery films would probably only rate a yawn from even the most dedicated fan...except for one thing: "Hey, it's got Mantan Moreland in it!"  And instantly everyone knows it's worth a look.  That's quite a tribute to an otherwise obscure black comedian who labored in the salt mines of Poverty Row Hollywood for decades.  It is, in fact, a tribute to...

By JOE WINTERS

When it comes to acting it’s been said that, "dying is easy…comedy is hard." Amidst all the dying that goes on in mystery and horror films few people could make comedy appear as easy as Mantan Moreland.

Born in Monroe, Louisiana on September 3, 1902, Moreland started on stage before age ten, and by the 1920s was on Broadway and later in movies starting with the 1933 Warner Brothers short That’s The Spirit. Moreland and fellow vaudevillian Flournoy Miller played a pair of night watchmen in a haunted pawnshop. This set the stage for a series of musical numbers that spotlighted some jazz artists of the time.

Bit roles in The Green Pastures and the Astaire/Rogers vehicle Shall We Dance (both 1936) were followed by Moreland’s casting in Harlem On The Prairie, a 1937 all black western, and Spirit Of Youth (1938), also with an all-black cast.

There would be many such films in Moreland’s career; films which would play primarily in segregated cinemas of the time. The 1941 comedies Mr. Washington Goes To Town and Professor Creeps saw Mantan on the loose in a haunted hotel and haunted house, respectively.

In mainstream movies, of course, he played servant roles that were about all there was for African-American actors. But unlike racial stereotypes Stepin’ Fetchit, Sleep’N’Eat (later Willie Best) and others, Moreland would distinguish his characters with energy and smarts.

Like many comics, he appeared in minor roles at major studios. The executives at poverty row studio Monogram were bright enough to see Moreland’s affordable possibilities. He was put on contract and to good use in a series of eight comedy-mysteries co-starring white actor Frankie Darrow, beginning with Irish Luck (1939). Moreland’s character was named Jeff Jefferson.

Jeff was a character name the actor used frequently at Monogram in such films as Up In The Air (1940), a whodunit that featured a radio comedy bit written by Moreland. He occasionally wrote some of his own material into the films that paired him with Darrow as friends rather than as employer and servant.

In King Of The Zombies (Monogram, 1941) Moreland played Jefferson Jackson, the frightened attendant to a pair of pilots (Dick Purcell and John Archer) whose plane goes down on an uncharted island. Waking up next to a tombstone and the words "rest in peace," Jeff quickly observes, "They sure don’t waste no time around here!" Relieved to be alive he remarks, "I thought I was a little off-color to be a ghost."

The dialogue was typical of the time, but Moreland made it work with timing and delivery comparable to the frightened-man routines of Bob Hope or Lou Costello. In addition, Moreland’s character was more insightful than others in the picture, commenting to one of the pilots about their mysterious host, Dr. Sangre, "There’s something wrong here! That man ain’t no doctor. Why that’s "Slim-galli!"

The role of Nazi scientist Sangre was intended for Bela Lugosi, but scheduling conflicts brought Henry Victor (the strongman from Freaks) into the role. When Jeff encounters the doctor’s undead minions he is placed under a spell himself…or is he? As Jeff goes into his trance and proclaims, "I am a zombie…I am a zombie," Sangre seems to buy it, even after Jeff addresses his new companions with "Move over, boys, I’m one of the gang now."

We know he’s just trying to survive to the last reel when he proclaims, "If there’s one thing I never want to be twice, zombies is both of ‘em." Moreland is by far the best reason to see King Of The Zombies, even though the movie’s music was nominated for an Oscar!

Mantan showed up again two years later in Revenge Of The Zombies, not a sequel, just another Monogram zombie flick, this time with John Carradine creating undead soldiers for the Nazis. But it was Moreland who, whether sweet-talking a pretty maid or staying a step ahead of the living dead, once again stole the show.

Moreland continued to play mostly minor parts at various studios in mostly mystery fare: Mexican Spitfire Sees A Ghost, Tarzan’s New York Adventure, A-Haunting We Will Go (with Laurel and Hardy), Eyes In The Night (with Edward Arnold), Ellery Queen’s Penthouse Mystery (with Ralph Bellamy) and with a young Eddie Albert in the boxing murder mystery Treat ‘Em Rough.

In Monogram’s Phantom Killer (a 1942 remake of the studio’s 1933 Lionel Atwill starrer The Sphinx), Moreland played Nicodemus, not the black actor who sometimes went by that name, but a murder witness discredited by a tricky killer (John Hamilton).

In Universal’s The Strange Case Of Dr. RX (1942), Moreland had more screen time than anyone except star Patric Knowles but received ninth billing under Knowles, Lionel Atwill, Anne Gwynne, Shemp Howard and others. As Knowle’s forgetful helper Horatio B. Fitz Washington, Moreland used a loony form of word association to remember his duties  ("Airport… airplane…clouds...birds…nests…eggs...breakfast.").

Meanwhile a psychopathic "physician" was streamlining justice by executing wrongdoers who escaped conviction. Our heroes waded through a gallery of suspects before uncovering the culprit. The final shot with the chuckling Horatio’s hair turned white gave Mantan the last laugh in more ways than one.

In 1944, Moreland appeared in the first of fifteen Charlie Chan films for Monogram, which had picked up the option on the films through Chan star Sidney Toler when Twentieth Century Fox dropped the series after 1942.

Starting with Charlie Chan In The Secret Service, Moreland played cab driver Birmingham Brown, who later became Chan’s personal chauffeur. Treated like a member of the Chan family, Birmingham was indeed a welcome addition to a run of movies plagued by weaker scripts, Toler’s declining health and eventual death, and what some consider the miscasting of actor Roland Winters in the final six Chan films, ending with 1949’s Sky Dragon.

A Moreland specialty was his "infinite" routine, a vaudeville bit he did with his stage partner Ben Carter where both men carry on a conversation without completing sentences. It’s on view in at least a couple Chan films, first in The Scarlet Clue (1945).

And so the conversation continues much to the annoyance of young Tommy Chan (Benson Fong) until Moreland notices and says "I wonder…" to which Carter responds "Oh it’s about…" Moreland adds "Is it that late?" and Carter walks away with a cautious "I’ll be seein’ ya." A variation of the routine surfaced in the Chan film Dark Alibi (1946).

For Moreland in the 1950s it was back to a combination of stage work and a handful of all-black musical variety films. He was briefly considered as a possible addition to the Three Stooges in the mid-Fifties to replace the late Shemp Howard, but, according to Moe Howard, Columbia Pictures wanted a white guy, and so they hired Joe Besser instead.

Too bad, really, since the scenes with Mantan and Shemp back in The Strange Case Of Dr. RX displayed a comic chemistry that might have proved golden had Mantan joined Moe and Larry.

Following a stroke in the early 1960s, Moreland was limited to small parts in comedies such as The Patsy with Jerry Lewis, and in Carl Reiner’s Enter Laughing, as well as Watermelon Man (1970) with Godfrey Cambridge.

Cult-horror fans were treated to Mantan’s brief appearance as a surprise victim in the opening minutes of Jack Hill’s 1964 dark comedy Spider Baby, starring Lon Chaney, Jr.

Some of Moreland’s later work included adult comedy album bits. And there was an episode of the original Bill Cosby Show (1969-1971) where Moreland (as Bill’s uncle) traded hilarious insults with the late Moms Mabley (as Moreland’s wife). The Young Nurses (1973) for Roger Corman’s New World Pictures marked Moreland’s final film appearance.

In the ongoing age of so-called political correctness, Moreland’s work has been under fire both during and after his death. The fact is when Moreland was working prior to the 1960s there were few opportunities in white mainstream films for African-Americans to play anything more than menial roles. Within these films Moreland, Eddie "Rochester" Anderson and others, while playing servants, managed to put themselves on equal footing with whites, thus making the most of a sad situation. Today it remains for us to enjoy the performances but be mindful of the circumstances, regretful of the times, and glad for the progress thus far.

Mantan Moreland was an American original whose work in film was usually better than the films themselves. With all the comic style, timing and physical presence at his command, he helped see us through a deluge of danger, of madmen, zombies and murderers. With a consummate skill that made it appear easy, Mantan Moreland could quite simply make us all laugh.

 Thanks, Joe.   Mantan Moreland was not only funny, but he also played a character you could identify with--an average guy trying to get along and have a good time and not really wild about meeting up with zombies and ghosts and masked killers.  He always handled the situation with wit and savvy, oftentimes showing up the "white folks" who were usually billed above him.  He rescued many a monotonous movie with his comic gifts and never let you think he was anything like a "stooge."  He merits new critical appraisal and appreciation.

Article copyright © Joe Winters

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