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Micheaux, 1932. A note arrives at a Harlem cabaret: a woman has ten minutes. In the same club a producer offers a singer a part that is not a part. The nightclub gives him room for numbers; the thriller is two plots laid end to end. The camera still likes a frontal setup. The film is rough in the way his talkies are rough. The clock is the only elegant thing in it.
In one programme
Two plots in one cabaret and a note with a clock in it. His tightest sound picture, built from his own stories, and the numbers keep interrupting because they were the draw. Start here if the talkies have put you off.
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