Films Have Yet to Explore Diversity of Latino Lifestyles

Margo, the late Mexican dancer-actress, was best known in Hollywood as the wife of Eddie Albert and mother of Edward Albert. Her most famous role was the fast-aging girl--once she leaves Shangri-La--in “Lost Horizon.” She also played the ill-fated dancer Clo-Clo in the cult classic “The Leopard Man,” possibly the only U.S. horror movie with a Latino setting and characters.

The vivacious Margo, who had trained with Rita Hayworth’s dancer father, never became a Hollywood star.

“They didn’t know what to do with me,” she said in an interview. “Me and my one name!” (That was pre-Cher and Madonna.) “I didn’t fit the stereotype of a sexpot or a funny Latina. So they put me in the background as ‘local color’ and gradually I faded from view. You had to be a stereotype to succeed.”

A man had to be either a Latin lover a la Ramon Novarro or a bandido-buffoon as played by Leo Carrillo, who later gained fame/infamy as the Cisco Kid’s dim, paunchy sidekick Pancho.

A woman had to play either an icy seductress such as Dolores Del Rio or a hot-blooded one such as Lupe (Mexican Spitfire) Velez. Above all, a Hispanic lead had to look European, and usually got to play anything but a Latino. Especially in silents, where accents didn’t tell all.

Today’s “Lat Pack” comes in all shapes, colors, sizes and surnames: Andy Garcia, Daphne Zuniga, Jimmy Smits, Elizabeth Pena, Ana Alicia and more established actors such as Edward James Olmos, Raul Julia, Hector Elizondo, Rita Moreno, Ricardo Montalban and others.

It’s true that today there are no Latino stars as big as yesteryear’s, but there are more of them, and more varied ones.

In the beginning was the Latin villain, who represented virtually all Hispanic males in the silent film era. He was typically a dark-skinned sadist, a ludicrous incompetent and/or a lecher incapable of holding onto his “gorl,” who inevitably fell for the visiting Yankee hero. Dozens of these silent “comedies” were made, with many set in Mexico.

When the Mexican government complained, the William Howard Taft Administration did nothing. Taft’s successor, Woodrow Wilson, urged moviemakers to soft-pedal the vicious stereotypes that were having an effect: surveys showed moviegoing Americans to be more prejudiced against Latinos than non-moviegoers.

Hollywood’s No. 2 male sex symbol in the 1920s (after his pal Rudolph Valentino) was “Ravishing Ramon” Novarro, who starred in “Ben-Hur,” the most expensive silent movie. Like most Latinos, Novarro was through when sound came in--accents were out, except for certain actresses. Thus, Del Rio and Velez prospered, while Novarro, Antonio Moreno and Gilbert Roland were dropped in the credits to supporting roles. By contrast, Cesar Romero, who used accent s only when appropriate for the roles, began a long-lasting and prolific career in 1935.

White-skinned beauties such as Del Rio continued to be billed as “Spanish” in keeping with producers’ preference for a more European image. Del Rio, the most successful Mexican actress ever, introduced the then-shocking two-piece swimsuit in “Flying Down to Rio” (1933), a musical now celebrated for introducing Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

Besides sound, the 1930s established the Motion Picture Purity Seal of Approval, a censorship tool until the mid-1950s without which no film could be released. The lusty Latina vamp was neutered into a harmless comic version and screen Hispanas became increasingly frivolous. Velez, for example, starred in eight “Mexican Spitfire” comedies before she committed suicide at age 36.

Bandidos continued to live (and die) down to their reputation, and Hollywood’s favorite screen Latino was Pancho Villa, who had led some raids into the United States. Villa was not depicted as a Mexican revolutionary leader of agrarian reform, only as a foe of U.S. territorial integrity.

Mexico protested to Hollywood and Washington. This had little result until Mexico and other Latin nations banned offensive films. Hollywood then took another look at its Southern neighbors, and Warner produced the first Latino social problems films: “Bordertown” (1935), with Paul Muni as a Mexican-American lawyer enduring discrimination and the tantrums of Bette Davis’ character, and “Juarez” in 1939.

Rita Hayworth (Margarita Cansino) launched her career in the ‘30s, but achieved fame only after changing her name--and her brunet hair to red.

World War II cut off Hollywood’s European markets, and so Latin Americans were commercially courted for the first time. Its most pleasing dividends were Latin music (rumba, samba, conga and Xavier Cugat) and Carmen Miranda. Though Brazilian and born in Portugal, Miranda was seen as “the quintessential Latin”: friendly, colorful and bananas--and always mangling the English language. Yet Carmen represented no one but herself; even the wildest imagination couldn’t have dreamed her up!

By now, Latin Americans were touchier about screen stereotypes, and even musicals starring Betty Grable and Miranda were studiously researched so as not to give offense; one unauthentic film had led to a riot and a burned-out cinema in Buenos Aires.

After the war, the music stopped, and the stereotypes returned. But for the first time, a number of films examined U.S. Latinos living in ordinary circumstances, as opposed to the high life of Carmen and company.

Ricardo Montalban starred in two ‘50s films depicting Latino social problems. In “Right Cross” he was a bitter boxer who believes society only tolerates him because he’s a champ. June Allyson convinces him that Americans really like him, Mexican or not. In “My Man and I” he was a fruit-picker who despite his mistreatment at Anglo hands maintains his faith in America and has his faith renewed when, by fade-out, the injustices are suddenly rectified.

In the ‘50s, the Latinas’ heyday ended, despite widespread praise (but no Oscar nomination) for Katy Jurado in “High Noon.” Rita Moreno, who would eventually win an Oscar, Tony, Emmy and Grammy, was initially given only throwaway roles.

Fernando Lamas arrived from Argentina to reincarnate the Latin lover but was more distinguished for his busy love life than films such as “Rich, Young and Pretty” (he didn’t play the title role) and “Dangerous When Wet.” In contrast to his spicy lifestyle, the father of Lorenzo Lamas (“Falcon Crest”) was a discreet interviewee. Asked if he remembered his most embarrassing moment, he answered, “Yes, I do. Next question?”

The 1960s generally deepened Hollywood’s commitment to such WASP icons as Rock Hudson and Doris Day. John Wayne took control of his films and as director rewrote history with his jingoistic “The Alamo” at the start of the decade. Because Latino characters were rarer than ever, each demeaning stereotype rankled all the more.

Only “West Side Story,” during the ‘60s, reached a wide audience and indicated something resembling the lives of some Latinos. But of course it starred Natalie Wood as Maria, wearing Max Factor Egyptian No. 22.

By the ‘70s, ethnic was in, but usually it meant Italian or Jewish, seldom Latino. Hollywood’s sex symbol of the ‘70s was Raquel Welch (born Raquel Tejada), whose father is Bolivian. But only in the last decade has she been identified as a Hispanic.

The 1980s saw the commercial success of such films as “La Bamba,” which was directed by Luis Valdez; “Salsa,” which was choreographed by Kenny Ortega, and “Stand and Deliver,” for which Olmos received an Academy Award nomination as best actor.

(The only Latinos to win Academy Awards have been Jose Ferrer for “Cyrano de Bergerac,” in 1950; Anthony Quinn, who won two supporting Oscars, for “Viva Zapata!” in 1952 and “Lust for Life” in 1956, and Moreno for “West Side Story,” 1961.)

Latino film roles today have gotten bigger, but in general, have they really changed much?

For Hollywood, being Latino has usually meant one is poor, poorly educated, lives in a barrio and has lots of problems. Latino characters are more likely to be issues than individuals.

Compare this tunnel vision with the diversity of films made in Mexico, Argentina and elsewhere and now shown on U.S. Spanish-language TV.

“We have numbers on our side,” says Raul Julia. “Already we are an economic power. Someday, everyone will realize it.” Even so, Latino roles are often cast with non-Hispanic actors--i.e. Swedish Lena Olin in Robert Redford’s film “Havana.” And darker-skinned Latinos are still largely restricted to portraying servants or gang members.

The rich diversity and textures of Latino life have yet to be explored. With the explosion in Latino performers in all media, it is hoped that the color, excitement and even glamour of old-time Latino Hollywood can be recaptured, and improved upon.

Hadley-Garcia is the author of “Hispanic Hollywood,” soon to be published by Citadel Press in both English and Spanish.