July 1940
saw the release of a rare horror film that was the first to feature an
all-black cast of actors. The bad news is that the result, Son of Ingagi, is abysmal, on a level with the very worst of the
later 1970s Blaxploitation efforts. The title refers to a now-obscure curio, Ingagi, a discredited 1930
faux-documentary. Arguably the first in the found-footage genre, it was essentially
a fake filmed record of a Congo expedition uncovering a remote tribe’s rituals
that included bestiality with gorillas. It was later exposed as really being
made in Los Angeles after a viewer reportedly recognized an actor playing one
of the tribesmen and stunt-man Charles Gemora came clean with a signed
affidavit confessing to having portrayed the lead gorilla.
The resulting
court case disputing the provenance of Ingagi
didn’t stop Hollywood Pictures Corporation putting Son of Ingagi into production (distributed by a company called Sack
– supply your own puns). There is no connection however except a tenuous link
with equally unconvincing man-in-a-monkey-suit shenanigans. Despite its affirmative
action for African-American talent, the only ground-breaking for this film is in
the soil for its own hasty burial.
The director
Richard C. Kahn was already noted for making entirely black-cast movies such as
Two-Gun Man from Harlem (1938) and The Bronze Buckaroo (1939) yet this
misfire looks unavoidably like the work of amateurs.
The pedestrian
plot of this flimsy vehicle concerns newlyweds Eleanor and Bob Lindsay, a classy
Alfred Grant partnered with a dire Daisy Bufford (whose previous credits are almost
entirely ‘uncredited’ including 1939’s Gone
with the Wind – draw your own conclusions). They decide to spend their
honeymoon in their new home but their friends gate-crash in order to hold a
surprise party. Meanwhile, there is the formidable Dr Helen Jackson at hand
(Laura Bowman), a passably irascible former African missionary who firstly hires
Spencer Williams’ overweight bumbler Detective Nelson to change her will and
then drops the bombshell on Eleanor that her birth folks were killed by a
tornado, she was in love with her father and could almost have been this
winsome bride’s mother. This isn’t the only secret she’s been harbouring:
Jackson also has an ex-jailbird brother Zeno (Arthur Ray) who knows she came
back with $20,000 in gold and he wants half. What he doesn’t know is that she
also brought back something even more startling – N’Gina (Zack Williams) - a
mute ape-man with a face coated in yak hair leaving a mask of human features
around the eyes and nose to resemble an overgrown chimp.
Jackson’s
simulated simian is at least house-trained enough to be signalled into action
by her use of a gong-striker when Zeno attempts to blackmail her. A revolving
painting and a sliding wall reveals this pitiable shambler who lumbers over to
frighten Zeno into fleeing. ‘Terror reigns when the giant of the jungles breaks
loose!’ shrieks the poster hysterically, but even after N’Gina drinks Jackson’s
mystery potion he’s too slow to terrify. He’s also a dead loss in the later shoddy
bid for comic relief when portly Nelson makes a late-night sandwich twice in
the couples’ kitchen, each time having it stolen by N’Gina behind his back.
The
performances are not helped by a leaden script of wincing clunkiness written by
the aforementioned Spencer Williams. Jesse Graves’ Chief of Detectives walks in
on N’Gina and tries his hand at tough-guy talk in between pistol shots: “I see
ya don’t like the taste of lead, do you Jungle Man?” he swaggers, before
dissolving into high-pitched girly screams as N’Gina descends on him like a
thrift-store carpet. On seeing his boss’s dead body, Nelson goes for either laughs
or PTSD-inspired confusion by shouting “Help! Police! Murder!” Wasn’t that
supposed to be him?
After
roughly sixty minutes of tiresome stage-bound scenes that resemble a bad TV
play, the newlyweds escape from their now-blazing house having imprisoned the not-exactly
rampaging N’Gina down below in a makeshift cage. As they watch their dreams of
cosy domesticity going up in flames, Bob sums up their situation: "Anything's better than living...in that horrible house".
Further law enfarcement is provided when
another senior cop arrives and is told by them that Nelson was trapped in the
house too. The cut to an obvious doll’s-house sized model on fire makes this highly unlikely.
“A brave man and a brilliant detective,” laments the officer, making me wonder
if he has the right address.
Fortunately
it turns out that Nelson managed to escape in time - a fate that could not be
said for those who sit through this wasted opportunity, well-meaning though its
conception may have been for black artists.
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