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As charismatic and talented as any star of the era, Paul Robeson's filmography is mostly low rent productions made on the cheap. Eugene O'Neil's short play, The Emperor Jones, made by an independent New York company, was shot entirely in New York and while it does an admirable job with it's bare bones sets and limited amount of takes it does not do justice to the bravura larger than life presence of Robeson who gives an awe inspiring performance as he goes from Brutus Jones, Pullman porter to chain gang prisoner to Emperor of his own Caribbean Island.The sound quality is poor (an abominable affront to Robeson's magnificent baritone singing Waterboy) and director Dudley Murphy for the most part keeps his camera static with uninspired composition as Robeson electrifies from scene to scene. Whether brimming with confidence or desperately trapped he is a man in full. It is painstakingly evident that this enormous talent deserved MGM treatment and his loss is ours as well. Uglier things were happening in America back then in terms of institutional racism but the shabby handling of this man's incredible abilities is a clear example of prejudice in another form.While Robeson holds the center if not all the film, Frank Wilson as Jeff, a veteran porter that shows Brutus the ropes spars well with him especially in one of the film's better ensemble scenes in a juke joint crap game down South. Dudley Diggs as Smithers the surly white trader he outsmarts has some decent lines but for the most part is pure English vaudeville.The Emperor Jones may be a rickety production but it remains valuable in displaying the qualities of a mighty talent, tragically wasted by the "American Way" of the times.
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