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Poetry lies in the most ordinary happenstances of coincidence. A common thread unexpectedly found — and traced — between two entirely separate phenomena births an unparalleled sense of awe that is difficult to adequately capture in words alone. It opens a canvas for further reflection, for digging beneath the surface in order to unearth any other hidden links. It’s a delightful curiosity that is best the more obscure and unexpected it is, for it isn’t often that it occurs — but when it does, it arrives like thunder.
Such a moment overcame me recently upon finishing White Mama, a 1980 made for TV movie which was my latest conquest in my quest to finish watching Bette Davis’ movies. Before I could even put a finger to it, a powerful feeling overtook me. I then recognized a theme that recalled one of her earlier films, one made when she was in the dawn of her stardom, as opposed to the dusk I had just witnessed: Kid Galahad.
White Mama (Davis) looks on upon B.T.’s match in fear. Actress Eileen Heckart is to her left.
In the strangest of ways — through perhaps the most specific of scopes — I realized that I, at that moment, had witnessed the zenith and nadir of Bette Davis’ career, narrated strictly by films that involved the sport of boxing. The greater irony lay in the fact that sports never had been of any interest to me, despite my father having been a self-proclaimed boxing aficionado. The parallels one makes are often times startling in a revelatory sort of way, tapping into subconscious depths that spent eons laying in wait. There is nearly half a century’s difference spanning White Mama and Kid Galahad, a 1937 boxing film that was the first of many profitable and successful films Davis made upon her return to Warner Brothers after dropping her lawsuit. Both films are vastly different when viewed broadly: White Mama uses its narrative to comment upon racial tensions whereas Kid Galahad is strictly entertainment fodder. The eras, too, contribute to this stark divide: again, Kid Galahad was a product of Depression Era America, where destitute and disillusioned citizens were solely in the market for distraction. Social commentary in films was something that had been recently stifled thanks to the enforcement of the Hays Code in 1934.
A similar visage employed by Davis in a still from Kid Galahad: here, Fluff watches on as the man she loves (Galahad, portrayed by Wayne Morris) is exploited by her gangster boyfriend (Robinson) for profit.
Still, interestingly enough, the parallels — while perhaps coincidental — are strong. In Kid Galahad, Bette is Louise “Fluff” Phillips, who plays a kind-hearted girlfriend to gangster Edward G. Robinson. He is actively endorsing a rookie boxer, the titular Kid Galahad. Fluff ends up falling in love with Galahad and in the end becomes his biggest supporter. There are pivotal shots of a fear-stricken Davis watching terrified in the audience as her beloved faces blow after blow. Despite the fact that she only has a supporting role (even if she had top billing after Edward G. Robinson), the power she awards her role easily earns the film the prestige which it deserves.
Conversely, in White Mama, Bette portrays the leading lady and is the top-billed star — naturally, she embodies the eponymous White Mama. The film at the forefront tells the story of an unlikely companionship born between White Mama and a young, black man, B.T., whom she takes in for bolstered income. Unlike Galahad, the film itself does not center itself around the sport of boxing — however, the sport becomes an important plot point toward the film’s denouement, and once again Bette takes a front row spot as an impassioned and supportive spectator.
Sure, the sequence may be ephemeral — but that only contributes to its power. For the brief few moments where Bette appears as a spectator (after having actively campaigned against B.T.’s participation in the sport), she immediately steals the attention of what is supposed to be a pivotal moment for B.T. — whose story really inhabits the entirety of the film — and the viewer can’t help but to stare at her in awe. She commands a reverence that is equal regardless of whether the viewer in question is a devoted fan or a newcomer. Her presence and stature are undeniable. It’s clear that she was — and in that moment, is — a star.
Fluff with boyfriend Nick Donati (Robinson). Ringside assistant Silver Jackson (Harry Carey) watches on from behind.
While both films lend the entirety of their story-lines to her, White Mama affords her only a sliver of the opportunity that Galahad did in regards to being an significant spectator. There is no doubt that her role in White Mama shares very much the same selfless energy that Louise radiated in Galahad — it’s easy to see from the outset. However, because of the two very different natures of the films, the relevance to boxing varies greatly. Despite this, both movies offer an incredibly insightful glimpse into the inexorable career and legacy of Bette Davis — one in her prime as the leading lady of Warner Brothers, and the other being more-or-less a heartfelt glimpse into the twilight of a career that spanned over half a century.
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