Near the end of director/producer Oscar Micheaux’s film “Swing” (1938), Dorothy Van Engle delivers an intimidating look that dares a man to pilfer from her friend’s purse. Despite a beauty that was a combination of Dorothy Dandridge and Lena Horne (and the character she portrays is Lena), Van Engle had a collection of expressions from the ingénue to the loyal and dutiful facilitator and “Girl Friday.”
There are moments in the film, which is jammed with several vibrant musical scenes, when you wish Van Engle would break out in song or show off a few dance steps.
Her good looks and consummate acting skills made her a favorite of Micheaux, and she was featured in several of his most significant films, including “Harlem After Midnight” (1934), “Murder in Harlem” (1935) and “God’s Step Children” (1938). Having her in his Harlem-related films made perfect sense because Van Engle who was born Donessa Dorothy Van Engle in Harlem Aug. 14, 1910, although other dates have also been reported. Many critics insist that she was a pleasant and alluring counterpart to Micheaux’s often controversial and offensive point of view, a subject that was endlessly debated.
Not much is known about her early years coming of age in Harlem as the fabled Renaissance flowered, but given her cultural interest and perspicacity, she certainly was aware of its impact on the literary and entertainment aspects. That literary element would later manifest itself at the end of her life, when she left the world of film for the library.
What was certainly clear was Micheaux’s pioneering work as a filmmaker and his choice of leading ladies, providing them with roles of substance and integrity that was revolutionary in the ’20s, ’30s and even the ’40s. From the moment he laid eyes on Van Engle when introduced to her by her stepfather, Arvelle Harris, a saxophonist in Cab Calloway’s band, he was smitten.
Micheaux wasn’t the only one captivated by Van Engle’s beauty. She was in demand as a model, and her elegance and glamour were used to sell an array of products for the hair and skin. Along with modeling, she was a seamstress, and most of the dresses and gowns she wore in films were her own creations. Micheaux, it was reported, did not have the budget for costumes.
Van Engle, said J. Ronald Green, an authority of Micheaux’s film career, “played extremely positive roles for women.”
He added, “It was a kind of a proto-feminist role. Her characters were created to be strong, intelligent, competent women and that’s exactly the way she came across.”
Because of this unwavering demeanor, she was very popular, and Black filmgoers flocked to her films. Her films and other race films, Green added, “provided the only positive image of Blacks available in the movies.”
If there’s any saving grace in “Murder in Harlem,” it’s the close-up shots of Van Engle’s gorgeous face and her sleuthing that unravels the murder. The film is just another example of her not only being lovely to look at but also having a clever and intriguing mind.
With Van Engle in front of the camera and Micheaux behind the camera, they were a formidable pair, but unfortunately when Micheaux was no longer making films by the ’50s, Van Engle’s visage disappeared from the screen and she was rarely heard of or from again.
From the accompanying photo, you can see how stunningly attractive she was and why she often called the sepia Myrna Loy or Hedy Lamar, two of the many Hollywood star of matchless beauty. She also can be compared with these Hollywood immortals in her portrayals, which were always done with total professionalism and respectability. In “Swing,” her devotion to the leading lady is typical of the care and concern she brought to a role, one that was sensitive without being obsequious. No matter the part, there was always a radiant, luxuriant aura, a warm and affectionate quality that kept your eyes glued to her every move.
Another man who watched her with keen eyes was her future husband, Herbert Hollon, and when they married in the ’40s she dedicated herself to him and raising a family, including two sons. Her husband predeceased her in 1992.
According to her cousin, Edna Turner-Degeneste, Van Engle never looked back after leaving films but worked for the library system in Port Charlotte, Fla. up until the end of her life. Curiously, none of the filmmakers of the ’40s and ’50s deigned to cast her even though she would have fit perfectly into the barrage of films in which the tragic mulatto was the focus. But her distaste for those films might have been the reason she vanished from the screen and chose instead to make her appearance in the stacks of library books.
Van Engle-Hollon died May 10, 2004, in Ocala, Fla. after moving from Port Charlotte, Fla.