Film

Latin Lovers
The Don Juan Syndrome

By JULIE CHAPA

Since the days of early cinema, Latin men have portrayed some of the most virile, passionate and forbidden characters on the screen. With their swarthy good looks and smoldering eyes, these "Latin lovers" have caused female moviegoers to swoon for decades. But unlike his blond counterpart, the Latin lover was generally not cast in the leading role. He played the rogue to the Anglo gentleman. He was, however, suave and more than able to captivate even the strongest screen siren. Early actors such as Rudolph Valentino, Ramón Novarro and Gilbert Roland invariably set the stage for today's Latino film roles.

While the Latin lover stereotype seems like a whimsical characterization that only existed on the big screen decades ago, its effects have seeped into the American psyche, for many years forcing Latinos, especially those in the film industry, into a smothering, tight mold. Indeed, some argue that the Latin lover image is just a step above the other stereotypes Latino actors have had to play—drug runners, gang members and crime lords.

The Roots of the Latin Lover

The Latin lover character evolved from other stereotypes, which were seemingly much worse. Throughout cinematic and television history, Latinos were relegated to portraying several stereotypes, according to Charles Ramírez Berg, professor of radio-television-film at the University of Texas at Austin, in the Howard Journal of Communications. Some have been comic characters, such as the "male buffoon" incarnated as Sergeant García in Walt Disney's Zorro series and Leo Carrillo's Pancho in The Cisco Kid television series of the early fifties. Carrillo made a career of playing the buffoon, especially in his various film portrayals of the thirties. The buffoon character usually utilized his broken English or feisty temper for comic relief.

Another unlikely precursor of the Latin lover is the "bandido." A series of early films, including Tony the Greaser (1911) and The Greaser's Revenge (1914) conceived the bandido stereotype—the greasy and/or slovenly rapist, thief, drunk or murderer. Ramírez Berg writes that the bandido stereotype not only oversimplifies Latinos—the very definition of stereotype—but also "reinforces the cleanliness, sobriety, sanity, overall decency, and moral rectitude of the WASP in the white hat." Consciously or not, movie studios used the bandido to reaffirm white America's values and morality.

Changing the image of Latinos from murderous greasers to the passionate, suave lover resulted from the loss of what the film industry sought from the beginning—money. The "greaser" movies were not embraced by all. They were virulently anti-Mexican. After ignoring a written protest from the Mexican government in 1919, Hollywood suffered a blow in 1922 when films promoting such stereotypes were banned south of the border. Hollywood's response? The "greaser" became the citizen of fictitious Latin American countries. This aura of mystery added a touch of romanticism to the character and became one of the reasons for the birth of the Latin lover image.

According to Victoria Thomas, author of Hollywood's Latin Lovers (Santa Monica: Angel City Press, 1998), another reason was American audiences' fascination with primitivism. "The Latin lover was created for a non-Latino audience," she says. "Latin men were a passport to the forbidden." Swashbuckling heroes were venturing into previously uncharted territory in theaters, a reflection of the real-life spirit of adventure that was sweeping across the United States. "Although the portrayal has a tang of racism, it reveals the colonial attitude of the European meeting the indigenous," continues Thomas.

Early Screen Heartthrobs

While most consider Italian Rudolph Valentino as the founder of the Latin lover persona, the true architect of the role was Antonio Moreno. Born Antonio Garrido Monteagudo y Moreno in Madrid, Moreno began his career in 1912 in the one-reeler Voice of the Million. Because of his dark features and expressive face, which "read" well on camera, he was considered a natural for early films being produced under difficult conditions and with primitive equipment. By 1923 he was Paramount's leading man. That same year, his much-publicized marriage to oil heiress Daisy Canfield Danzinger gave his already successful career a boost. Later that year, his three most successful films—The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, The Spanish Dancer, and My American Wife—were released, elevating demand for motion pictures with dark, dangerous men.

Following close behind Moreno was the steamy Ramón Novarro. The actor, nicknamed "Ravishing Ramón," caused a furor throughout his career, offering audiences scene-stealing performances. It usually wasn't his acting that caused the distraction. In Ben-Hur (1926), moviegoers were treated to visions of the bare-chested Novarro as the legendary charioteer. More scandalous than that was his appearance as the sarong-clad lead in The Pagan (1929).

Born José Ramón Gil Samaniegos in 1899 in Durango, Mexico, Novarro's ambition led him and his brother to California with only $10 between them. To help support his mother and 12 younger siblings, Novarro took a variety of odd jobs as a grocery clerk, busboy, and theater usher, among others. A talented dancer and singer, he had no trouble finding work as a studio dance extra. He appeared in myriad films, but his first big break came in 1921 when he was discovered by director Rex Ingram, who cast him in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, also starring Valentino. Ingram then approached Novarro about a role that would showcase Novarro's Adonis-like qualities. As Rupert von Hentzau in 1922's The Prisoner of Zenda and with Valentino's untimely death that same year, the title of Hollywood's premier Latin lover was bestowed upon Novarro. Responsible for more than one case of "front-row fainting," Novarro's sizzling scenes and exotic roles made him one of the most popular Mexican actors in American cinema history.

Along with Valentino, Moreno and Novarro unknowingly set the precedent for the future of Latino screen roles. Although the role opened the door for many Hispanic actors, including Gilbert Roland, Ricardo Montalbán, César Romero and Fernando Lamas, the Latin playboy image has been rather difficult to shake. Many modern-day Latino actors, most notably Andy García and Jimmy Smits, have played "exotic" romantic leads but have also successfully avoided being typecast, thanks to their box-office appeal.