Here Come the Snowflakes: Quinta Brunson, Betty Boop, and the Black History Nobody Wants to Talk About

Everybody's worried about a Black woman playing Betty Boop. Maybe they ought to be asking where Betty got her boop in the first place.

Here we go again.

The snowflakes are about to be triggered, and frankly, I'm already exhausted.

Remember the absolute meltdown when Halle Bailey was cast as Ariel in Disney's live-action The Little Mermaid? A Black woman playing a fictional mermaid apparently threatened the very foundation of civilization. Never mind that mermaids aren't real. Folks were ready to defend the historical accuracy of an imaginary sea creature.

And now, here comes Quinta Brunson.

The Emmy-winning creator and star of Abbott Elementary is developing and starring in a film about Betty Boop, and I can already hear the outrage warming up.

But before somebody starts clutching their pearls over another beloved character supposedly being turned Black, there's a little history we need to discuss.

Because Betty Boop's story is a whole lot Blacker than some folks might be comfortable acknowledging.

And no, that doesn't mean Betty Boop was originally a Black woman. Let's get that straight before somebody runs off with half a sentence and starts an argument.

But the history behind that little cartoon character is a fascinating example of how Black culture helped shape American entertainment, often without Black artists receiving the recognition they deserved.

And honey, we've seen this movie before.

So, Who Was Betty Boop, Really?

Betty Boop made her animated debut in 1930, created at Fleischer Studios and initially drawn by animator Grim Natwick.

Here's something that might surprise you. Betty wasn't even human at first. She started out as a cartoon dog, complete with floppy ears, before eventually becoming the wide-eyed, spit-curled, flirtatious flapper we recognize today.

Her appearance and persona were closely associated with Helen Kane, a white singer and entertainer who became famous in the late 1920s for her babyish voice and signature boop-oop-a-doop vocalizations.

And that's where things get interesting.

In 1932, Kane sued Max Fleischer, Fleischer Studios, and Paramount for $250,000, claiming Betty Boop was essentially an unauthorized imitation of her.

But when that case went to trial in 1934, a rather inconvenient bit of history came bubbling to the surface.

A Black child performer named Esther Jones.

Better known as Baby Esther.

Baby Esther (Esther Jones). Photo via babyestherjones.wordpress.com

Now, Let's Talk About Baby Esther

Baby Esther was a young Black entertainer performing during the Jazz Age. She was known for her singing, dancing, vocal improvisations, and playful, baby-like scatting.

Sound familiar?

During the lawsuit, Baby Esther's former manager testified that Helen Kane had seen Esther perform in New York in 1928, before Kane became widely associated with her signature booping style.

The defense also introduced evidence of other performers using similar vocal techniques before Kane.

Now, here's where we have to be careful with the history.

The testimony about Kane watching Baby Esther was disputed, and Esther herself never testified. The court did not definitively establish that Kane stole her act from Esther.

What the case did establish was that Kane couldn't claim exclusive ownership of those vocal techniques. She lost.

In other words, the boop wasn't necessarily hers to begin with.

And there's the part of this story that deserves more attention.

A Black child performer became part of a landmark dispute over one of America's most recognizable animated characters, yet most people couldn't tell you her name.

They know Betty Boop.

They might even know Helen Kane.

But Baby Esther?

For decades, she was largely a footnote.

And that ought to tell us something.

America Has Always Loved Black Culture. Giving Black People Credit? That's Another Story.

Let's be clear about something.

I am not suggesting that every note Betty Boop ever sang came directly from Baby Esther, or that there was only one Black entertainer responsible for her sound.

That's not how culture works, and that's not what the historical record proves.

But Betty Boop emerged during a period when jazz, scat singing, dancing, nightclub entertainment, and countless other forms of Black artistic expression were reshaping American popular culture.

Black entertainers were helping define what was fashionable, exciting, sexy, rebellious, and modern.

And white America was paying attention.

The music. The movement. The language. The attitude.

Sound familiar?

Because nearly a century later, we're still having conversations about who creates the culture, who profits from it, and who gets remembered.

Black creativity has been the engine behind so much of American entertainment, while the people responsible have too often been relegated to the passenger seat.

Or worse, left standing at the bus stop.

That's not to say every cultural influence is theft. Art has always borrowed, blended, evolved, and crossed boundaries.

But when the borrowing consistently travels in one direction and the money and recognition travel in another, we have a right to examine that history.

And we ought to examine it without somebody immediately accusing us of trying to rewrite the past.

Sometimes the problem isn't that history is being rewritten.

It's that somebody is finally reading the pages that were left out.

And Now Here Comes Quinta

Quinta Brunson isn't simply announcing that she's putting on a red dress, curling her hair, and running around saying boop-oop-a-doop.

She's developing a film with Fleischer Studios and Mark Fleischer, the grandson of Betty Boop creator Max Fleischer.

And she has made it clear that the story goes beyond Betty herself.

In a recent appearance on Good Morning America, Quinta explained that the film will examine the era of animation and the circumstances surrounding Betty's creation. She suggested that the history involved is far more complicated than audiences might expect.

Now, we don't know whether Baby Esther's story will be included in the finished film. Quinta hasn't confirmed that.

But the possibility of exploring that history through a broader lens is precisely what makes this project interesting to me.

Because there is a story here worth telling.

Not just about a cartoon character, but about the American entertainment industry that created her.

And about the cultural influences that helped build that industry.

Quinta has already demonstrated through Abbott Elementary that she's capable of telling stories with humor, intelligence, and a clear understanding of the world around her.

So before the inevitable online outrage machine cranks up, how about we find out what story she's actually telling?

I know. Radical concept.

The Little Mermaid All Over Again?

There's something particularly exhausting about watching people treat the appearance of a Black actress in a traditionally white-associated role as some sort of cultural emergency.

We went through it with Halle Bailey.

We're likely to hear some of the same arguments with Quinta Brunson.

Suddenly, everybody becomes a historian.

Everybody becomes deeply concerned about preserving the integrity of a fictional character.

And everybody has an opinion about what Black performers should and shouldn't be allowed to portray.

Meanwhile, when it comes to acknowledging the contributions of actual Black people to the creation of American entertainment, that historical enthusiasm gets suspiciously quiet.

Isn't that interesting?

People will fight tooth and nail over the appearance of Betty Boop but may have never heard of Baby Esther.

They'll debate whether a Black actress can embody a cartoon character, but won't question how much Black artistry influenced the world that brought that character to life.

And that's the conversation I find far more interesting.

Here's What I Hope We Actually Get

I hope Quinta gives us a film that is smart, funny, provocative, and unafraid to explore the contradictions of its era.

I hope we learn something about Max Fleischer, the people who worked alongside him, and the remarkable creative explosion happening in American entertainment during the early twentieth century.

And yes, I hope the film finds room to acknowledge the Black musicians, performers, and innovators whose contributions shaped that cultural landscape.

Because Baby Esther deserves to be more than a name somebody discovers during an internet argument.

Her story deserves serious historical attention, including the unanswered questions.

And the larger history deserves more than a social media shouting match.

So let the snowflakes start falling.

Let folks argue over the curls, the dress, the complexion, and who they think Betty Boop is supposed to look like.

I'll be over here interested in something a little more substantial.

Everybody's worried about whether a Black woman should play Betty Boop. I'm more interested in how much Black creativity helped make Betty Boop possible in the first place.

Because America has never had much trouble embracing Black culture.

It's acknowledging the Black people behind it that seems to create all the controversy.

And perhaps that's the real story worth telling.

Boop-oop-a-doop.

Sources: Good Morning America; History.com, "The People v. Betty Boop"; Fleischer Studios, "Performance Style on Trial"; theGrio.

George Daigle is the founder of AmpliPhy and co-host of Trax and Conversation.

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