CHICAGO -- Dorothy Dandridge made history in 1954 when she became the first African-American nominated for a best actress Academy Award, for her performance in "Carmen Jones." The week the film premiered, the Hollywood Reporter headline read, "Dorothy Dandridge in 'Carmen Jones' -- Wow!"

The succinct response immediately comes to mind as actress Halle Berry ("Bulworth") mounts the stage of a striking recreation of Ciro's nightclub, circa 1940. Sheathed in a glimmering, softly draped silver gown, she smolders with Dandridge's rare combination of elegance and sultry incandescence.

Glamorous patrons gather on the set at small tables covered in white linen cloths. Women are costumed in strapless gowns, mink stoles and matte-red lipstick; men in black-tie attire. The actors sip cocktails as the nightspot's band launches into "I've Got Rhythm." Everyone in the room is transfixed as director Martha Coolidge coaxes Berry in the "rotating tushie" shot. A cameraman, exemplifying the male meltdown that dominates the room, notes longingly, "She'd look good in sackcloth."

Cast, crew and visitors burst into unscripted applause as Berry wraps the shot with perfect élan. Exiting the stage, the actress bypasses the director, the press, the HBO studio elite. She heads straight for an aging African-American beauty seated in a place of honor on the set. Seventy-seven-year-old Geri Branton, Dandridge's best friend, is holding court in a sweet, unaffected manner. Informal consultant to Berry and Coolidge, Branton's opinion is viewed as the last word when it comes to the authenticity of the production.

'Resemblance is frightening'
It took six years for Berry to get "Introducing Dorothy Dandridge" (debuts on HBO August 21) made, and it means everything to her to get it right.

"How am I doing?" she asks, reaching out to grasp both hands of the reigning authority. The snow- blinding movie star smile doesn't quite conceal the anxiety playing across her face.

"You broke it baby," the doyenne responds, tears welling up to reinforce her sincerity. "The resemblance is frightening," Branton says of Berry's eerily accurate incarnation of her best friend. The actress beams relief.

The well-spoken Branton sprinkles her articulate prose with a dash of hipsterism; it reflects a personality that melds intellectualism and an earthy no-nonsense style to maximum effect. Described by Berry's manager Vince Cirrincione as a " '50s beatnik intellectual" (a description that amuses Branton no end), she's the ideal spiritual and historic touchstone for these filmmakers, who are dedicated to producing an honest portrayal of the phenomenal and tragic life of Dorothy Dandridge.

"Geri impacted me because of her willingness to tell me both the good and the bad," says Berry. "She loved Dorothy as much as anybody could, but she was very objective. I found that necessary in order to portray her."

Branton described Dandridge's vanity and her masochism, but she also told Berry, "If you can capture her vulnerability, then you'll capture the essence of who she was."

"I want people to realize what a complex person she was," Berry emphasizes. "How talented she was, how strong she was to accomplish what she did in that day and time. I want them to remember her strengths and let that be inspirational for them no matter what their color. I want to celebrate how she lived. The tragedy is there, but her life is not just a downward spiral."

The cable movie is based on the book "Dorothy Dandridge," written by the performer's manager and friend Earl Mills (played by Brent Spiner). Up from his home in Palm Springs, Mills, 85, appears on the scene nattily dressed in white jacket and black pants to add another touch of the real thing to the environment. "People never forgot her once they met her," he says lovingly of his longtime client.

Dandridge revival in progress
The HBO movie marks the culmination of a series of events that have revived Dandridge's memory and fostered a belated appreciation for the actress and nightclub chanteuse.

Mills' book was followed by Donald Bogle's biography in 1997. That same year Whitney Houston sponsored a two-week retrospective for Dandridge at the Film Forum in New York. In 1998, Interview magazine ran a huge spread presenting the perspectives of stars, stylemakers and writers on the groundbreaking entertainer.

Berry, Houston and Janet Jackson all negotiated for the rights to Dandridge's story and the chance to portray her. Coolidge believes this overdue notice is the result of changes in the political and racial climate.

"She was always extremely significant in the African-American community, now that consciousness is being raised among the rest of us. I think it's very important to reintroduce her, that's why I like the title."

The Oscar nomination was one of several firsts for Dandridge: first black woman to play the Empire Room of the Waldorf-Astoria, first black female movie star, first female black sex symbol with universal appeal.

"Carmen Jones" premiered the same year the Supreme Court ruled against the policy of separate but equal in "Brown v. the Board of Education." The decision gave political impetus to the prevailing view that the actress had a dazzling future. Dandridge made more than 20 films, but prejudice and tragedy marred her life. Two bad marriages, a daughter born brain-damaged, a prescription-drug dependency, and the ongoing battle against racism resulted in a shooting comet career.

Harry Belafonte, her co-star in "Island in the Sun," summarized her fate: "She was the right person in the right place at the wrong time."

Confronting prejudice, discrimination Coolidge stresses the film's tough-minded nature. "It contains the truth about prejudice and discrimination in our country."

The director also believes that Dandridge's story poses a very important question. When women are presented with enormous barriers -- of color, of gender, of age -- too frequently they respond with a masochistic, self-destructive impulse, rather than, "I'm going to go out and show them." The film asks, why does this happen?

"Not only do we self-destruct," Berry observes, "we decide to put ourselves in the hands of less capable people than our own because we don't value ourselves enough, and we're not secure enough in ourselves. The truth is, we know what's best for us."

In 1965 -- just before she was scheduled for a comeback appearance at Basin Street East in New York -- Dandridge died of ambiguous causes at 42. The coroner first pronounced the cause of death as an embolism, a blood clot caused by a tiny fracture in her right foot. A second analysis concluded that death was the result of an overdose of Tofranil, a highly toxic anti- depressant. She died with $2.14 in the bank.

Based on a conversation she had with the actress shortly before her death, and Dandridge's long history of conflicted feelings over her color, Branton believes it was suicide. "She called me and said, 'Geri I know you will understand, I'm very tired, and I just can't fight any more.' " Five days later the actress was gone.

The best friends met when Dandridge married Harold Nicholas of the famous tap-dancing duo, and Branton married Fayard, the other half of the team. Both eventually divorced the dancers, but the women remained fast friends until Dandridge's death.

Six months after the film is shot, Branton sits in her home near an oil portrait of Dandridge and talks about how strongly held political beliefs and the desire to act on them created a lasting bond between the two women.

"We discussed every issue. I was very proud of her because she truly wanted to correct the problems of our people. She tried every way she could with every contact she had. Dottie used her power when she had it. That played right into my life."

A civil rights activist, Branton eventually married Los Angeles attorney Leo Branton, who worked with Martin Luther King Jr., and traveled to the South to defend protesters in the civil rights movement.

Longed for privileges denied by race
Though Dandridge fought the good fight for her race, she often longed for the privileges that came with being white. "If I were Betty Grable, I could capture the world," she once said. "She hated the restrictions that she believed came with her color," says Branton. "She thought, if I happened to be white I would be way ahead of the game.

"That demon haunted her to the end. She never came to terms with it. W.E.B. Du Bois said race will be the most important issue in this century, and doggone if it isn't true," says Branton. "I hope after people see this movie, they start to see no color -- black or white."

"Introducing Dorothy Dandridge" offers an incisive look at this pivotal issue through the rise and fall of the talented and beautiful star. Berry saw it as the role of a lifetime, and she left nothing to fate. The actress optioned the rights to Mills' book, took on the dual demands of executive producer and star, and nurtured the project from development through production. It's a series of actions that would have been unthinkable in Dandridge's day.

"I identify with Dandridge as a black woman in Hollywood, trying to fit in in an industry that hasn't carved out a place for me yet, but is trying to," Berry says. "It is happening. When I talk to Geri and to Rosa Parks, they remind me of what it used to be like, and I can feel no other way but hopeful because I am realizing that better day.

"Geri has reminded me that it's my responsibility to carry the ball that's been so graciously passed to me, that's how evolution goes. If the people that got off the slave ships had not continued to fight, we might still be in shackles. They didn't see this day, but it didn't stop their fight.

"I may not see the true better day for black women in entertainment," Berry continues, "but I know that I'm playing a very important part. It's not about seeing the end. It's about living the time that you're here to live and playing the part that you're supposed to play." (c) 1999, Nancy Jalasca Randle. Distributed by Los Angeles Times Syndicate.