A film about Dorothy Dandridge, the first African American woman nominated for a best actress Oscar, should be a thoroughly exhaustive account. Dandridge's life was one of complex and compelling circumstance, marred by misfortune that consistently undermined, and ultimately overshadowed, even her greatest triumphs.

The cruelest of ironies, this fetching, "fair-skinned" beauty with "good" hair, hypnotic sensuality and a succession of privileged White lovers scratched and clawed for salvation in heartbreaking parallel to the trite tragic-mulatto stereotype with which her film-work often is associated.

No contrived fantasy figure, she indeed was a flesh-and-blood human being who surely went to heaven, having served her time in hell right here on earth. Anguished by the plight of her mentally retarded daughter, discriminated against by the world's most powerful media industry, victimized by Black and White men alike and ending up with exactly $3 to her name, what happened to Dorothy Dandridge shouldn't, as they say, happen to a dog.

The scope of Dandridge's life and the significance of her career call for an epic film, a cinematic treatment on the order of Donald Bogle's sweeping, painstakingly detailed literary work about her. Nonetheless, all things considered, Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (HBO/$14.95), is a reasonably creditable offering. Based on a book by her one-time manager, Earl Mills, the pared down, condensed rendering loses a lot of information, but touches on most of the major facts.

There is scant mention of her days as a child performer and no sense at all of the context in which she moved among a vibrant, Black show-business community. The one stable romance she had is virtually ignored as is the extent to which her partner in that relationship, Phil Moore, contributed to her success, coaching the aspirant singer, nurturing her confidence and molding her image before Mills showed up, took over and shunted Moore to the periphery.

However, the chronology is intact, tracing an historic figure's rise to fame and her personal torments, including a symbiotic affair with legendary director Otto Preminger and a descent into binge-drinking, chronic depression and, eventually, death by an overdose of prescription medication. The film's chief value is that despite it's scope, this is the only movie, which has been made about Dandridge.

Introducing Dorothy Dandridge, largely acquitted by excellent acting, is easy to watch and well worth sitting through. Halle Berry heads a cast that includes Cynda Williams (One False Move), Obba Babatunde (Miss Evers' Boys) and Tamara Taylor (Senseless), featuring Brent Spiner as Mills and Klaus Maria Brandauer as Preminger. Loretta Devine (Waiting to Exhale) appears as Ruby Dandridge, Dorothy's pragmatic and iron-willed mother who played maids in films in order to keep from having to work as one in real life.

Berry's able performance is enhanced by her being Dandridge's physical type: slender and shapely with thin facial features. She conveys fiery determination and shows adequate range, taking the character from spunky upstart to bedraggled has-been. There is, however, no evidence of the Achilles' heel insecurity that plagued Dandridge and, owing to which, this dynamic performer actually suffered debilitating stage fright. One might argue in Berry's defense that these things weren't written into the script.

As the executive producer who procured film rights, though, she should've pressed screenwriters Shonda Rhimes and Scott Abbot to draw a more complete picture of Dandridge. Ultimately, Berry, who is a fine actress, rises to a less than formidable challenge. Williams, on the other hand, is nothing short of brilliant in a relatively minor role as Dorothy's older sister Vivian Dandridge. Had Williams been accorded appreciable screen-time and a few more dramatic moments, should've stolen this movie from under Berry's nose. As it is, she beautifully executes a charged scene in which Vivian tells Dorothy off in a drunken fit of envious rage. Her work throughout the film is deft, so subtly authentic one is scarcely aware that she's acting at all.

Babatunde is perfectly convincing in a fairly sanitized depiction of Harold Nicholas - half of the famous, dancing Nicholas Brothers and a flea-bitten womanizer. Taylor works well as Dandridge's best friend Geri Nicholas, but, as written, the character has no distinct personality, making it difficult for Taylor to do much more than decorate the screen and trade dialogue with Halle Berry. Similarly, Spiner and Brandauer are basically asked to walk through parts that are void of dimension. Fortunately, both actors are fine professionals who effortlessly convey presence. Director Martha Coolidge proficiently moves the minimal story along.

It is unlikely that there will be any more films about Dorothy Dandridge. This made-for-cable treatment, showcasing a suspiciously heroic Earl Mills and capsulizing the performer's life will have to do. Seeing the glass as half-full, one does well to be thankful for small favors.