The passing of May Britt at the age of 91 closes the final chapter on a life that was as quietly extraordinary as it was publicly scrutinized. Known to many as a luminous European actress who briefly but memorably graced Hollywood screens, Britt’s deeper legacy lies in the courage she displayed far from the camera. Her story is one of unexpected discovery, sudden fame, and an unflinching willingness to stand by love even when that love came at tremendous personal cost. Britt’s death, confirmed by her son Mark Davis, invites renewed reflection on a woman who did not merely live through history, but helped shape it during one of America’s most turbulent social eras.
Born Maj-Britt Wilkens on March 22, 1934, in Lidingö near Stockholm, her early life bore little resemblance to the public storms she would later endure. Raised in Sweden, Britt’s childhood and adolescence unfolded without any clear indication that she would one day become an international figure. There were no acting dynasties, no calculated paths to stardom. Instead, her introduction to cinema came almost accidentally, the result of timing, curiosity, and an arresting presence that others recognized before she did. While working as an assistant to a photographer in Stockholm during the early 1950s, she was noticed by Italian filmmakers Mario Soldati and Carlo Ponti, who were searching for a fresh, unconventional face. They cast her in Italian adventure and drama films, including Jolanda, the Daughter of the Black Corsair, and almost overnight, Britt found herself launched into European cinema. Her screen presence was distinct—cool, introspective, and subtly powerful—qualities that set her apart from the more overt glamour of the era.
As her reputation grew, Britt transitioned from European productions to international projects, culminating in her role in King Vidor’s ambitious 1956 adaptation of War and Peace. Sharing the screen with Audrey Hepburn and Henry Fonda placed her firmly on Hollywood’s radar. For Britt, this was not merely another acting job; it was the doorway to a new world. Buddy Adler, then head of 20th Century Fox, took notice and offered her a long-term studio contract, a coveted opportunity that few foreign actresses secured at the time. Moving to Hollywood in the late 1950s, Britt entered an industry that was both intoxicating and unforgiving. She was cast opposite Robert Mitchum in The Hunters and alongside Marlon Brando in The Young Lions, working with some of the most formidable talents of her generation. Her career reached a symbolic peak when she starred in the 1959 remake of The Blue Angel, stepping into the iconic role of Lola-Lola once immortalized by Marlene Dietrich. That same year, her appearance on the cover of Life magazine seemed to confirm her arrival as a modern, European-inflected Hollywood star poised for longevity.
Yet as Britt’s professional ascent gathered momentum, her personal life began to draw attention that no publicist could manage and no contract could protect her from. After a brief marriage to American real estate heir Edwin J. Gregson, Britt met entertainer Sammy Davis Jr. in 1959. Their relationship was immediate, intense, and explosive in the cultural sense. At the time, America was still deeply divided by race, and interracial relationships—let alone marriages—were taboo, illegal in many states, and often met with outright violence. When Britt and Davis married in November 1960, following her conversion to Judaism, their union became a national flashpoint. The backlash was swift and brutal. Hate mail poured in. Death threats became routine. Armed guards were sometimes necessary simply to ensure their safety. For Britt, the hostility was devastating but not paralyzing. She understood the world she was entering and accepted its dangers with a quiet resolve. Later reflections would reveal a woman who felt disappointment but not regret, who recognized the price of love in a prejudiced society and chose to pay it anyway.
The consequences of that choice extended far beyond public opinion. Shortly after Britt’s engagement to Davis became known, 20th Century Fox declined to renew her contract, abruptly ending what had appeared to be a promising studio career. In an industry built on image and marketability, Britt became a liability—not because of her talent, but because of whom she loved. The loss of her Hollywood trajectory was a profound blow, yet it never eclipsed her commitment to her family. Britt and Davis welcomed a daughter, Tracey, in 1961 and later adopted two sons, Mark and Jeff. Despite relentless media scrutiny and social hostility, their household was remembered by their children as a place of warmth and resilience. Love, rather than fear, defined their family life, even as the world outside remained hostile and unforgiving.
The strain of constant pressure eventually took its toll. Britt and Davis separated in 1967 and divorced the following year, citing the demands of Davis’s career and the overwhelming social forces surrounding them. After the divorce, Britt stepped cautiously back into acting, appearing in television series such as Mission: Impossible and The Danny Thomas Hour, and later starring in the psychological horror film Haunts. Yet the industry she returned to was no longer the one she had left, and her presence became increasingly rare. Her final on-screen appearance came in 1988, marking the quiet end of her acting career. One of the most painful reminders of the era’s prejudice remained the controversy surrounding President John F. Kennedy’s 1961 inauguration, when Sammy Davis Jr., a key supporter of Kennedy’s campaign, was reportedly removed from the performance lineup due to backlash over his marriage to Britt. According to Tracey Davis’s later memoir, the decision was deeply hurtful but emblematic of the compromises demanded by political expediency in a divided nation.
In her later years, May Britt chose privacy over publicity, living quietly in California and devoting herself to painting, reflection, and family life. In 1993, she married Lennart Ringquist, an entertainment executive and horse breeder, with whom she shared more than two decades until his death in 2017. Her life was revisited for a new generation when she was portrayed by Megan Dodds in the 1998 television film The Rat Pack, a reminder of how deeply her personal story was woven into the cultural fabric of mid-20th-century America. Britt is survived by her sons, her sister Margot, and several grandchildren. Her daughter Tracey passed away in 2020, a loss that marked Britt’s final years with quiet sorrow.
May Britt’s legacy cannot be measured solely by film credits or magazine covers. It resides in the moral courage she displayed at a time when silence and conformity were safer choices. She did not set out to be a symbol, yet she became one—a woman whose life illuminated the cost of challenging prejudice and the enduring power of personal conviction. In choosing love over comfort and integrity over career, Britt helped push cultural boundaries forward, even as she paid a heavy price for doing so. Her story endures not simply as a Hollywood footnote, but as a testament to the quiet strength required to stand against injustice, reminding us that history often changes because ordinary people choose to live extraordinary truths.
