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Marlon Brando (1924-2004) could be wilful, eccentric and difficult. But his towering performances ensure that he will always be
remembered as one of the greatest screen actors of all time, says Philip French
MARLON
rando began as something
of a misfit. He was sent off to a military academy (a favourite
destination for rebellious teenagers) from which he was expelled . But
he took to acting like a seal to water and, after a year of drama
lessons in New York and a couple of seasons in rep, he made his Broadway
debut at the age of 20 in I Remember Mama. Three years and
several plays later, he gave what may still be his greatest performance
as Stanley Kowalski, the brutal, New Orleans, blue-collar labourer in
Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire under the direction
of Elia Kazan. This is arguably one of the two greatest American plays
(the other is A Long Day's Journey Into Night) and Kowalski was
immediately recognised as an American archetype. A star was born the
night Streetcar opened and the style of naturalistic,
introspective acting known as the Method became the dominant form of the
time. Inevitably, Hollywood beckoned and Brando made his debut under
Fred Zinnemann's sensitive direction in The Men (1950), playing a
paraplegic ex-serviceman in one of a cycle of films about veterans
returning to civilian life. The film flopped, but it was immediately
followed by four immensely successful movies, all of them bringing him
Oscar nominations as best actor. Three were directed by Elia Kazan,
starting with A Streetcar Named Desire. This was followed by Viva
Zapata! (1952), in which Brando buried himself in the great Mexican
revolutionary. Who can forget the insolent way he introduced himself to
the repressive authorities, turning his head, rolling his eyes,
stretching his lips and saying that his name was `Zapata - Emilio
Zapata'? He then took a different turn, playing Mark Antony in Joseph
Mankiewicz's Julius Caesar. At last he won his own Oscar when he
played Terry Malloy, the punchy ex-prize fighter, in On the
Waterfront. This was the peak of the Method school, with
unforgettable scenes between Brando, Rod Steiger and Karl Malden. But
this series of triumphs was the end of the first great phase of Brando's
career, and confusion and intermittent success followed. His personal
life was always a mess, of a distasteful, egotistical kind - sexually
exploitative, promiscuous, professionally un-disciplined. Did career
come before conviction? Acting seemed less important as a radical
activity. This led to Brando's most extreme statement about his
profession: `Acting is the expression of a neurotic impulse. It's a
bum's life. Quitting acting, that's the sign of maturity.' The only
film he directed for this personal company was the much troubled One-Eyed
Jacks. Brando was always around, plying for hire, but made an
extraordinary comeback in the 1970s in Francis Coppola's The
Godfather (1972) as Don Corleone, the Mafia don, and then in the
contrasted role as the American in Paris in Bertolucci's Last Tango
in Paris. After years of lassitude, Brando gave two of his greatest
performances for a new generation of film-makers, establishing his
ascendancy. — The Guardian |
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