Like the room service boy once asked George Best, "Where did it all go wrong?" That, at least, is the perceived perception of Marlon Brando's life, a waste of the most remarkable talent in cinema history, ending his life a bloated parody of himself. The contender who could have been the greatest of them all threw it all away for the money, the women and the food.
And yet Marlon Brando, alongside Elvis and Marilyn, is the image of the (American) twentieth century, defining a whole epoch with that beautiful, surly face. His performances in A Streetcar Named Desire, On the Waterfront, The Godfather and Last Tango in Parisare amongst the most memorable in cinema. And even his strange, twisted performance in Apocaylpse Now is what most people finish the film talking about.
Marlon Brando was more than a contender. He was it. He redefined cinema acting, he redefined masculinity, he redefined our concept of beauty. Cary Grant was handsome. But Brando was sexual, physical and, most of all, beautiful. Had anyone seen a body, besides Tarzan's, like Brando's before? The animal, savage beauty thrilled both men and women alike; the homoerotic ambiguity was just one of the many ways Brando challenged fast-held concepts.
He hated what he was best at, acting, refusing to wallow in the pretentious bullshit most actors give their profession. It was just a job and, paradoxically, that is what makes his performances so convincing. He is not acting, he is being.
So, was he a failure, did he waste his talent? Of course, rather than just appearing in a handful of the greatest films ever made, he could have appeared in dozens. But that seems to be missing the point. Marlon Brando wasn't simply an actor, he was a symbol, inspiring and influencing everyone from Elvis onwards, and those few performances changed everything.
Recommended Viewing
A Streetcar Named Desire Tennessee Williams's hysterical melodrama was just the place for Brando to launch himself into first the theatrical world and then the movie world. The whole situation is a little too Gone With the Wind (and look who's playing Blanche DuBois...), but Brando's brooding presence gave the film its dark edge, complicating and adding to its homoerotic undertones.
On The Waterfront Dubious though the politics of this film may be (basically, it's ok to snitch on your communist mates), it's one of the masterpieces of Hollywood cinema. Brando plays the dumb kid boxer, full of a confused honesty, without patronizing the character. His performance is subtle, moving and highly convincing, full of slight, sure touches. The whole film is packed with performances of a lifetime - Eva Marie Saint as Brando's girlfriend, Karl Malden as the priest, Lee J. Cobb as the gangster, Rod Steiger as Brando's brother - but it's Brando who is the film's electric glue.
The Godfather Brando as Corleone is perhaps his coolest performance. Since On the Waterfront, he'd made bad film after pointless film and by the early 70s he seemed a spent force. And then came The Godfather. In the midst of a new generation influenced by his 50s roles, Brando really seemed like a mentor, a Godfather, the cyncial experience showing the naive young excitables the way. Brando won Best Actor, sent a Native American to collect the Oscar in protest, who then turned out to be just an actor. Brando's career in microcosm: genius, controversial, and exposing the fake.
Last Tango in Paris In Last Tango, Brando gave a performance the dud 60s hadn't led anyone to expect. Brando as the tortured American male in Paris enduring a mid-life crisis on his wife's death is unforgettable. The trademark mumbles become the uneasy expression of grief and guilt and perhaps for the first time we feel (rightly or wrongly) that Brando is genuinely exposing himself, allowing us to see his tortured interior. Having said all of which, Last Tango is indicative of Bertolucci's predilection to expose, both physically and emotionally, young innocent females to the cruelties and crudities of life. So we see Maria Schneider naked, raped, masturbating; we see Brando, well, crying and swearing a lot. This lewd sexism, together with its arty pretensions, robs the film of its genuine power, but, nevertheless, both Brando and Schneider are compelling.
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