Marlon Brando is one of the greatest actors in film history. He brought unprecedented levels of realism to the screen in the 1950s, chucking the standard style of melodrama to give performances of true artistic merit. I still remember the first time I saw him in A Streetcar Named Desire as the the swaggering, hot-tempered Stanley Kowalski. I’d never loved and hated someone so much at the same time. In Stevan Riley’s excellent documentary, Listen to Me Marlon, the actor’s self-recorded audio tapes form the narrative of a rich biography. He survived the highs and lows of a life that trumped even that of his finest characters.
Listen to Me Marlon is the third documentary this year about an extraordinary individual who is no longer with us. The first two, Montage of Heck and Amy, told of musicians who distracted themselves from pain with alcohol and drugs. Listen to Me Marlon is about a man who shares that pain but faced it head-on for the sake of his art. Through acting, Brando channeled misery, loneliness, frustration and regret. He used those fearsome emotions to tell unforgettable stories, transcending time and place to connect with audiences.
The film unravels like an autobiography told by Brando’s subconscious self. He affords glimpses into his childhood including the mother who had the “sweet smell of sweet liquor on her breath” and the father, a salesman and a barfighter. They hang over Brando’s life but mostly, we see them as he sees them. That is, as memories or figments of the past.
Riley tracks Brando’s trajectory as he moves to New York. Poor and disjointed, he enrolls in acting classes at The New School. His teacher, Stella Adler stresses that acting isn’t merely what one says, “it’s in the soul.” Relaying an approach learned from Stanislavski, Adler teaches Brando that it’s the actor’s duty to be real and find the truth. This lesson is at the root of Brando’s power and it’s refreshing to discover the origins of his gifts. Artistic brilliance doesn’t fall from the sky.
In 1947, he’s cast in A Streetcar Named Desire and his career takes off. Women, fame and fortune follow. Between flirting with pretty journalists and self-conscious walks down the red carpet, Brandon reflects on what acting taught him: “Allow yourself to feel things, to feel rage, to feel love.” Footage from The Wild One and Julius Caesar give us the pleasure of rediscovering Brando’s raw talent; it’s clear that he is somehow a born actor. According to Brando, the goal was always to “get people to stop chewing.”
In the latter half of the film, jadedness sets in. After sparring on the set of the 1962 remake of Mutiny on the Bounty, Brando realizes, “There are no artists. It’s all businessmen.” The production in Tahiti opens Brando up to a culture not yet poisoned by American commerce. Partaking in more than a little exoticism, Brando admires the Tahitian people for their freedom, beauty and sincerity. From this moment forward, Brando lives with a divide between two worlds. There is the world he respects (sun-kissed Tahiti) and the one he disdains (capitalist Hollywood). It’s a distinction that’s perhaps too cozy but for the sake of a coherent narrative, it works.
Listen to Me Marlon is an outstanding technical achievement. Riley blends Brando’s voice with revealing film clips, home videos, publicity stills and landscapes. He creates an atmosphere that goes well beyond any standard, PBS-style history. I imagine he spent months, even years, inside an editing booth and it shows in the film’s seamless construction.
The end of Marlon Brando’s life brings achievement (The Godfather, Last Tango in Paris) and devastation. One of his sons is accused of murder and his twenty-five year-old daughter ends her own life. It’s a blow to the star and a reminder that no life is free from tragedy.
As the documentary closes, I couldn’t help but recall a quote from Last Tango in Paris. Paul (Brando) confronts the body of his dead wife and tells her, “I may be able to understand the secrets of the universe, but I’ll never understand the truth about you.” The same could be said for Brando, or perhaps, anyone at all.
