Conscience. That stuff can drive you nuts.
So says Terry Malloy, the longshoreman who testifies against his
union in “On the Waterfront.” The line, said by Marlon Brando, resonates all
through the picture because the story is about conscience–and so is the story
behind the story. This was the film made in 1954 by Elia Kazan after he agreed
to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee, named former
associates who were involved with the Communist Party and became a pariah in
left-wing circles.
“On
the Waterfront” was, among other things, Kazan’s justification for his decision
to testify. In the film, when a union boss shouts, “You ratted on us, Terry,”
the Brando character shouts back: “I’m standing over here now. I was rattin’ on
myself all those years. I didn’t even know it.” That reflects Kazan’s belief
that communism was an evil that temporarily seduced him, and had to be opposed.
Brando’s line finds a dramatic echo in A Life, Kazan’s 1988 autobiography,
where he writes of his feelings after the film won eight Oscars, including best
picture, actor, actress and director: “I was tasting vengeance that night and
enjoying it. `On the Waterfront’ is my own story; every day I worked on that
film, I was telling the world where I stood and my critics to go and – – – –
themselves.”
In
that statement you can feel the passion that was ignited by the HUAC hearings
and the defiance of those who named names, or refused to. For some viewers, the
buried agenda of “On the Waterfront” tarnishes the picture; the critic Jonathan
Rosenbaum told me he could “never forgive” Kazan for using the film to justify
himself. But directors make films for all sorts of hidden motives, some noble,
some shameful, and at least Kazan was open about his own. And he made a
powerful and influential movie, one that continued Brando’s immeasurable
influence on the general change of tone in American movie acting in the 1950s.
“If
there is a better performance by a man in the history of film in America, I
don’t know what it is,” Kazan writes in his book. If you changed “better” to “more
influential,” there would be one other performance you could suggest, and that
would be Brando’s work in Kazan’s “A Streetcar Named Desire” (1951). In those
early films, Brando cut through decades of screen mannerisms and provided a
fresh, alert, quirky acting style that was not realism so much as a kind of
heightened riff on reality. He became famous for his choices of physical
gestures during crucial scenes (and as late as “The Godfather,” he was still
finding them–the cat in his lap, the spray gun in the tomato patch).
In
“On the Waterfront,” there’s a moment when Terry goes for a walk in the park
with Edie (Eva Marie Saint), the sister of a man who has been thrown off a roof
for talking to crime investigators. She drops a glove. He picks it up, and
instead of handing it back, he pulls it on over his own workers’ hands. A small
piece of business on the edge of the shot, but it provides texture.
And
look at the famous scene between Terry and his brother, Charley (Rod Steiger),
in the back seat of a taxi. This is the “I coulda been a contender” scene, and
it has been parodied endlessly (most memorably by Robert De Niro in “Raging
Bull”). But it still has its power to make us feel Terry’s pain, and even the
pain of Charley, who has been forced to pull a gun on his brother. Here is
Kazan on Brando:
“
… what was extraordinary about his performance, I feel, is the contrast of
the tough-guy front and the extreme delicacy and gentle cast of his behavior.
What other actor, when his brother draws a pistol to force him to do something
shameful, would put his hand on the gun and push it away with the gentleness of
a caress? Who else could read `Oh, Charley!’ in a tone of reproach that is so
loving and so melancholy and suggests the terrific depth of pain?”
Kazan’s
screenplay was by Budd Schulberg, and his producer was Sam Spiegel, one of the
great independent buccaneers (his next production after “Waterfront” was “The
Bridge on the River Kwai”). Spiegel at first proposed Frank Sinatra for the
role of Terry Malloy, and Kazan agreed: “He spoke perfect Hobokenese.” The
young, wiry Sinatra would have been well-cast, but then Spiegel decided that
Brando, then a much bigger star, could double the budget available for the
film. Kazan had already discussed costumes with Sinatra and felt bad about the
switch, but Sinatra “let me off easy.”
The
film was based on the true story of a longshoreman who tried to overthrow a
corrupt union. In life, he failed; in the film, he succeeds, and today the
ending of “On the Waterfront” feels too stagy and upbeat. The film was shot on
location in Hoboken, N.J., on and near the docks, with real longshoremen
playing themselves as extras (sometimes they’re moved around in groups that
look artificially blocked). Brando plays a young ex-prizefighter, now a
longshoreman given easy jobs because Charley is the right-hand man of the
corrupt boss, Johnny Friendly (Lee J. Cobb). After he unwittingly allows
himself to be used to set up the death of Edie’s brother, he starts to question
the basic assumptions of his life–including his loyalty to Charley and Johnny,
who after all ordered him to take a dive in his big fight in Madison Square
Garden.
The
other major character is a priest (Karl Malden), who tries to encourage
longshoremen to testify against corruption. After one rebel is deliberately
crushed in the hold of a ship, the priest makes a speech over his body (“if you
don’t think Christ is down here on the waterfront, you got another think coming”).
It would have been the high point of another kind of film, but against Brando’s
more sinuous acting, it feels like a set piece.
Eva
Marie Saint makes a perfect foil for Brando, and the two actors have a famous
scene in a bar where he reveals, almost indirectly, that he likes her, and she
turns the conversation from romance to conscience. At one point Kazan and his
cameraman, Boris Kaufman, frame her pale face and hair in the upper-right-hand
corner of the screen, with Brando in lower center, as if a guardian angel is
hovering above him.
The
best scenes are the most direct ones. Consider the way Brando refuses to
cooperate with investigators who seek him out on the docks, early in the film.
And the way he walks around on the rooftop where he keeps his beloved pigeons–lithe
and catlike. Steiger is invaluable to the film, and in the famous taxi
conversation, he brings a gentleness to match Brando’s: The two brothers are in
mourning for the lost love between them.
Schulberg’s
screenplay straddles two styles–the emerging realism and the stylized gangster
picture. To the latter tradition belong lines like “He could sing, but he
couldn’t fly,” when the squealer is thrown off the roof.
To
the former: “You know how the union works? You go to a meeting, you make a motion,
the lights go out, then you go out.” Brando’s “contender” speech is so famous
it’s hard to see anew, but watch the film again and you feel the reality of the
sadness between the two men, and the simple words that express it.
“On
the Waterfront” was nominated for 11 Oscars and won eight. Ironically, the
other three nominations were all for best supporting actor, where Cobb, Malden
and Steiger split the vote. Today the story no longer seems as fresh; both the
fight against corruption and the romance fall well within ancient movie
conventions. But the acting and the best dialogue passages have an impact that
has not dimmed; it is still possible to feel the power of the film and of
Brando and Kazan, who changed American movie acting forever.
