4 Shots from 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots from 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
In honor of Marlon Brando’s birthday, here’s…
4 Shots From 4 Films
A Streetcar Named Desire (1952, dir by Elia Kazan)
Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967, dir by John Huston)
The Godfather (1972, dir by Francis Ford Coppola)
Last Tango in Paris (1973, dir by Bernardo Bertolucci)
Today would have been Marlon Brando’s 94th birthday so it seems appropriate that today’s music video should be for a song that was, at least partially, inspired by Marlon Brando’s career!
In 2014 interview, Scott Walker explained the idea behind this song, saying that he found that there were several movies that features scenes of Marlon Brando being physically assaulted. Along with detailing some of the assaults that Brando suffered on screen, the song serves as a tribute to sadomasochism in general.
In the third verse, there are several references to Brando’s films. First there’s mention of Brando getting beat up by John Saxon in The Appaloosa. “I took it from dad” is probably a reference to One-Eyed Jacks, the only film that Brando ever directed. Fat Johnny Friendly was the racketeer played by Lee J. Cobb in On The Waterfront while the three vigilantes are a reference to Brando’s role in The Chase. “I took it for The Wild One” is obviously a reference to the film of the same name. As “Lizbeth,” that’s presumably a reference to Elizabeth Taylor, who beat Brando with a riding crop in Reflections in a Golden Eye.
Enjoy!
The year was 1973 and Marlon Brando was the obvious front-runner to win the Oscar for Best Actor. His performance in The Godfather had not only provided an important anchor to that sprawling film but it also rejuvenated his career.
No one was surprised when Liv Ullman and Roger Moore announced that Brando had won the Oscar. The shock came when a young woman named Sacheen Littlefeather approached the stage. The rest is Oscar history:
Brando had actually given Sacheen a 15-page speech that he wanted her to read from the stage. However, the show’s producers — realizing what Brando was planning — told Sacheen that, if she stayed on stage for longer than 60 seconds, she would be forcibly removed. Hence, Sacheen improvised her stage comments and then read Brando’s speech backstage. As a result of this incident, the Academy banned proxy acceptances.
As for Brando’s Oscar, Roger Moore took it home with him and kept it until, a few days later, armed guard showed up to take it back from him.
After Tom Logan (Jack Nicholson) and his gang of rustlers (played by Randy Quaid, Frederic Forrest, and Harry Dean Stanton) rob a train, Logan uses the money to buy a small ranch. Their new neighbor is Braxton (John McLiam), a haughty land baron who considers himself to be an ambassador of culture to the west but who is not above hanging rustlers and hiring gunmen. One such gunman is the eccentric Robert E. Lee Clayton (Marlon Brando), a “regulator” who speaks in a possibly fake Irish brogue, is a master of disguise, and uses a variety of hand-made weapons. Braxton hires Clayton to kill Logan and his men, despite the fact that his daughter (Kathleen Lloyd) has fallen in love with Logan.
A flop that was so notorious that it would be five years before Arthur Penn got a chance to direct another film, The Missouri Breaks is best remembered for Marlon Brando’s bizarre performance. Brando reportedly showed up on the set late and insisted on largely improvising his part, which meant speaking in a comical Irish accent, singing an impromptu love song to his horse, and disguising himself as an old woman for one key scene. (According to Patrick McGilligan’s Jack’s Life: A Biography of Jack Nicholson, co-star Harry Dean Stanton grew so incensed at Brando’s behavior that he actually tried to rip the dress off of Brando, saying that he simply would not be “killed’ by a man wearing a dress.) Brando’s later reputation for being a disastrously weird performer largely started with the stories of his behavior on the set of The Missouri Breaks.
I had heard so many bad things about Brando and The Missouri Breaks that I was surprised when I finally watched it and discovered that it is actually a pretty good movie. For all of his notoriety, Brando does not enter this leisurely paced and elegiac western until after half a hour. The majority of the movie is just about Jack Nicholson and his gang, with Nicholson giving a low-key and surprisingly humorous performance that contrasts well with Brando’s more flamboyant work. While Arthur Penn may not have been able to control Brando, he still deftly combines moments of comedy with moments of drama and he gets good performances from most of the supporting cast. Quaid, Stanton, Forrest, and Nicholson are all just fun to watch and the rambling storyline provides plenty of time to get to know them. Whenever Brando pushes the movie too close to self-parody, Nicholson pulls it back. The Missouri Breaks may have been a flop when it was released but it has aged well.
The 1950’s were a time of change in movies. Television was providing stiff competition, and studios were willing to do anything to fend it off. The bigger budgeted movies tried 3D, Cinerama, wide-screen, and other optical tricks, while smaller films chose to cover unusual subject matter. The following five films represent a cross-section of nifty 50’s cinema:
BORDERLINE (Universal-International 1950; D: William A. Seiter)
BORDERLINE is a strange film, straddling the borderline (sorry) between romantic comedy and crime drama, resulting in a rather mediocre movie. Claire Trevor plays an LAPD cop assigned to Customs who’s sent to Mexico to get the goods on drug smuggler Pete Ritchey (Raymond Burr , being his usual malevolent self). She’s tripped up by Ritchey’s rival Johnny Macklin (Fred MacMurray , channeling his inner Walter Neff), and taken along as he tries to get the dope over the border. What she doesn’t know is he’s also…
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I like On The Waterfront.
Nowadays, that can be a dangerous thing to admit. On The Waterfront won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1954 and Marlon Brando’s lead performance as boxer-turned-dockworker Terry Malloy is still regularly cited as one of the best of all time. The scene where he tells his brother (played by Rod Steiger) that he “could have been a contender” is so iconic that other films still continue to either parody or pay homage to it. On The Waterfront is one of those films that regularly shows up on TCM and on lists of the greatest films ever made.
And yet, despite all that, it’s become fashionable to criticize On The Waterfront or to cite it as an unworthy Oscar winner. Certain film bloggers wear their disdain for On The Waterfront like a badge of honor. Ask them and they’ll spend hours telling you exactly why they dislike On The Waterfront and, not surprisingly, it all gets tedious pretty quickly.
Like all tedious things, the answer ultimately comes down to politics. In the early 50s, as the House UnAmerican Affairs Committee conducted its search for communists in Hollywood, hundreds of actors, writers, and directors were called before the committee. They were asked if they were currently or ever had been a member of the Communist Party. It was demanded that they name names. Refusing to take part was career suicide and yet, many witnesses did just that. They refused to testify, apologize, or name names.
And then there was the case of Elia Kazan. When he was called in front of HUAC, he not only testified about his communist past but he named names as well. Many of his past associates felt that Kazan had betrayed them in order to protect his own career. On The Waterfront was Kazan’s answer to his critics.
In On The Waterfront, Terry Malloy’s dilemma is whether or not to voluntarily testify before a commission that is investigating union corruption on the waterfront. Encouraging him to testify is the crusading priest, Father Barry (Karl Malden), and Edie (Eva Marie Saint), the saintly girl who Terry loves. Discouraging Terry from testifying is literally every one else on the waterfront, including Terry’s brother, Charlie (Rod Steiger). Charlie is the right-hand man of gangster Johnny Friendly (a crudely intimidating Lee J. Cobb), who is the same man who earlier ordered Terry to throw a big fight.
At first, Terry is content to follow the waterfront of code of playing “D and D” (deaf and dumb) when it comes to union corruption. However, when Johnny uses Terry to lure Edie’s brother into an ambush, Terry is forced to reconsider his previous apathy. As Terry gets closer and closer to deciding to testify, Johnny order Charlie to kill his brother…
The issue that many contemporary critics have with On The Waterfront is that they view it as being essentially a “pro-snitch” film. It’s easy to see that Elia Kazan viewed himself as being the damaged but noble Terry Malloy while Johnny Friendly was meant to be a stand-in for Hollywood communism. They see the film as being both anti-union and Kazan’s attempt to defend naming names.
And maybe they’re right.
But, ultimately, that doesn’t make the film any less effective. Judging On The Waterfront solely by its backstory ignores just how well-made, well-acted, well-photographed, well-directed, and well-written this film truly is. Elia Kazan may (or may not) have been a lousy human being but, watching this film, you can’t deny his skill as a director. There’s a thrilling grittiness to the film’s style that allows it to feel authentic even when it’s being totally heavy-handed.
And the performances hold up amazingly well. Marlon Brando’s performance as Terry Malloy gets so much attention that it’s easy to forget that the entire cast is just as great. Rod Steiger makes Charlie’s regret and guilt poignantly real. Karl Malden, who gets stuck with the film’s more pedantic dialogue, is the perfect crusader. Eva Marie Saint is beautiful and saintly. And then you’ve got Lee J. Cobb, playing one of the great screen villains.
The motives behind On The Waterfront may not be the best. But, occasionally, a great film does emerge from less than pure motives. (Just as often, truly good intentions lead to truly bad cinema.) Regardless of what one thinks of Elia Kazan, On The Waterfront is a great work of cinema and it’s on that basis that it should be judged.
I have never actually seen the 1996 film The Island of Dr. Moreau but I certainly have read a lot about it.
It’s one of those films that seems to get mentioned whenever film critics start talking about the worst films of all time and, as a result, the story of the film’s production has become legendary. The film’s shoot was difficult, for reasons of both nature and human nature. The film was shot in the inhospitable Australian rain forest and shooting was briefly shut down due to a sudden hurricane. Richard Stanley, the original director, was unceremoniously fired by New Line Cinema and apparently proceeded to go native in the Australian wilderness, smoking a huge amount of weed while the studio executives feared that he would return and burn down the set. Veteran director John Frankenheimer was brought in to finish the film and clashed immediately with the film’s notoriously eccentric and difficult stars, Val Kilmer and Marlon Brando.
And I have to admit that, every time I read about The Island of Dr. Moreau, there’s a part of me that wants to track down and watch this film and see how bad it could possibly be. But, every time I find myself too tempted, I think about a shirtless Val Kilmer lounging around in a kilt and I quickly change my mind.
Bleh!
Fortunately, if I want to get a feel for the insanity behind the film’s production, I no longer have to actually watch The Island of Dr. Moreau. Instead, I can just get on Netflix and watch an entertaining documentary called Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley’s The Island of Dr. Moreau.
Lost Soul could have just as easily been called Everybody Hates Val Kilmer. Val himself declined to be interviewed for the documentary and I have to say that I think that was a huge mistake on his part because literally everyone who did agree to be interviewed appears to absolutely despise Val Kilmer. It’s not so much that everyone tells a story about Val’s bad behavior as much as the fact that, decades later, everyone still seems to be so traumatized by the experience of having been anywhere near him. (German actor Marco Hofschnieder especially seems to take a lot of delight in doing a devastating yet hilarious imitation of Val Kilmer smoking a cigarette and complaining about every line of dialogue, regardless of whether it was his dialogue or not.)
The documentary also includes plenty of crazy Marlon Brando stories but there’s a noticeable difference between the Brando stories and the Kilmer stories. Brando is portrayed as being an almost tragic figure, a great actor who hated his talent and, as a result, went out of his way to give performances that mocked the very idea of even trying to be good. As annoyed as everyone seems to have gotten with Brando, there’s still an undercurrent of affection to the Brando stories. That’s something that is definitely lacking from the Kilmer stories.
(According to the documentary, Brando was not a Val Kilmer fan. When Kilmer asked Brando if he had visited the Australian reef, Brando replied, “I own a reef,” and reportedly didn’t speak to Kilmer for the rest of the shoot.)
As interesting as the stories about Brando and Kilmer may be, the heart of the film rests with Richard Stanley, the promising young South African director whose brief “mainstream” film career was pretty much derailed by the drama surrounding The Island of Dr. Moreau. Interviewed at his home in France and captivating the audience with both his intense stare and his mordant sense of humor, Richard Stanley describes both his vision for The Island of Dr. Moreau and the pain of having that vision snatched away from him. Not only does he confirm that, as has long been rumored, he did sneak back onto the set as an extra but he also explains that the production’s problems were largely due to a mishap involving a warlock named Skip.
Lost Soul makes for an interesting cautionary tale about what happens when an artist has to deal with the establishment. Watch it with Jodorowsky’s Dune and have yourself a double feature of “what could have been” cinema.
For the past two weeks, I’ve been reviewing, in chronological order, 126 cinematic melodramas. I started in the 1920s with Sunrise and Wings and now, 33 reviews later, we have finally reached the end of the 1960s. And what better way to end the 60s than by taking a mercifully brief look at the 1969 film, Reflections in a Golden Eye.
Now, before I get too critical of this film, I should acknowledge that there are some critics who absolutely love Reflections in a Golden Eye. They think very highly of Marlon Brando’s performance as Maj. Weldon Penderton, a closeted homosexual who is stationed at a military base in the South. They think that Elizabeth Taylor’s performance as Brando’s wife isn’t somewhat embarrassing. And they think that the script isn’t overwritten and that director John Huston doesn’t try way too hard to prove himself worthy of the title auteur. They feel that Reflections in a Golden Eye is a secret masterpiece that does not deserve to be known as an infamous flop.
I’m definitely not one of those people but they do exist. There are some very respectable and intelligent critics who happen to love Reflections in a Golden Eye.
Well — vive la différence!
Earlier in this series, I pointed out that the 60s were not a great time for old school Hollywood directors trying to compete with both American television and European film. It was a time when talented directors found themselves trying to keep up with the times and appeal to new audiences. As a result, Joseph L. Mankiewicz ended up making Cleopatra. Edward Dmytryk did The Carpetbaggers. Elia Kazan directed The Arrangement. William Wyler did The Liberation of L.B. Jones. Stanley Kramer made RPM.
And John Huston made Reflections in a Golden Eye.
This painfully slow film follows the affairs of six people on that Southern army base. Brando is emotionally repressed and spend most of the movie mumbling in one of the worst Southern accents ever. Taylor is obsessed with horses and spends most of the movie yelling in one of the worst Southern accents ever. Robert Forster is the object of Brando’s repressed desire, a soldier who likes to ride horses while naked and who is obsessed with sniffing Elizabeth Taylor’s underwear. Brian Keith is in charge of the army base and is having an affair with Taylor. Julie Harris is Keith’s suicidal wife. Zorro David is Harris’s houseboy who, at one point, is nice enough to give this film a title by mentioning something about a golden eye.
What’s particularly insane is that Huston took the idea of making this film a reflection in a golden eye literally. The entire film is tinted a sickly gold color. Whenever the characters step outside, the sky looks like the sun has just exploded. Whenever the characters are inside, they all look like they have jaundice. On the one hand, you have to respect the fact that Huston so committed himself to potentially alienating the audience. On the other hand, the yellow-tinting renders almost every image so grotesque that I actually found myself growing physically ill as I watched the film.
Watching Reflections in a Golden Eye, I could understand why The Godfather was such a huge comeback for Marlon Brando. I wouldn’t necessarily say that Brando gives a bad performance here. He’s watchable throughout the entire film. But it’s still a performance that’s so strangely modulated (and which features a Southern accent that is just amazingly bad) that it ultimately distracts from the film itself. If anything, Brando gives a performance that suggests what happens when a talented and eccentric man gets bored with what he’s doing.
(If you want to see a good Brando performance from 1969, see Burn.)
Reflections in a Golden Eye is a pretentious mess but fortunately, both Huston and American film would make a comeback in the 1970s. We’ll start on that decade tomorrow.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5U2NssXWO5Y
(Yes, this video is a spoiler but it’ll allow you to see the gold tinting.)
(The film was also released in an untinted version.)
“I got something for your mother and Sonny and a tie for Freddy and Tom Hagen got the Reynolds Pen…” — Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) in The Godfather (1972)
It probably seems strange that when talking about The Godfather, a film that it is generally acknowledged as being one of the best and most influential of all time, I would start with an innocuous quote about getting Tom Hagen a pen.
(And it better have been a hell of a pen because, judging from the scene where Sollozzo stops him in the street, it looked like Tom was going all out as far as gifts were concerned…)
After all, The Godfather is a film that is full of memorable quotes. “Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.” “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” “It’s strictly business.” “I believe in America….” “That’s my family, Kay. That’s not me.”
But I went with the quote about the Reynolds pen because, quite frankly, I find an excuse to repeat it every Christmas. Every holiday season, whenever I hear friends or family talking about presents, I remind them that Tom Hagen is getting the Reynolds pen. Doubt me? Check out these tweets from the past!
[tweet https://twitter.com/LisaMarieBowman/status/411891527837687810 ]
[tweet https://twitter.com/LisaMarieBowman/status/280387983444697088 ]
That’s how much I love The Godfather. I love it so much that I even find myself quoting the lines that don’t really mean much in the grand scheme of things. I love the film so much that I once even wrote an entire post about who could have been cast in The Godfather if, for whatever reason, Brando, Pacino, Duvall, et al. had been unavailable. And I know that I’m not alone in that love.
But all that love also makes The Godfather a difficult film to review. What do you say about a film that everyone already knows is great?
Do you praise it by saying that Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, James Caan, Diane Keaton, Marlon Brando, John Cazale, Richard Castellano, Abe Vigoda, Alex Rocco, and Talia Shire all gave excellent performances? You can do that but everyone already knows that.
Do you talk about how well director Francis Ford Coppola told this operatic, sprawling story of crime, family, and politics? You can do that but everyone already knows that.
Maybe you can talk about how beautiful Gordon Willis’s dark and shadowy cinematography looks, regardless of whether you’re seeing it in a theater or on TV. Because it certainly does but everyone knows that.
Maybe you can mention the haunting beauty of Nina Rota’s score but again…
Well, you get the idea.
Now, if you somehow have never seen the film before, allow me to try to tell you what happens in The Godfather. I say try because The Godfather is a true epic. Because it’s also an intimate family drama and features such a dominating lead performance from Al Pacino, it’s sometimes to easy to forget just how much is actually going on in The Godfather.
The Godfather tells the story of the Corleone Family. Patriarch Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) has done very well for himself in America, making himself into a rich and influential man. Of course, Vito is also known as both Don Corleone and the Godfather and he’s made his fortune through less-than-legal means. He may be rich and he may be influential but when his daughter gets married, the FBI shows up outside the reception and takes pictures of all the cars in the parking lot. Vito Corleone knows judges and congressmen but none of them are willing to be seen in public with him. Vito is the establishment that nobody wants to acknowledge and sometimes, this very powerful man wonders if there will ever be a “Governor Corleone” or a “Senator Corleone.”
Vito is the proud father of three children and the adopted father of one more. His oldest son, and probable successor, is Sonny (James Caan). Sonny, however, has a temper and absolutely no impulse control. While his wife is bragging about him to the other women at the wedding, Sonny is upstairs screwing a bridesmaid. When the enemies of the Corleone Family declare war, Sonny declares war back and forgets the first rule of organized crime: “It’s not personal. It’s strictly business.”
After Sonny, there’s Fredo (John Cazale). Poor, pathetic Fredo. In many ways, it’s impossible not to feel sorry for Fredo. He’s the one who ends up getting exiled to Vegas, where he lives under the protection of the crude Moe Greene (Alex Rocco). One of the film’s best moments is when a bejeweled Fredo shows up at a Vegas hotel with an entourage of prostitutes and other hangers-on. In these scenes, Fred is trying so hard but when you take one look at his shifty eyes, it’s obvious that he’s still the same guy who we first saw stumbling around drunk at his sister’s wedding.
(And, of course, it’s impossible to watch Fredo in this film without thinking about both what will happen to the character in the Godfather, Part II and how John Cazale, who brought the character to such vibrant life, would die just 6 years later.)
As a female, daughter Connie (Talia Shire) is — for the first film, at least — excluded from the family business. Instead, she marries Sonny’s friend Carlo Rizzi (Gianni Russo). And, to put it gently, it’s not a match made in heaven.
And finally, there’s Michael (Al Pacino). Michael is the son who, at the start of the film, declares that he wants nothing to do with the family business. He’s the one who wants to break with family tradition by marrying Kay Adams (Diane Keaton), who is most definitely not Italian. He’s the one who was decorated in World War II and who comes to his sister’s wedding still dressed in his uniform. (In the second Godfather film, we learn that Vito thought Michael was foolish to join the army, which makes it all the more clear that, by wearing the uniform to the wedding, Michael is attempting to declare his own identity outside of the family.) To paraphrase the third Godfather film, Michael is the one who says he wants to get out but who keeps getting dragged back in.
And finally, the adopted son is Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall). Tom is the Don’s lawyer and one reason why Tom is one of my favorite characters is because, behind his usual stone-faced facade, Tom is actually very snarky. He just hides it well.
Early on, we get a hint that Tom is more amused than he lets on when he has dinner with the crude Jack Woltz (John Marley), a film producer who doesn’t want to use Johnny Fontane (Al Martino) in a movie When Woltz shouts insults at him, Tom calmly finishes his dinner and thanks him for a lovely evening. And he does it with just the hint of a little smirk and you can practically see him thinking, “Somebody’s going to wake up with a horse tomorrow….”
However, my favorite Tom Hagen moment comes when Kay, who is searching for Michael, drops by the family compound. Tom greets her at the gate. When Kay spots a car that’s riddled with bullet holes, she asks what happened. Tom smiles and says, “Oh, that was an accident. But luckily no one was hurt!” Duvall delivers the line with just the right attitude of “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!” How can you not kind of love Tom after that?
And, of course, the film is full of other memorable characters, all of whom are scheming and plotting. There’s Clemenza (Richard S. Catellano) and Tessio (Abe Vigoda), the two Corleone lieutenants who may or may not be plotting to betray the Don. There’s fearsome Luca Brasi (Lenny Montana), who spends an eternity practicing what he wants to say at Connie’s wedding and yet still manages to screw it up. And, of course, there’s Sollozzo (Al Lettieri, playing a role originally offered to Franco Nero), the drug dealer who reacts angrily to Vito’s refusal to help him out. Meanwhile, Capt. McCluskey (Sterling Hayden) is busy beating up young punks and Al Neri (Richard Bright) is gunning people down in front of the courthouse. And, of course, there’s poor, innocent, ill-fated Appollonia (Simonetta Stefanelli)…
The Godfather is a great Italian-American epic, one that works as both a gangster film and a family drama. Perhaps the genius of the Godfather trilogy is that the Corleone family serves as an ink blot in a cinematic rorschach test. Audiences can look at them and see whatever they want. If you want them and their crimes to serve as a metaphor for capitalism, you need only listen to Tom and Michael repeatedly state that it’s only business. If you want to see them as heroic businessmen, just consider that their enemies essentially want to regulate the Corleones out of existence. If you want the Corleones to serve as symbols of the patriarchy, you need only watch as the door to Michael’s office is shut in Kay’s face. If you want to see the Corleones as heroes, you need only consider that they — and they alone — seem to operate with any sort of honorable criminal code. (This, of course, would change over the course of the two sequels.)
And, if you’re trying to fit a review of The Godfather into a series about political films, you only have to consider that Vito is regularly spoken of as being a man who carries politicians around in his pocket. We may not see any elected officials in the first Godfather film but their presence is felt. Above all else, it’s Vito’s political influence that sets in motion all of the events that unfold over the course of the film.
The Godfather, of course, won the Oscar for best picture of 1972. And while it’s rare that I openly agree with the Academy, I’m proud to say that this one time is a definite exception.
Earlier, I criticized Otto Preminger’s Hurry Sundown for taking a rather timid approach to the politics of race and class. To see just how politically safe Hurry Sundown was, one need only compare it to 1969’s Burn, an Italian film that is perhaps one of the most politically radical films ever made.
Though the story told in Burn is a fictional one, it will still be familiar to anyone who has studied the history of South America. Set in the 19th century, Burn takes place on the island of Quiemada, a colony of Portugal that is largely populated with black slaves who are forced to work on sugar plantations. As the film makes clear, sugar was as economically valuable in the 19th century as oil is today. So, it really shouldn’t be surprising that, as the film opens, Sir William Walker (Marlon Brando) has been sent to the island on a mission to overthrow the colonial government and replace it with one that will be friendly to British sugar companies.
Walker does this by inspiring the slaves to revolt. To serve as a figurehead leader for the revolution, he selects a porter named Jose Delores (played by Evaristo Marquez, a nonactor who was both illiterate and working as a herder when he was selected for the role and who made up for his lack of experience and training by bringing a raw authenticity to the role). Under Walker’s direction, Jose quickly becomes known as a fearsome and great leader. Along the way, the two of them develop a paternalistic relationship with Jose looking up to Walker and Walker openly taking pride in Jose’s transformation from slave to general.
When the Portuguese eventually leave the island, the British set up a corrupt puppet government. When Jose argues for more of a role in the new government, Walker explains that none of the former slaves have the education necessary to lead a country. As Jose quickly realizes, the entire revolution was actually fought to benefit the British. Walker leaves the island and Jose and the former slaves return to working on the sugar plantations. They may no longer be slaves but they’re definitely not free. (Or, as Jose puts it towards the end of the film, one cannot be given freedom. Instead, freedom has to be grabbed.)
10 years later, Jose is leading another revolution, this time against the British-backed government. Walker is sent back to the island with a new mission, to track down and defeat Jose. When Walker first arrives back at the island, he assumes that, despite his earlier betrayal, he and Jose are still friends. As quickly becomes obvious, Jose doesn’t feel the same way…
Now, I have to admit that I didn’t see Burn under the best of circumstances. Not only did I see it on TV with regular commercial interruptions for that Risperdal lawsuit but, upon doing some online research, it also became obvious that I had watched a version of the film that was heavily edited prior to its American release. 20 minutes of footage was crudely taken out of Burn before it played in American theaters. As a result, the version of Burn that I saw had a jagged and rather crude feel to it. It was obvious that important scenes had been dropped and the end result felt disjointed.
And yet, despite all of this, Burn was still a powerful and memorable film. I say this despite the fact that rigidly political films (which this one definitely is) usually tend to bore me to tears. Even in its crudely edited form, Burn was full of powerful scenes that both made a political point and also displayed enough humanity to transcend the limits of ideology. Consider the scene where, after having just learned that his revolution has accomplished nothing, Jose is hailed as a hero by his fellow revolutionaries. In a matter of minutes, Jose goes from feeling like a failure to feeling triumphant to again feeling like a failure as he realizes that their freedom is going to be short-lived. Or how about the scene where William Wallace crudely but effectively explains how the economy works by comparing a housewife to a prostitute? And finally, there’s the film’s final scene, which is one of the most powerful that I’ve ever seen.
And then there’s Brando.
As played by Marlon Brando, William Walker comes to epitomize both cynicism and self-loathing. Reportedly, director Gillo Pontecorvo wanted to portray Walker as being a much more obvious villain and Brando fought for a more ambiguous approach to the character. What’s interesting is that, by hinting that Walker does what he does despite his guilty conscience, Brando makes the character into a much more loathsome monster than he would have been if he had been played as an unrepentant villain. Brando’s best moments come towards the end of the film, when Walker struggles to understand how Jose could be willing to sacrifice himself for a greater cause.
Whenever we discuss Brando nowadays, its to talk about his eccentricities and his weight. We talk about the fact that he was known for being difficult and that he eventually reached the point where he openly boasted about no longer caring. What should be discussed is that, regardless of what he became later in his life, Marlon Brando was a great actor. A film like Burn reminds us of that fact.
Through the Shattered Lens 