The Turner Classic Movies documentary "Brando" runs nearly three hours but you may know less about the man after watching it than you did going in.
The best revelation: Brando Hated his father. In a 1950's interview Marlon Senior (that's right) joins his son on a talk show to answer a couple questions: "Are you proud of your boy?"
"As an actor, not really... as a man, yes, I suppose." Junior bristles, swallows his rage, and tries to come off as light-hearted when he says, "What do I care- I'm strong enough to lick the Old Man." He taps his father "lovingly" on the leg but he clearly wanted to snap his neck.
We get actors offering some genuine insight (John Turturro & Edward Norton ruminate about Brando's possible repressed homosexuality) but we also get throwaway musings ("I think his Father beat him") that are never explained or supported. In the tradition of 21st-century documentaries we get the Sex Police, who regularly inform us that our subject had not only a healthy sexual appetite, but was one of the Greatest Ladies' Men of All-Time! How is this not tacky?
Nowhere is this more disturbing than in Angie Dickinson's comments, which lower her reputation from supertramp down to gutterskank. She offers us seven different toothlessly-naughty soundbytes on Marlon's potency, giving the boys in the editing bay lots of options to portray him as a sex machine. (She later admits to never having slept with him so technically she has no idea what he was like in bed. Thanks, Ang.)
Also revealed: Marlon as mercenary: Multiple subjects testify he intentionally slowed production on "Mutiny on the Bounty" to extort more money from producers, and his salary for small roles in films such as "Superman" & "Apocalypse Now" read more like ransom demands than paychecks. (Who among us haven't bought our own islands?)
Brando as an activist was years ahead of his time, but as satisfying as it is to hear him speak at civil and Indian rights rallies I couldn't help but realize how much more satisfying it would be to see him where he belonged: back on the big screen in a great role.
Marlon was a maddening performer, at once self-aware and spiteful with his brilliant gifts. A look at his "throwaway" films is hilarious; it's impossible to admit the man often just didn't care. He would also defy direction like a petulant child, gladly sacrificing his performance- and the entire film- in order to pout and sulk. And much has been made of his late-career dependence on cue cards- often located just off-screen or even taped to his co-star's face!- without ever solving the mystery: Was this brilliant method that contributed to great performance or outrageous laziness? The movie never makes up it's mind.
The talking-stars offer a mixed bag: Scorsese, Pacino & Jon Voight offer the most insight while James Caan, Jane Fonda and the aforementioned Dickinson only take up space. The movie is also scored with a bargain-bin bucket of generic muzak- the tune played during the "Apocalypse" sequence is both reminiscent of and light years away from The Doors' "The End."
What shines through all the noise here are scenes of Brando's performances and little-seen interviews with the man himself. Like a modern-day baseball superstar Brando could turn it on when he wanted to or take a dive if he didn't feel like playing. By failing to effectively praise and punish the man for his extremes we're left with a polite- if thorough- documentary.
GRADE: B-
The best revelation: Brando Hated his father. In a 1950's interview Marlon Senior (that's right) joins his son on a talk show to answer a couple questions: "Are you proud of your boy?"
"As an actor, not really... as a man, yes, I suppose." Junior bristles, swallows his rage, and tries to come off as light-hearted when he says, "What do I care- I'm strong enough to lick the Old Man." He taps his father "lovingly" on the leg but he clearly wanted to snap his neck.
We get actors offering some genuine insight (John Turturro & Edward Norton ruminate about Brando's possible repressed homosexuality) but we also get throwaway musings ("I think his Father beat him") that are never explained or supported. In the tradition of 21st-century documentaries we get the Sex Police, who regularly inform us that our subject had not only a healthy sexual appetite, but was one of the Greatest Ladies' Men of All-Time! How is this not tacky?
Nowhere is this more disturbing than in Angie Dickinson's comments, which lower her reputation from supertramp down to gutterskank. She offers us seven different toothlessly-naughty soundbytes on Marlon's potency, giving the boys in the editing bay lots of options to portray him as a sex machine. (She later admits to never having slept with him so technically she has no idea what he was like in bed. Thanks, Ang.)
Also revealed: Marlon as mercenary: Multiple subjects testify he intentionally slowed production on "Mutiny on the Bounty" to extort more money from producers, and his salary for small roles in films such as "Superman" & "Apocalypse Now" read more like ransom demands than paychecks. (Who among us haven't bought our own islands?)
Brando as an activist was years ahead of his time, but as satisfying as it is to hear him speak at civil and Indian rights rallies I couldn't help but realize how much more satisfying it would be to see him where he belonged: back on the big screen in a great role.
Marlon was a maddening performer, at once self-aware and spiteful with his brilliant gifts. A look at his "throwaway" films is hilarious; it's impossible to admit the man often just didn't care. He would also defy direction like a petulant child, gladly sacrificing his performance- and the entire film- in order to pout and sulk. And much has been made of his late-career dependence on cue cards- often located just off-screen or even taped to his co-star's face!- without ever solving the mystery: Was this brilliant method that contributed to great performance or outrageous laziness? The movie never makes up it's mind.
The talking-stars offer a mixed bag: Scorsese, Pacino & Jon Voight offer the most insight while James Caan, Jane Fonda and the aforementioned Dickinson only take up space. The movie is also scored with a bargain-bin bucket of generic muzak- the tune played during the "Apocalypse" sequence is both reminiscent of and light years away from The Doors' "The End."
What shines through all the noise here are scenes of Brando's performances and little-seen interviews with the man himself. Like a modern-day baseball superstar Brando could turn it on when he wanted to or take a dive if he didn't feel like playing. By failing to effectively praise and punish the man for his extremes we're left with a polite- if thorough- documentary.
GRADE: B-