Happy Birthday, Elia Kazan

I have spent my life pretty much studying his movies, ever since I saw East of Eden when I was 12 years old.

His involvement in The Group Theatre in the 1930s helped launch him as a director – even though he was primarily an actor with the Group. Harold Clurman, one of the founders of the Group, said to a young Elia: “You may have a talent for the theatre, but it’s certainly not for acting”. That ended up being quite true, although Kazan did get some very good roles with the Group (here is a picture of him from that time):

Kazan said later of himself as an actor: “As an actor, I was like a violin that could only play 2 or 3 notes.”

But as a director? He took off.

He was so eager, and so ambitious, and so committed to the Group Theatre – that he would do anything for them: he built sets, printed flyers, ran props – no job too small. Apparently, too, he was always the fix-it guy – he could fix anything, he was always prepared to fix anything that was broken – and so this gave him the nickname (that stuck to him for a lifetime) of “Gadget”. Or, even shorter: “Gadg”. People just called him that. “Gadg.” I love that that nickname came from that crucible of experience in the Group Theatre. I knew about the name “Gadget” even when I was a teenager, because I had already started to tear through biographies of anyone who had ever been associated with the Actors Studio (he had helped found it) … and “Gadg” was a name that came up all the time.

Kazan was always a controversial guy. The most lasting controversy was the “naming names” controversy (I still remember Amy Madigan glaring at him from the audience at the Oscars. Whatever, babe. Good for Meryl Streep, and Steven Spielberg, and the others who got the hell over themselves and stood up for that man. Stood up for his enormous contribution to their community.) But my point here is that Kazan was always a kind of controversial guy. That particular one just became the most notorious. But he always ruffled feathers. He never minced words. He was passionate, outspoken, fiery, and driven. Man, was he driven. He always went his own way. He had a wife he loved. He cheated on her mercilessly, and openly. His own behavior broke his own heart. He didn’t know why he did it. But he couldn’t be faithful. He wrote about it very openly in his awesome autobiography. He made a lot of enemies from how he treated Molly (a respected person in the theatre in her own right). His tactics as a director are now very well-known. And obviously – whatever it was he did with the actors – could be magic.

I know all the controversies. They all make him 100% more interesting to me.

And besides all of that personal-life garbage – there are his MOVIES.

Streetcar. East of Eden. On the Waterfront. I love Baby Doll, too – such a funny movie – with a great performance by Eli Wallach.

Here are some quotes from Ebert’s review of On the Waterfront – Kazan here is talking about Brando’s performance as Terry Malloy:

“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).

Another quote:

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?”

More from Ebert:

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.

If you read the script, that scene in the back of the cab is pretty on-the-nose. But what those two actors brought to it – with Kazan’s help – cannot be measured. Actually, let me clarify that: Kazan never ever ever took credit for anything that Brando did. Now THAT is rare. Anything that Brando did that was genius (like pushing the gun away) came from his own talent. Kazan never took credit for it. He knew that all you needed to do when you directed Brando was to get the hell out of the way.

Ebert ends his review with:

“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.

Kazan’s contributions to the theatre (as opposed to film) are … too great to name. He directed more plays than movies – his resume is astonishing – and he helped make Tennessee Williams (and Stanley Kowalski) a household name. He was responsible for ground-breaking productions of plays by Arthur Miller, Williams …

He was the main interpreter of Tennessee Williams. An interesting combination of personalities there. Tenneessee: a sensitive gay man from the south, and Elia, a fiery macho Greek-American, born in Istanbul. An immigrant. A tough scrappy immigrant. But I’ve said it before here, and I’ll say it again: I think that without Elia Kazan’s strong sensitive guidance – Williams’ plays might have crumbled into fairy dust. Inconsequential. Now the writing was all there – Kazan said that all along – that when he first read the scripts, they were complete. Done. Ready to go. (This is extremely rare, by the way, when you’re working on a new play. But Williams’ plays arrived on Kazan’s doorstep perfect). But Williams’ plays have so much to do with artifice, and the fragility of memories … that if you get a director who tries to deal with the delicacy TOO much, or if you get a director who just suffuses the entire play in a certain mood of nostalgia (sounds like the most recent production of Glass Menagerie with Jessica Lange went that route) … then the plays don’t add up to much. But Kazan always went for the jugular. Kazan brought out the animal passion in Williams’ plays – knowing that the other stuff would take care of itself, or could be handled through lighting and music. But the acting needed to be visceral, real, taut … Williams’ plays burst onto the scene like an emissary from another planet. American theatre has never truly recovered. Any playwright who comes after now has to deal with the bar that Williams (and, by association, Kazan) set.

Kazan was the only director who really understood Tennessee Williams.

Here is an excerpt from Kazan’s autobiography about the NY production of Streetcar, which introduced Marlon Brando to the world.

Jessica Tandy was already a celebrated actress. Marlon Brando was practically unknown. Kazan noticed which way the wind was blowing during rehearsals, and it concerned him on many levels. Basically what was happening was that Marlon Brando was acting Jessica Tandy off the stage. EASILY. When the two of them were on stage, you only looked at one of them, and it wasn’t Tandy you were loooking at. Without breaking a sweat, Brando stole the show right out from under her. Jessica Tandy fought to keep her ground (which, actually, is perfect for the theme of the show and for the character of Blanche Dubois), but Kazan’s main concern was that Blanche would turn into a laughable character. Kazan was worried that the audience, because of Brando’s undeniable stage presence, and the electricity of his acting, would completely side with Stanley, and not have any sympathy for Blanche at all.

The balance of the play was off.

Anyway, there’s the setup. Here’s what Kazan has to say about it. And also Tennessee Williams comes by to drop in his two cents:

But what had been intimated in our final rehearsals in New York was happening. The audiences adored Brando. When he derided Blanche, they responded with approving laughter. Was the play becoming the Marlon Brando Show? I didn’t bring up the problem, because I didn’t know the solution. I especially didn’t want the actors to know that I was concerned. What could I say to Brando? Be less good? Or to Jessie? Get better? …

Louis B. Mayer sought me out to congratulate me and assure me that we’d all make a fortune … He urged me to make the author do one critically important bit of rewriting to make sure that once that “awful woman” who’d come to break up that “fine young couple’s happy home” was packed off to an institution, the audience would believe that the young couple would live happily ever after. It never occurred to him that Tennessee’s primary sympathy was with Blanche, nor did I enlighten him … His misguided reaction added to my concern. I had to ask myself: Was I satisfied to have the performance belong to Marlon Brando? Was that what I’d intended? What did I intend? I looked to the author. He seemed satisfied. Only I — and perhaps Hume [Cronyn, Tandy’s husband] — knew that something was going wrong …

What astonished me was that the author wasn’t concerned about the audience’s favoring Marlon. That puzzled me because Tennessee was my final authority, the person I had to please. I still hadn’t brought up the problem, I was waiting for him to do it. I got my answer … because of something that happened in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, across the hall from my suite, where Tennessee and Pancho [Tennessee’s companion at the time] were staying. One night I heard a fearsome commotion from across the hall, curses in Spanish, threats to kill, the sound of breaking china … and a crash … As I rushed out into the corridor, Tennessee burst through his door, looking terrified, and dashed into my room. Pancho followed, but when I blocked my door, he turned to the elevator still cursing, and was gone. Tennessee slept on the twin bed in my room that night. The next morning, Pancho had not returned.

I noticed that Wiilliams wasn’t angry at Pancho, not even disapproving — in fact, when he spoke about the incident, he admired Pancho for his outburst. At breakfast, I brought up my worry about Jessie and Marlon. “She’ll get better,” Tennessee said, and then we had our only discussion about the direction of his play. “Blanche is not an angel without a flaw,” he said, “and Stanley’s not evil. I know you’re used to clearly stated themes, but this play should not be loaded one way or the other. Don’t try to simplify things.” Then he added, “I was making fun of Pancho, and he blew up.” He laughed. I remembered the letter he’d written me before we started rehearsals, remembered how, in that letter, he’d cautioned me against tipping the moral scales against Stanley, that in the interests of fidelity I must not present Stanley as a “black-dyed villain”. “What should I do?” I asked. “Nothing,” he said. “Don’t take sides or try to present a moral. When you begin to arrange the action to make a thematic point, the fidelity to life will suffer. Go on working as you are. Marlon is a genius, but she’s a worker and she will get better. And better.”

Tennessee’s prescience, his “let it go” attitude. “When you begin to arrange the action to make a thematic point, the fidelity to life will suffer.”

Kazan took that advice. That’s why those plays had such an impact. The impact still reverberates today.

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5 Responses to Happy Birthday, Elia Kazan

  1. damian says:

    A truly enlightening analysis of an aspect of William’s work and the Kazan/William’s dynamic. And, as she ‘settled’ into her role, Tandy’s contribution to the durability of William’s work should not be overlooked.

  2. red says:

    damian – absolutely. Tennessee’s prediction was spot on. She was a worker, and she did get better.

  3. Kate says:

    Great post, Sheila.

    I’m fascinated by all the stuff about Jessica Tandy. Because I think the film version’s major flaw–and I know I’m probably alone in thinking this–is Vivian Leigh, who seems too huge, too fake, and just too formidable for Blanche. Kim Hunter on the other hand, just breathtaking. Not eclipsed by Brando at all. They are in the same world. Which, I suppose, is easier for whoever is playing Stella. Maybe it’s the scrappy Greek immigrant thing–having an instinctive knack for the hearty muscular things like On the Waterfront or Stanley or whatever, but less facility with the breakable, terrified, fragile stuff (the kind of fragility not hiding in masculine bravado.)

  4. red says:

    Oh God, Kim Hunter is just phenomenal. God. What a performance, huh??? You so get the sexual relationship between them – and because of the censors they had to cut out a lot of the lines. Like her saying she was thrilled when Stanley broke the light bulbs on their wedding night. I think eventually, those lines were restored to the film – but it doesn’t matter. You still get that this woman is pretty much sexually enslaved by this guy. She’s an amazing actress.

    I think one of the reasons why the collaboration worked so well between Kazan and Williams – is that Williams always wrote from the point of view of the female characters. They were his alter egos. Blanche, Miss Alma … And the men in these plays – Stanley, Dr. John Buchanan – are Williams’ fantasy males. Tough, troubled, macho, straight. Kazan loved women, but he related to the male characters. So under his direction – neither side overshadowed the other. If you had had a sensitive fey precious director with, say, Streetcar – you could see how abysmal it would have been.

    Kate – I too would have loved to see Tandy as Blanche.

  5. Independent George says:

    I also love Kazan & Brando, but… I am no longer able to watch Streetcar without thinking of the musical version from The Simpsons. Brando has been eclipsed by Ned Flanders.

    Can’t you hear me yell-a?
    You’re putting me through hell-a!
    Stel-la,
    STELLA!

    I know that’s the mark of a great parody, but still… It’s just plain wrong when you have to struggle to suppress your giggles while watching a classic like Streetcar.

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