Alex has up a really nice post right now, praising my observations about Bud White and Russell Crowe in that role. She writes: “I love people that notice the little things about actors.”
Speaking of noticing specific little things about actors – you have GOT to check out Alex’s ginormous post about Streetcar Named Desire.
AMAZING! Go read the whole thing, but here is what Alex has to say about Kim Hunter’s portrayal of Stella:
Hunter’s Oscar winning (and Tony winning) perfromance is stunning. In one of the scenes Kazan was forced to cut out in the final edit, Hunter stands on the stairs after Brando’s violent outburst. There’s a look of primitive lust in her eyes that the censors of the 50’s found “morbid” and “disgusting”. Elia was forced to remove the scene. If you get the Director’s cut, you can see this amazing 2 minutes on screen. Hunter shows a side to Stella that helps us understand why she needed him. Craved him. And wanted him badly to “taker her off of that high white cloumn in those fancy pictures.” She is in desperate need of him on a very basic level. It’s miraculous.
Yup. If you can get your hand on the Director’s Cut – you really have got to see it.
Alex writes about how the balance of the play shifted in the casting of Brando. Brando was so powerful on stage that although he was a brute, and a rapist, audiences sided with him. Elia Kazan had been very concerned about that from very early on in the rehearsals when it became apparent which way the wind was blowing. He could tell that what Brando was doing was going to change everything … but would it be right for the play???
Here is how Kazan describes that whole process – and listen to how Tennessee Williams responds. Incredible:
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.”
And if you’re interested – here’s my tribute to Marlon, written right after he died.
Anyway: please go read Alex’s post.
