On The Waterfront (1954)

Date Seen: 8/3/17

Score: 5/5

DIRECTOR: Elia Kazan

PRODUCER: Sam Spiegel

STUDIO: Columbia Pictures

SCREENPLAY: Budd Schulberg

CINEMATOGRAPHY: Boris Kaufman

Marlon Brando

Lee J. Cobb, Marlon Brando, and Rod Steiger 

Lee J. Cobb and Marlon Brando

Marlon Brando and Eva Marie Saint

Marlon Brando and Karl Malden

Karl Malden

Elia Kazan's real message

Rod Steiger

Lee J. Cobb

"A pigeon for a pigeon"

Elia Kazan is a complex director, whose personal scandals and ideological conflicts cannot be removed from his body of work, which contains more than one masterpiece of independent realism. Maturing as a director on the heels of the Studio System's demise, Kazan's films can be lauded for their hyperrealist portrayal of human emotion, psychological conflict, complicated relationships, and the burden of guilt, as well as for their exploration of the American values and principles that Kazan himself was obsessed with. And rightly so: I will not deny that Kazan's films are beautiful in their utilization of the Stanislavsky "method" of acting, post-noir black and white cinematography, "operatic melodrama" musical scores, and sociopolitical subtext to create gorgeous and tortured stories of human suffering and endurance. Some of Kazan's films, like A Streetcar Named Desire (1950) and East of Eden (1955), are able to express this psychological tension that Kazan explores so well, without being politically polarizing. However, Kazan's controversial masterpiece, 1954's On The Waterfront, is perhaps his most conflicting, contentious film, and it's all because of Kazan's Faustian decision to testify before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee in 1952.

Hollywood history is full of shameful periods of politicized unfairness and prejudice, but the Blacklist was one of the most damaging, despicable policies of all. This essay will not be an overview of the Hollywood Blacklist, nor will it be getting into nitty-gritty specifics about the Cold War's effects on Hollywood policies and filmmaking politics; if you want to learn more about this era, I highly suggest listening to the Hollywood Blacklist season of the film history podcast You Must Remember This. That being said, it's absolutely necessary for me to mention how little sympathy I have for directors, actors, screenwriters, and other Hollywood figures who came before the HUAC witch hunt committee and named the names of their friends and colleagues whom they suspected of being Communists. People whose names were mentioned during testimony ended up blacklisted from work, and found themselves completely alienated from their careers and personal lives. Friendships were destroyed and alliances were forged and broken. Some of the blacklisted committed suicide, while others, like actor John Garfield, suffered premature deaths from the stress endured. As frequent collaborator Arthur Miller asked of his former best friend Kazan's decision to name names, "Who are what was now safer because this man in his human weakness had been forced to humiliate himself?" The Blacklist era is a fascinating and deplorable topic that you should definitely research if you're unfamiliar with it, but for now, let's focus on the movie.

With an understanding of the Blacklist and Elia Kazan's cooperation and participation with HUAC, it's impossible for me to watch On The Waterfront without feeling uneasy. Much like D.W. Griffith made Intolerance as a response to the controversy surrounding The Birth of a Nation, Elia Kazan responded to the critics of his HUAC testimony with On The Waterfront, a film that does all it can to justify the decision to inform. There should be no illusion that Marlon Brando's character, the long-suffering and guilty Terry Malloy, is a stand-in for Kazan himself. As Kazan bluntly put it in his autobiography, A Life (1988), "I was preparing a film about myself." This raises a serious question: Is it possible to watch On The Waterfront as its own entity, separate from the political context it arose from?

I think it's possible, but, much like watching a film like The Birds and not considering its Cold War subtext, it's not a very enriching experience. My passion as a film scholar has always been historically based: I like to consider a film in the context of its time, and think about the ways it was influenced by society and, in turn, went on to influence society. For me, On The Waterfront is a cinematic goldmine full of historical context, and it's bloodstained with Kazan's guilty conscience. So, first of all I think that if you know anything about the Blacklist it's difficult to watch On The Waterfront and not think about it. More importantly, I feel like it might actually be irresponsible to watch this film without understanding its political undertones and real-life context. 

If you know absolutely nothing about HUAC and the Blacklist, it's more than likely that you could watch a film like On The Waterfront and, like many people have, hail Terry Malloy as a hero. Kazan's film, carried by a script written by fellow name-namer Budd Schulberg, does all it can to paint Malloy as a victim caught up in a dangerous organized crime syndicate. It aligns the "good guys" (Malloy, Eva Marie Saint's Edie, and Karl Malden's Father Barry) very far away from the "bad guys" (Lee J. Cobb's Johnny Friendly and his gang), so that there is very little uncertainty of whose side the viewer should identify with. Although Malloy's indecisiveness over whether or not to inform on the bad guys is the crux of the film's psychological conflict, there is no doubt that to inform on them would be the "good" thing to do, while to keep quiet would be effectively relegating Terry to an inferior position as one of the many nameless, unimportant, ineffective dock workers that form the film's silent crowds. 

Throughout the film, Kazan builds essentially every kind of pressure onto Malloy as he debates whether or not to inform on his fellow union members. Firstly, there is the self-serving aspect: Terry is desperate to be somebody, a desire that has been squelched by his brother Charley (Rod Steiger), who has sacrificed Terry's chances as a successful prize fighter on behalf of his boss, Johnny Friendly.  The only way for him to reclaim his own life, and in doing so find success as an individual, is to inform and break away from his group of corrupted colleagues. Kazan himself felt, foolishly, as though his inner circle of leftist film industry colleagues had been invaded by an enemy whose influence would deny him the success he thought he deserved. Perhaps Kazan was influenced to inform by his fear of being blacklisted, and therefore being taken out of work completely; perhaps he actually believed that if he removed his colleagues from the opportunity to make films, it would make more room for him to succeed in the business. It's unlikely that Kazan actually thought that his colleagues posed a threat because of their former alliance with Communism (see the Miller quote in paragraph two). Either way, Kazan channels this self-preserving instinct as one of the main motivators for Malloy to inform.

Besides this main point of motivation, Kazan pulls out all the usual naggers, including a Priest who represents the guilt of religion and what seems like a duty to God to do the "right" thing, and a Woman, who embodies the traditional idea that women are spiritually pure and above men in their ethical duties. Both Karl Malden's Father Berry and Eva Marie Saint's Edie put additional pressures on Terry to inform, convincing him that this will be the only way he can atone for his missteps and prevent others from sharing the fate of the many bumped-off men who dared to speak out.

So we can say from this analysis that Kazan, through this story of corrupt Union workers on a shoreline in New Jersey, is basically setting up a long-winded justification for his own actions. Fine. The man has the right to do this. But where it gets really complicated and, to me, shameful, is how Kazan confuses his irresponsible actions with heroics, and how he displays this through the veneer of this film. In his review of the film, Phillip Loparte quotes Sidney Lumet as saying "Informing in criminal activity is very different from informing in the political sphere." Likewise, many critics have made the point that "informing on Communists and informing on mobsters are not comparable" (Klehr and Haynes). To me, it's not that they're not comparable, it's just that they're not equal. This is where Kazan fails: in trying to align the cinematic bad guys with the historical victims, and vise versa. It's totally possible for me to look upon Terry Malloy's plight with sympathy, because he actually does do the right thing by coming forward with information on organized crime that will help authorities take down corrupted Union officers and make the Hoboken waterfront safer. Good on you, Terry! What Kazan did is nothing like this. The man, out of fear of his own downfall, came forward willingly and cooperated with one of American history's most shameful political bodies, listing off the names (and ruining the lives and careers) of a dozen of his peers. Kazan, although stubbornly deciding to never go back on his decision and apologize, was clearly wracked with guilt his entire life, and On The Waterfront does much to emphasize the kind of guilty conscience he dealt with in the aftermath of his decision. Unfortunately, Kazan, once again, decided to take the low road, making his cinematic doppelgänger a tortured victim rather than a tortured perpetrator.

This is why I think it's irresponsible to watch On The Waterfront with no political context. Because, thanks to Kazan's masterful direction and use of powerful neo-noir mise-en-scène and ultra realism, it's entirely possible to become convinced of what the director deluded himself into believing. I loved this film because of the quality I've expressed throughout this essay- Kazan's ability to blend method acting with direction influenced by Italian neorealism, as well as film noir cinematography that taps into the human psyche. There are scenes in this film that I adore, like the one in which Malloy comes clean to Edie about his part in her brother's murder.  Every performance is a gem, especially Brando's vulnerable, heartfelt, repressed ode to human suffering as Malloy. It just pains me to think that, for his portrayal as Kazan's double, he was complicit in the skewed retelling of Kazan's testimony, and that he was rewarded by the corrupted film industry with an Academy Award. This irony, as well as the irony of Kazan as a master realist director whose film completely distorts historical reality, is not lost.

Clearly I have mixed feelings about On The Waterfront. I hope that we can come to appreciate this film in the way that we appreciate other controversial-yet-great American movies, from Gone With The Wind to The Birth of a Nation: with a grain of salt about the ways in which it manipulates the viewer to understand a skewed historical reality that the director probably believed. Alas, as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in The Last Tycoon, which would become Kazan's last film, "What people are ashamed of usually makes a good story."

Sources

"Elia Kazan: A Retrospective," by Lloyd Michaels, published in Film Criticism, Vol. 10, No. 1 (Fall, 1985)

"On The Waterfront without a Clue: A Review Essay" by Harvey Klehr and John Earl Haynes, published in Film History, Vol. 16, No. 4, Politics and Film (2004)

"Review: On The Waterfront" by Joanna Rapf, published in Cinéaste, Vol. 38, No. 3 (Summer, 2013)

"Review: On The Waterfront" by Phillip Lopate, published in Cinéaste, Vol. 27, No. 2 (Spring, 2002)

"Elia Kazan's America" by Estelle Changas, published in Film Comment, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Summer, 1972)

"Elia Kazan: Caught Between HUAC and the 'New Hollywood'," from the book Hollywood Independents: The Postwar Talent Takeover, by Denise Mann (2008)

"On The Waterfront" from Wikipedia

"The Blacklist" season of Karina Longworth's podcast You Must Remember This

All photos from Google Images, and all GIFs from Google Images and GIPHY.

A Busy Person's Guide to the AFI 100 List

If you've been keeping up with the Film Archive, Visual Film Diary's Instagram, and weekly blog posts, you'll most likely have noticed that the films featured on VFD are mostly classic movies with recognizable titles. But did you know that almost every movie featured on VFD is included in the AFI 100 list? 

What, you may ask, is the AFI 100 list?

The AFI is the American Film Institute, an organization dedicated to the preservation of American motion picture heritage. The AFI does a lot of cool stuff to promote the art of the cinema, including an award series aimed at honoring important players in the American film canon, and running a conservation program to preserve film and educate others about its cultural significance. Also, very famously, the AFI releases fascinating, unique lists that sort important American films into fun categories, like the AFI: Greatest Movie Musicals list, the AFI: 100 Years of Film Scores list, and the AFI: 100 Greatest Heroes and Villains list. I first ran into the AFI when I found its Greatest Stars list while perusing Wikipedia, and ever since I've looked to its lists for inspiration when trying to learn more about which American films made the deepest cultural impact, and why.

This year I set an initial goal to watch 100 films. I quickly changed this goal to be more specific. Instead of trying to watch 100 films, I've decided to attempt to watch the entire AFI 100 Greatest American Films list. If you are, like me, someone who is interested in film history, or even just someone who loves movies, I would encourage you to make this same trek through the over one hundred years of films that are included on this list. Along the way you will encounter not only some of the most beloved films of all time, but also some hidden gems. I recognize, of course, that watching 100 movies in a year is not an easy thing to do. I get that- I'm a college student and I have more than one job and a social life. For this reason, I've compiled a list of ways to make your film-watching journey as smooth as can be. Let's take a look:

I chose to use the AFI's 1998 list of Greatest American Films, but this is definitely not the only list the AFI offers. They release anniversary lists every few years that feature different lineups of films, some with more recent releases (obviously the list I'm using does not include movies made after 1998, and there have been some very important films made in the past nineteen years). If you're more interested in sticking to a particular genre (say, comedy), it may be more up your alley to go off of a list designed to fit that genre (say, the AFI: 100 Funniest American Movies of All Time list). I wanted to get a full range of genres and stick to the big, broad guns, so I went with the classic list, but it's up to you!

This is probably the most difficult step, because I know from experience how expensive it can be to try to track down movies. Here's what I would suggest: If you're interested in collecting movies regardless of their overall sentimental value to you, I would recommend purchasing movies from Amazon before watching them. While this sounds like a gamble, it's a much better investment to spend around $10 to own a movie forever than to spend $5 to rent it once. While some of the classic films featured on the AFI lists are available on Netflix (and it's always worth checking Netflix), most are not. When there's a movie I want to watch, I first check Netflix, then Youtube, then Amazon Prime Video. If I can't find it there, I check the libraries I have accessible to me, including the Free Public Library in the town I live in, and my college's library. If I still cannot find it, I check to see how much the DVD is on Amazon, and compare it to how much the DVD is at my local video store (which sounds like a super outdated term, but they exist!). 

I never spend more than $10 on a film, whether I'm seeing it at a movie theatre, renting it, or buying it online. I like to think of myself as a ~thrify gal~ who doesn't have an unlimited supply of money, so this point is crucial. Luckily, there are ways to avoid paying for films that don't include pirating. 100 years after a film's release it goes into the public domain and will definitely be available on Youtube- this can really help with the older films on the list. And, once again, always check Netflix and Amazon Video for free rentals before paying!

It may seem challenging to watch a movie every few days, or even every day. The fact is, if you wanna bust through 100 movies in a year, it requires some planning and dedication. When I started working my way through the list this year, I tried to watch at least two films a week, one during the week and one on the weekend. This was easy for me to do, as I was taking a film class that had one screening a week. But even when my film class ended it wasn't hard to find time during the week to fit in a shorter film, either in an afternoon following class or work or on a Friday night spent at home. During the summer it's even easier to find times to watch films. 

Truthfully, it's not as difficult as you would think to watch two movies a week. Think of how much screen time you spend on your phone or laptop a day, not counting watching films- probably more than the two hours it would take to cross one off the list. If you schedule accordingly, it's completely possible to fit two movies in, which, with 52 weeks of a year, would put you over the amount of films necessary to complete an entire 100 films list. 

I like to end my day with a movie before bed, either watching alone on my laptop or on the TV with a friend. Planning movie dates with friends has become a weekly occurrence for me, and helps me keep on top of watching classics I want to see, as well as sharing favorites with people I love.

For me, half the fun of watching movies is keeping track of all the classics I've seen. That's the whole reason why I started this blog! Over the past few years I've experimented with several different ways of keeping track of the films I watch; last year I was all about recording the opening credits on my Snapchat. This year, I started out keeping track of the films I've seen on a list saved onto my phone, and then decided to start an Instagram to showcase film stills from the movies I'd watched (hence the term Visual Film Diary). It's imperative and rewarding to track your progress when chasing any goal, so why should watching 100 films be any different? 

Fun ways of keeping track of your film viewings include keeping a good, old-fashioned list, either on your phone or in a notebook; designing a little notebook dedicated to journaling and collaging photos and thoughts from the movies you see; starting a blog (hey there); starting an Instagram (again, hello); buying and displaying the films you've seen on a shelf; starting a Pinterest board and saving images from the movies you see to it; and printing out the list and crossing out movies as you go.

The list I keep on my phone of films- and I always keep the date!

Visual Film Diary's Instagram (follow us!)

ABOVE: VFD's Pinterest Board (follow us!!)
BELOW: A printed out version of the list; highlighted in yellow are the films I've seen, and highlighted in pink are the films I own. Also note the prices I write on the margins- always keeping track of money!

My movie shelf, arranged in alphabetical order, as well as the marquee I use to publicize my newest blog entries. Also note my Lolita glasses :)

There are many reasons why it's valuable to watch, learn about, and discuss classic films. That's sort of the AFI's mission statement. It's also why I don't just watch the movies, cross them on a list, and move on. It would be pointless to spend a year watching 100 movies just to say you did. Instead, spend a year watching 100 movies and reading up on them, learning more about their production, their message, and why they are considered so important to society. Analyze them. Read up on film theory. Talk about the films with people you know. Read reviews of the films from when they came out, and then read reviews of the films now. Watch documentaries about them. Learn about the actors and directors. Listen to podcasts about film history. Learn about the historical context that these films came out of. Challenge them- heaven knows that there is more than one controversial film on the list. Keep a list of your favorites and your least favorites. Create a rubric for scoring movies if that sounds fun. Once you've seen them all (yay!) make a Buzzfeed-esque list of the films with your own rankings of best to worst. Appreciate them. Go out and see them if they're playing at cinemas near you. Most importantly, don't just watch them to watch them. Watch them because they're important- because they really say something about society, and have, in their own ways, influenced the cultures we are a part of. And know, no matter what, that you don't have to like these movies- that it's entirely possible to watch a movie that a group of film educators thinks is important and wonderful and to think it sucks, or that it's problematic, or that it's got a dark history behind it. Know that important movies aren't always good or ethical- and figure out for yourself what that means.

So go forward and watch films! Keep track of your progress, and make sure to read between the lines! I promise you that it will be a fulfilling, life-enriching quest. And I'll be right there beside you, watching and blogging. Happy screenings!

Note: I am a great lover of world cinema, not just American movies. Obviously the AFI 100 list includes some of the most important films ever made, but by NO means is great cinema limited to American cinema. American films, in particular Hollywood films, would never have come into existence without the great influence of world cinema, and some of my favorite films of all time are not American films. It's important, during this crazy jingoistic political reality we live in, to understand the importance of other cultures and societies, and to recognize their great influence on America, including their significance in helping to establish American popular culture. My specialty area of study is American pop culture, but I want to make it very clear that we cannot appreciate American films without understanding the greater influence of world cinema.