Film Reviews

Listen to Me Marlon Puts You One-on-One With Brando

Sometime in the 1980s, Marlon Brando had his face digitized, presumably as a way of leaving just a bit more of himself after his departure from this planet. As we see it in Stevan Riley's documentary Listen to Me Marlon, that speaking, moving hologram looks like a cross between George Washington as engraved on the dollar bill and the solemn, glowing visage of Superman's dad, Jor-El — whom Brando played in 1978 — just before blasting his only son into space. The image is fuzzy and staticky around the edges. Even so, this memorialization of self is also a trivialization of self. Brando uses his digitized face to tell us what the future has in store: "Actors are not going to be real," he says in voiceover. "They're going to be inside a computer. You watch."

We hear a lot of that voice — and see some more of that strange and beautiful digitization — in Listen to Me Marlon, a portrait of the actor assembled from film clips, stills, television interviews, dramatic re-creations, and, most significant, more than 300 hours of recordings made by Brando himself. Some, labeled "self-hypnosis," contain deeply personal observations that are unfiltered but also surprisingly cogent. Others constitute Brando's recollections of his childhood and early years as an actor. Late in his life, Brando had hoped to collate these observations into some sort of autobiographical multimedia work, a project that was never completed. (He died in 2004, at age 80. He published a memoir, Songs My Mother Taught Me, in 1994.) Riley — whose previous documentaries include 2012's Everything or Nothing, an examination of the James Bond phenomenon — gives us the next best thing. The film he's made, a world apart from your usual straight-up biographical doc, features no talking heads other than Brando's own. Instead, it's like a tone poem drawn from the actor's inner and outer life, narrated by the man himself.

"Actors are not going to be real," Brando says.

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Brando, one of the greatest actors of the past century — and some days, it's just easier to call him the greatest — has always been mysterious as a person. That's a polite way of saying that, particularly in the past 30 or so years of his life, he came off as kind of crazy. His imaginative, intuitive, bombshell performance as Vito Corleone in The Godfather almost didn't come to be: Though Francis Ford Coppola desperately wanted him for the part, Paramount executives thought Brando to be too unpredictable, too unreliable, too nuts. In Listen to Me Marlon, he comes off, mostly, as more thoughtful than unhinged. He talks candidly about his childhood in Omaha, speaking affectionately of his mother ("She gave me a sense of the absurd") and less so of his father, a traveling salesman who was physically abusive. Ultimately, though, he reveals that both of them were alcoholics who failed to protect and nurture him. He found more security, of the emotional and financial sort, when he moved to New York — "with holes in my socks and holes in my mind," he says — and began studying with Stella Adler at the Actors Studio. Though her demeanor is imperious and imposing in the archival footage used in the film, Brando makes her kindness toward him clear: "Don't worry, my boy," she once told him. "I've seen you, and the world is going to hear from you."

She was right, of course, and the finest parts of Listen to Me Marlon are those in which he talks about the nuts, the bolts, and the unnamable something that goes into the making of a performance. He uses boxer Jersey Joe Walcott's strategy as a springboard: "Never let the audience know how it's gonna come out. Get them on your time... Hit 'em, knock 'em over, with an attitude, with a word, with a look. Be surprising. Figure out a way to do it that has never been done before..."

Brando talks, over footage of his kids gamboling in the surf, of why he was drawn to life in Tahiti; he speaks of his affection for his children and his heartbreak over the suicide of his daughter, Cheyenne, in 1995. As he grew older, he succumbed to creeping paranoia, but it's hard to blame him: His son, Christian, was kidnapped in 1972 as part of a bizarre plot hatched by his ex-wife to secure full custody. In 1991, Christian was convicted of manslaughter in the death of Dag Drollet, the boyfriend of half-sister Cheyenne, and served five years in prison.

But Listen to Me Marlon is still an invaluable document, if only because it unlocks so many quiet secrets about this actor that we only think we know. Brando's deep insecurities, his nearly boundless sex drive, his civil rights activism: Listen to Me Marlon gives as full a picture of Brando as a 1,000-page biography might.

Listen to Me Marlon. Directed by Stevan Riley. Opens Friday, August 28, at Cinema Paradiso - Lauderdale (503 SE Sixth St., Fort Lauderdale; 954-525-3456; fliff.com) and Living Room Theaters (FAU Main Campus, 777 Glades Road, Boca Raton; 561-549-2600; fau.livingroomtheaters.com).


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Stephanie Zacharek was the principal film critic at the Village Voice from 2013 to 2015. She is a member of the New York Film Critics Circle and of the National Society of Film Critics. In 2015 Zacharek was named a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in criticism.

Her work also appeared in the publications of the Voice’s film partner, Voice Media Group: LA Weekly, Denver Westword, Phoenix New Times, Miami New Times, Broward-Palm Beach New Times, Houston Press, Dallas Observer and OC Weekly.