HIGH CONTRAST: The New Kids

Hot new kids on the lot-- Monty Clift and Marlon Brando-- rub 

elbows while locking horns in a secret, friendly rivalry.

Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift remain steadfast representatives of the bygone era of the "Method" revolution. This cataclysmic moment of artistic realism hit the homogenized world of Hollywood-ized acting with a disruptive, destructive, and seductive violence that was perhaps the most important milestone in cinema since the advent of sound. Ironically, it would be unfair to label either Brando or Clift as a "Method actor." Clift never studied the technique and only attended a few, early classes by invitation after he'd already had success in The Search. Brando did study the method thoroughly, but-- ever the humble fellow-- claimed to have invented his style himself and too asserted that instructor Lee Strasberg had merely taken the credit. Both men thought that Strasberg, the originator of this new school, was a bit of a quack, and both possessed enough natural talent, bravado, and (arguably) healthy narcissism to crawl from under the stigma of being one of Lee's proteges to become their own, unique Masters of the Craft.

Whatever teacher, technique, or lack thereof that either actor claimed to have, mattered not in the end. What they delivered was an almost unnatural brand of naturalism. One sect of the population would claim that the super-reality of their performances was the beginning of cinema's ruination, for it defiled the "art" of it-- the structure of illusion or the creation of the cinematic dreamworld was to be protected at all costs! (Strangely enough, this was the same issue that many took with the innovation of the 'talkies'). This theory would assert that there must be a thick, hard line between the real and the fake, between the viewers and the product. Film was supposed to effect an audience in a painless, subconscious fashion; this overt, emotional thrust was far too dangerous. Still, the other half of the population, not surprisingly the younger half, went ga-ga over their new Demigods. The fact that the movies had become real seemed like the final consummation of the initial promise of the movies themselves: art imitating life without appearing as imitation. The lie became true, and the male engines that could and did deliver this devout honesty would find themselves in a life-long battle of respect and rivalry-- envy and one-up-manship. The audience was just glad to sit back and watch.

Monty interprets the internalized, tormented American rebel in 

A Place in the Sun.

Bonus points, of course, are awarded to Clift for getting there first, yet the brash vitality of Brando has made his impression much more memorably poignant. Even today, when men come to Hollywood in search of their own artistic yearnings, it is the name of "Brando" that they speak. Clift is more of an afterthought or a later found gem. The reasons for this distinction are multifarious, but the most obvious place to start is in the men themselves. To borrow an analogy, Marlon was the "bull," and Monty was the "China shop." On the surface, these men couldn't have been more different, despite the fact that both were born in Omaha, NE. Clift was slightly senior, raised by a banker turned insurance salesman and an ambitious mother who had her eyes fixed on penetrating the social set. Monty was raised to believe that he was a first-class aristocrat, despite the family's occasional financial downfalls. He was nourished both artistically and intellectually, and behaved always with impeccable manners and the regal poise of a prince. Brando, on the other hand, while equally the son of a less polished businessman, was under-educated in the art of decorum. His family didn't wear a cloak of facade. A born rebel who was expelled from school, he preferred being an outcast to being, what he would consider, a pretentious monarch. He wore torn shirts, mussed hair, and seemed Hell-bent on disturbing the Hell out of people for the mere Hell of it. Though sprouted from essentially the same seed,  both Clift and Brando grew in vastly different directions and presented themselves with marked distinction. On the outside, one could easily say that Monty at least appeared to be the boy every mother hoped her daughter would marry, and Marlon was the boy all fathers feared. Monty would be invited in for tea; Marlon would be chased off the lawn with a shot gun.

Their manner, which invested itself particularly in their work, is definitely worth discussing. Both were instinctual men, prone to uncanny mimicry, and masters of observation. The way their talents manifested themselves was a product of their naturally different personalities. Clift was the intellectual, tearing everything apart in his mind and painstakingly putting it back together again to create a fully formed, perfectly natural character. He led with his mind. Brando led with his guts. He would simply step inside the character and wear him out. His being is much more physically dominant than Clift's. His characterizations, therefore, appear almost haphazard, as if he is figuring them out on the spot. He is always infinitely more interesting than the person he is creating, even in his most iconic performances. His raw, unapologetic interpretations were more intriguing to audiences, and even Clift saw this, admitting that Brando "connects better with his audiences." In this respect, Clift's calculation and perfectionism worked against him; he put the work before himself. Brando, no matter how great his performance, seemed to carry a sense of resentment for the work-- he didn't need it. He was just doing it because, whatever...

Marlon represents the animalistic, unapologetic American rebel

in On the Waterfront.

This made Brando fascinating, but it offered him fewer acting opportunities. Roles had to be tailored to his specific, male-animal type, whereas Clift could more easily conform to any role that tempted him. The most specific distinction could be that Clift cared, and Brando at least acted like he didn't. Monty sold his soul to his craft, and his determination and focus constantly stressed and tormented him. His resulting performances always came off flawlessly due to this diligence, but his acting seemed to alluringly creep up on his audiences because of his understated specificity. The camera had to search for him, and only after he was found did it realize how much it had wanted him in the first place. Thus, he let the audience find the story and him within it. Not so with Brando. His craft remained a sacrosanct secret. He didn't think too hard, or try too hard-- or so he claimed. He just did. As such, the camera grips him from the moment he hits the screen and never lets go. Of course, both men possessed pieces of each other, though in different proportions. The acting yin and yang, they served as perfect compliments to each other in their field, and offered audiences their personal preference of the modern man: class or crass. One could use an analogy of the men's acting by viewing them as lovers, which is fitting, since acting was probably their number one love in life anyway. Monty would woo the role, fall in love with it, endure all the fascinations and pangs of it, and wring himself dry on it, before leaving brokenhearted and altered after every performance. Marlon would have his way with a role, enjoy the stimulation of the carnal act, then kick it out of bed and move on to the next conquest, hungrily but dispassionately. Marlon had a better separation of himself from the role, (which is perhaps why he lived longer than the ever-conflicted Monty).

While both had their ups and downs in their careers in terms of critical approval and box-office, Clift would arguably appear to be the victor. He was so careful about the roles he chose and such a hard worker in each performance he made that, more often than not, even if the picture was a dud, he was still raved over. His career took a certain dive after his car accident, for his lack of a handsome face in a very superficial industry certainly crippled his early advantage, but there was never a doubt about his talent. That was always present, even if at moments it flagged under exhaustion, pain, or the dilution of drugs or alcohol. Brando didn't suffer from the same chemical dependencies that dismantled Clift's early promise, yet he too had a demon that worked against him: himself. Marlon couldn't seem to take the whole acting business seriously. Perhaps a part of him felt the need to keep himself at a distance from an occupation that was never accepted as "masculine." His much more macho presentation on film would also bolster this theory, for it was the necessary machismo that he injected into his performances that made him such an exciting presence on the screen. He needed to label himself as divergent-- other. He was not a pretty boy or an aesthete. He was no "sissy." He was changing the game. Thus, when he embodied his roles, he seemed to simultaneously thumb his nose at his own audience. As such, as his career progressed, he became lazy, disinterested, or perhaps even overly narcissistic, and stopped giving as much as he had early in his career. 

Monty's sex appeal at first appears uncomplicated. With the "face of an angel,"
seduction was simple. Yet he too had a sinister inner danger that gave him an
edge and elevated his appeal. (With Donna Reed in From Here to Eternity). 

One could also state that, since Brando was an unabated personality early in his career, he failed to become a great character actor until later in his reign. Early attempts, such as in Mutiny on the Bounty, fell flat. He wouldn't obtain the same critical reception as a character actor as Clift had until he pulled off his earth-shattering performance as "Don Vito Corleone" in The Godfather. In this respect, Monty seems to be the older brother passing on life lessons to a younger brother. Brando had to mature as an artist before he was able to distinguish himself as a character actor. When he was able to marry this talent to his innate charisma and power, he pulled off his second Academy Award for The Godfather (his first being for a more Marlon-like role in On the Waterfront). This contrast makes the two actors read like Fire (Brando) and Water (Clift). Brando reacts with instantaneous physicality, which gives way to his emotion. Clift reacts with immediate intellect, which then gives way to emotion. In this respect, it was Brando who was left at a disadvantage. A humorous example can be seen in their personal lives. At one point, Brando was dating Ellen Adler and took her to a party at which Clift was also in attendance. Brando wandered off into the mix, and Ellen found herself talking to Clift, who was, of course, all charm and manner. He asked inquisitive questions, he was attentive, and he began almost accidentally seducing her out from under Brando, who, by the way, stood frothing from across the room. Finally, seeing how Monty was seamlessly putting the moves on his girl, Brando came bursting through the crowd like an angry school child whose toy had been stolen: "She's my Jew, Monty!" Whoa. With that, he grabbed Ellen's hand and stormed off. Clift just stood in his place, smiling to himself at the pushy, uncouth amateur who had made a foolish scene. Marlon still behaved sort of like a cave man, clubbing his current choice over the head and pulling her into his cave. Clift didn't even have to bend a finger; he would hypnotize and bring the women to him like moths to a flame-- though his actual preferences lay elsewhere.

Of course, Monty enjoyed indulging in this prowess, and he certainly began the aforementioned "innocent" chat with Ellen to bait his arch nemesis. The rivalry between himself and Brando is legendary if not altogether scandalous. Aside from the Ellen exchange, both men truly respected each other too much to ever let things come to blows or immature arguments. Their careers and lives too had a strange way of running parallel to each other, if not completely overlapping. Clift met Brando for the first time when he went to see the latter perform in "I Remember Mama." Later, Clift was offered the role in "The Eagle Has Two Heads," from which Brando had just been fired. After seeing the play, Clift refused the role, and actually wound up riding back to New York on the same train as Brando. The two men shared a friendly but awkward exchange on board as a result. Initially, the hot, young Brando must have seemed like a thorn in Clift's side. After Monty extricated himself from a passionate but troubled relationship with Ann Lincoln, she turned to Brando and had an affair with him as well. When Clift ended another relationship with Judy Balaban, Marlon served as the best man at her wedding to Jay Kantor. Clift too had to host a party specifically so his enamoured acting coach, Mira Rostova, could meet Brando-- though she was too shy to ever introduce herself.

Brando's sexuality was more immediately violent. He was the "bad boy"

women fantasized about being dominated by, yet he too had

enough of the hidden vulnerability women wanted to

discover, as seen in his desperate cry for Stella!!!

Although both men could at times offer up an immature aside or two regarding their rival-- Monty making fun of Marlon's singing in Guys and Dolls, Brando saying that Clift looked like he had a "mixmaster" stuck up his ass-- they enjoyed a unique and somewhat competitive friendship. When both were up for the Oscar in 1952, they went to see the other man in his competing film. Both later admitted to each other that they believed the other man deserved the award more. Despite the classic performances of both-- in A Streetcar Named Desire and A Place in the Sun-- it was Bogie who would win for his performance in The African Queen, which left their battle a fortunate stalemate. With no way of choosing between these two new, compelling actors, who were simultaneously reinventing the medium, why not just give it to the old guy? Perhaps more interestingly, the two were in talks to work together in East of Eden, with Monty as "Aron" and Marlon as "Cal." The role of Cal instead went to the boy who could have been birthed from the consummation of their artistic selves: James Dean. The only time M&M would share the marquee would be in The Young Lions. As if intimidated by Monty, Marlon's performance suffered in the film, and it gave Clift a great deal of pleasure when he witnessed Brando creeping around the set, trying to secretly watch him work. Yet, Monty had confidence in his rival. When Brando's career began to stall, Monty was vocal in his support: "Marlon isn't finished yet. He's just resting up. He'll be back-- bigger than ever." Brando's great return was indeed a triumph in both The Godfather and Last Tango in Paris. Brando too revealed a rare kindness when he came to Monty prior to Lions and begged him to get himself cleaned up off drugs and booze, because he needed Monty around to keep "challenging" him: "I've hated you because I want to be better than you-- but I'm not." Sadly, that battle would be lost. It is believed that Marlon took the role of "Maj. Weldon Penderton" in Reflections in a Golden Eye in honor of Monty, who was to have starred in the film opposite Elizabeth Taylor had he not passed away so suddenly.

Pick a side

It is hard for me to even conceive of Clift and Brando as separate entities anymore, knowing the way that they both secretly worked off each other and how they separately but equally influenced the very art of film acting. Their success is a product of multiple factors, but what made them stand out and stand the test of time so well was their unique appeal and modernity-- which, in turn, is eternal. Perhaps Monty said it best:  

"I don't think either Marlon or I are imitators, which is why I guess we both respect each other."

Eccentric, they may have been. Brash, cocky, and occasionally full of sh*t, you betcha. But phonies? Never. As such, we continue to trust them in every role that they played and allow them to lead us again and again through the maze-like plots of their competing films, wherein looking for them, we continue to find ourselves. They weren't a breath of fresh air in Hollywood; they were two cataclysmic tornadoes. We haven't been so enthusiastically nor thankfully shaken up since. One doubts we will ever be fortunate enough to encounter another such storm.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Inspiration

"Subtext"and "Clift" are pretty much synonymous. In The Misfits, Monty drew on his own

ever-complicated relationship with his mother to add layer to an early phone 

conversation his character had. He nailed it in one take.

Where do good characters come from? One could say that the genius lies in the writing, but that's only half the battle. A good idea is just a ghost of intention if there is never an actor to grab a hold of it and flesh it out. Every performer has his own way of getting to a character, whether it be through Method, Meisner, or raw instinct, but some of the pieces of life experience that inspire a characterization and bring it more fully to life are just as fascinating as the movies themselves. Actors are perpetual creatures of human study. Al Pacino made a brilliant documentary recording his own quest to find and create one of the most complicated characters in literary history, Richard III, in Looking for Richard. One of my own acting teachers, we'll call him JHR, entertained the class with an episode that he experienced with Marlon Brando. At a restaurant, he happened to see (a much older and fatter) Marlon eating at a table across the way. He then saw Marlon observe another diner, who was struggling with his meal due to a neck brace, which clearly handicapped his movements. Marlon stopped, pulled back, assumed the same posture, and tried to eat in the same crippled fashion. I guess an actor acts, always. The following is a series of more descriptive circumstances that stellar performers used to shape their roles into realities. Here are a few answers to the question: How did he come up with that?!

 Montgomery Clift had definite standards when it came to acting. His chosen profession was more than a job, it was a mission.  If anything worth doing is worth doing right, than to Monty anything worth doing was worth hitting out of the park. Thus, he took his characterizations very seriously. In addition to getting in touch with the inner mechanisms of the man he wanted to portray, he too would try to establish him physically. For example, when preparing for the role of Father Logan in I Confess (left), he studied the way that priests walk, noting that they seemed to push their long robes forward with their hands as they moved. His attention to detail and sense of conviction would drive certain directors and producers nuts, but no one could argue with his results. As always, the battle between money and artistry is tough-going, especially in the factory mentality of Hollywood. As Monty himself would say, "I'm not an actor out there, I'm called a 'hot property.' And property is only good if it makes money-- a property is lousy if it loses money at the box office."

Nonetheless, the mighty arm of studio mandates never broke Monty's artistic sensibilities. Throughout his career, he looked for motivations for his characters in unusual places, sometimes keeping observations in his pocket for years before he was able to put them to use. One example of this occurred in 1949, after Monty had just started to strike a chord with American audiences. Since he was hanging around friend and mentor Thornton Wilder a great deal, he steeped himself in brainy literature. Always an avid reader, he went on a rampage, consuming the entire works of Franz Kafka (right), with whom he had become absolutely fascinated. (His absorption in The Metamorphosis seems particularly uncanny, considering the parallel that he would later have with character "Gregor Samsa's" repulsive transformation). While on this literary journey, Monty became transfixed by a photograph of the author, which was taken in Prague the very year of his death. Something in the gaunt, bat-like face with haunted eyes seemed to move and disturb him, and the image certainly effected him enough that he felt compelled to rip it out of the book and carry it with him over the next nearly 10 years. He reportedly looked at it every day. 

Fast forward to his casting in The Young Lions after his own post-crash "metamorphosis." He was to bring to life the character of "Noah Ackerman," a Jewish soldier. In uncovering the nature of this man, he knew immediately how he wanted to flesh him out. In addition to losing 20 pounds and wearing purposely baggy clothing, he too made adjustments to his face to make himself look like Kafka in the infamous photo (left). Something about the author's tragedy and Noah's defiance against his own victimization made sense to him. He recalled his performance as his favorite role and the one of which he was the most proud.

Carroll Baker was one of many members of the Method crew that seemed to follow in the wake of Monty's naturally intuitive brand of acting. (Though he had never been a Method man himself, many of Strasberg's students would find themselves trying to create what Monty seemed to have invented). Carroll proved from the minute she arrived in New York that she was ready to go the distance in her acting. This soon got her noticed by Hollywood, who was interested in both her talent and beauty. Fortunately, she also had a brain. The wheels were definitely already spinning with regard to character "Baby Doll Meighan" by they time she began filming Baby Doll, yet there were certain behavioral elements she needed to round off. She found the perfect subject to study when she landed on location in Benoit, MS. No sooner had she set foot on Southern soil than she came into contact with a local woman named Ellie May. The typical Southern Belle, Ellie May was feminine, colorfully dressed, and also possessed a remarkable speech pattern that reflected both her Mississippi heritage and a blend of baby talk. Jackpot! For the remainder of her visit, Carroll kept Ellie May in close company and under even closer scrutiny. The way she was both delicate and assertive, coy yet calculating, gave Carroll all that she needed to use for her character (see right). The mimicry worked, and the role changed her life.

Carroll had another moment of divine inspiration when director Elia Kazan, known as "Gadge," was looking for a little extra oomph for one particular scene. Early in the film, Baby Doll sits and waits for her sexually frustrated older husband, "Archie," in their car. When he finishes his business and comes to meet her, the watching locals were supposed to start heckling him. Elia didn't believe that the scene worked without some sort of context, so he asked both Carroll and co-star Karl Malden for ideas. A light bulb when off: Carroll told Elia that her father had been a traveling salesman and that whenever she had to wait for him in the car somewhere, if she had been a good girl, he would bring her an ice cream cone. Elia loved it! The extra action of having Archie approach his young, ambivalent, untouched bride with a dripping vanilla cone provided a sexual undertone, an embodiment of the characters' power struggle, and also the blatant age difference. It totally worked. Thus, Archie stands in the hot sun sweating, while the object of his desire sits quietly lapping it up (left). Perfection.

James Cagney had a lot of personal material to draw on when he needed to add gravity to his performances. An easy touchstone for him was always his father. James Frances Cagney had been a lovable, tender man with an unfortunate penchant for alcohol. Occasionally, he would go into "fits," wherein he would endure severe headaches that left him moaning and howling uncontrollably. The only one who could calm him down was his wife, Jim's mother, Carrie. Meanwhile, the children in the family hid their eyes and covered their ears, unintentionally showing their fear of the man they loved so much. Jim  never forgot the sound... After several years in Hollywood as a leading man, he would tap into this particularly painful vein in order to deliver one of the most gut-wrenching moments of his career. In White Heat, his hard as nails gangster has but one soft spot-- for his mother, who ironically, is the only person who can calm him when he gets one of his "headaches." When later imprisoned, he is eating in the mess hall when he hears the news that his beloved mama is dead. His character, "Cody Jarrett," completely loses control of his senses, lets out an ear-splitting series of animal noises, and flails around madly about his fellow inmates (right). The extras in the scene had not been told what to expect, so when their star started braying desperately, many of them thought James Cagney had actually lost his mind! The stunned look of shock on their faces says it all. The noise Jim created was the same awful sound that he had heard growing up. He only watched the scene once, then refused to ever watch it again. It was far too painful. Yet, to him, it was worth it to cut himself open for the role.

Jim used his pops for a much more light-hearted gag in an earlier film he made, Taxi (left, with Loretta Young). When he used to horse around with his father as a kid, the senior fellow would sometimes wrap his arm around his son's neck in mock anger and lightly pepper his chin with fake punches, saying all the while, "Why I oughta..."  Thus, in a scene in Taxi when Jim is jealously teasing a paramour, he wraps his arm around her neck, taps her chin and spouts: "If I thought that..." The action was a way of paying homage to his old man. When his mother, Carrie, saw this moment in on the big screen, she started weeping right in the middle of the theater. It meant a lot to her that Jim would honor one of his warmest memories of his father.

Luise Rainer was one of a kind. A delicate, feminine creature who often portrayed women of great romance and modesty, she was also a thinker who refused to ever get caught up in the Hollywood game. She was never in it for the stardom, she was in it for the story, and was honored that she was one of the few people in the world who had the great privilege of bringing interesting women to life. Nonetheless, there was great controversy surrounding her casting as "O-Lan" in The Good Earth (right), if only because she had been chosen over Anna May Wong in the role of the Chinese heroine. Luise understood the resentment, but studio politics being what they were, she graciously accepted the role and vowed to make good in it. She refused elaborate make-up, which she believed would caricature the race, and determined to work from "the inside out" in building O-Lan authentically. Through the subtle, quiet movement she observed in the female Chinese community, she was able to establish the modest touch she was looking for. Yet, she wasn't quite satisfied. She had the structure of O-Lan, but in her mind, she hadn't "found her" yet. Ah, serendipity: one day on the set, Luise was dressed in character and surrounded by genuine Chinese extras. She accidentally dropped her pocket book, and when she bent to pick it up, she knocked heads with another women, who kindly handed her wallet back to her. Their eyes locked. Suddenly, the extra realized that she was standing next to the star of the film! Her eyes went wide and she blushed. She seemed to pull back inside herself a bit in humility. "There she is," Luise thought. "That's O-Lan!" She used this woman and her honest, demure reaction as a model for her characterization... and won an Academy Award for her performance, (for the second year in a row, btw)!

Lon Chaney was, of course, the consummate character researcher as the consummate character man. As he occasionally found himself in Chinese roles, he-- like Luise-- would go to Chinatown to observe the people and study their mannerisms. His ultimate test if he had mastered his movements and make-up, was to ride the electric car to Chinatown and back, as authentic Chinamen got on and off around him. During the ride, if no one noticed that he was some actor in make-up, he knew that he had it (see him in Mr. Wu, left). He also liked to visit the courts and watch the different criminals, convicts, and cretins come in for their verdicts. He always found a lot of material there for his own villains. His attention to detail can be seen in all of his films, and his work has gone on to inspire many other actors. In fact, he was directly used by one actor in particular during the filming of Full Metal Jacket. Vincent D'Onofrio is an accredited character actor of his own generation, as is evident in his lengthy, varied filmography. His role as "Private Leonard Lawrence" in Full Metal Jacket was at once annoying, child-like, and demented. An important scene comes when he reacts to the abuse that the fellow soldiers are inflicting upon him, and (spoiler alert) he subsequently loses his mind and shoots off his own head. The day before they were to shoot, Stanley Kubrick was conferring with the young actor about this heavy scene. "Make it big," he said. "Lon Chaney big!" Vincent did. His maniacal control and sinister presence sends chills down the spine. He totally delivers in this shocking moment by going over-the-top mad! It works. Lon Chaney clearly isn't the only creeper, but because he was the first, his followers are much better prepared.

I've seen that face before... (Vincent D'Onofrio goes full-on Chaney
 in Full Metal Jacket).

*My apologies to those of you who may have caught a glimpse of an early draft of this article. I accidentally pressed "publish" instead of "save." :-/ Hey, I'm allowed one blonde moment a day!

HIGH CONTRAST: Little Girls Lost (and Found)

Greta Garbo in Anna Christie. When Marilyn Monroe began taking

acting classes with Lee Strasberg, she performed this scene

(with Maureen Stapleton in Marie Dressler's role.) The 

result was said to have been breathtaking.

In studying the life and career of Greta Garbo, the last person I expected to draw comparisons with was Marilyn Monroe. Certainly, the differences between these two women are easier to identify. Yet, somehow, the more I got to know Garbo, the more I was able to find commonalities between Marilyn and herself-- both in the strange oddities of their behavior and in their mutual effect upon the public.

The greatest commonality between these two cinematic figureheads is their personal drive. Marilyn's determination to become the biggest star in the universe is more obviously recorded, but Garbo too had a hidden, unquenchable desire to become, not necessarily a star, but a success in her craft. Both were arguably found and formed, or aided, in their ascent by important men-- Garbo by director Mauritz Stiller, and Marilyn perhaps most importantly by agent Johnny Hyde (left). Where the two women are divergent is in the impetus behind their agendas. Garbo seemed to seek out acting as a way of transformation, a way of hiding in fantasy. She wanted to control the eye while being hidden from it-- you think you see me, but you don't. The cloak of her characters was a protection, and the emotions she experienced as the vessel of their passions and torments provided a cathartic personal release that she would never have revealed so openly in reality. Marilyn, on the other hand, sought the human eye full stop. She wanted to be swallowed by it. Acting for her was too a method of metamorphosis, but while Garbo alternated personalities in various roles while always maintaining her separate self, Marilyn mutated from Norma Jeane Mortenson into Marilyn Monroe and lost Norma Jeane in the process. Her quest for love and respect made her seek the spotlight, and only after she conquered the gaze of the camera was she able to begin her education in the art of acting in earnest. Garbo's ambition made her refuse all forms of compromise in order to get to her goal; Marilyn made the compromise and paid the forfeit. Thus, one woman enchanted the world by saying, "You can't have me," and the other by saying, "You can have it all." Objectively, one seems to be the User, the other the Used.

Their appeal to the public is thus equal in power and different in effect. It is hard to say who the bigger star truly was within their own timelines, nor who has maintained the greater allure, although the mythic, pop-cultural stature that Marilyn Monroe has reached at this point makes her sacrifice for eternal stardom seem the more obvious winner. Both, in their equal reigns over Hollywood, were considered the pinnacles of female beauty. Garbo, as a skinny, angular, and almost clumsy culmination of an art deco female, totally redefined beauty in her era. Her beauty was in her face, her eyes-- which were at once inviting and closed off. Her sexual enticement was a dare, which was only enhanced by her androgyny (right). Conversely, Marilyn was all woman all the time. She adhered to the general staples of feminine sensuality by possessing the voluptuous, curvaceous, come-hither figure that not only invited but begged for objectification. Her beauty was in her entire demeanor, including her coy movements and soft voice. She became, thus, an answered and expanded upon prayer to the male sex-- the mother, daughter, lover figure.

Both women, whether emotionally open or closed, were equal in their photogenic presences. The camera has loved perhaps no two women in history more, and both were geniuses in the art of being still and invigorating at once. Yet, again, the camera seemed to need to seek Garbo out, as if she was caught almost off guard and haphazardly-- in her perpetual state of gorgeousness-- whenever the shutter clicked. Marilyn on the other hand, used her charisma to charge at the camera, willfully pulling it to her and continuing a lifelong game of follow the leader. She more finitely determined the image she projected, including her approval or disapproval of her proofs. What the camera saw was what she wanted it to see, always and forever. Garbo, therefore, remains hypnotic for her always exhausted lack of effort and hint of disdain, and Marilyn remains hypnotic for her overzealous devotion to fulfilling the American sexual fantasy. The mind wonders when looking at both women, "What is pulling Garbo away from us?" and "What is pushing Marilyn so violently off the page" (left)?

In both cases, there is an inviting allure, although in Garbo's case it is far more dangerous in its temptation. Yet, both figures, in both still photographs and in motion, possess the same emotional quality that renders them somehow non-threatening and, in turn, likable: vulnerability. This word is used frequently in the descriptions of both women in terms of their work. Both are eternally projecting personas, but what they are projecting over is their frail humanity-- their personal weaknesses, their fear. Garbo, so stoic yet so full of emotion, is always the woman putting on a tough impenetrable act to protect her actually breaking heart. Her desire is her greatest weakness, and her passion is so strong that she seems forced to stifle it lest the world explode (right). For women in 1920s-1930s America, who were seeking liberation, the hidden she-wolf within coupled with honest feminine yearning was a quality easily identified and appreciated in Garbo. Her control of her sexuality spoke to them. She may have been a vamp, but she too had a little girl quality that just wanted to be loved. A woman, at last, could be powerful and emotional at once. Our annoying "hysterics" were for once not a malady but a centrifugal force of our character. 

Marilyn too had a bold face covering her inner complexity, though her projection is one of the utmost girlishness and passivity (left). She is the ignorant blonde, harmless in her sexuality, because she doesn't even know who she is. She's projecting what she thinks the world wants. And we do want it, particularly the male sex, who saw in Marilyn the perfect representation of the beautiful, appeasing, non-confrontational female. Yet, because we see the little girl peeking out from inside, we too sense her suffering. This is why she was and is equally embraced by the female population. Women identify with the great effort she put into her appearance, knowing first-hand the exhaustion it causes and the painful stakes one must endure to be an "attractive woman." They recognize the charade, because they all participate in it in the hopes of landing "the guy" who will love them for who they really are inside-- the mess beneath the facade. It is the internal "mess" of both women that still makes them more complicated and thus more fascinating. Garbo's vulnerability lay in the fact that she suffered under the weight of her rebellion, and Marilyn's lay in the fact that she suffered under the weight of her acclimation. Men were drawn to both figures because they represented the combination of both the virgin and the whore-- they were excited by the perfect extremities (whore) and attracted by the endearing internals (virgin).

It is actually the way Garbo and Marilyn's mutual but exclusive allure manifested itself in their private lives that indicates the greatest parallel between the two women. Their vulnerability, their eroticism, their fame... The culmination caused the same reaction. People wanted to be close to them, at first to worship and later to possess. Friends of both Marilyn and Garbo would talk about how "drawn" they were to the stars; how even off-putting behavior-- Marilyn's addictions and Garbo's eccentricities-- could not deter one from their company, at least not for long. Beneath their gorgeous exteriors existed a sadness that one wanted to quell. Everyone wanted to save Garbo from herself; everyone wanted to save Marilyn from herself. Lovers wanted to be saviors and protectors, in the likes of John Gilbert and Arthur Miller. Yet, total submission was never in the cards for either woman, whose independence was in constant conflict with their loneliness or desperation. No man could obtain them nor change them. One could only hope to forge a relationship by becoming somehow indispensable. Garbo came to lean on people like  professional confidante Salka Viertel and harmless friend Sam Green; Marilyn on acting coach Lee Strasberg and psychiatrist Dr. Ralph Greenson. Their uncertainties and little insecurities were played upon and used, most extravagantly in Marilyn's case, in order for the outside party to maintain proximity to their otherworldliness. Like moths to a flame, people were driven toward them, but strangely, it was most often Garbo and Monroe that were burned. In most cases, people flocked to these women not simply to experience excellence by association, but, in some perverted sense, to dominate and conquer the world's greatest star, thus becoming the greater and more supreme being. Their friendships became addictive, like "chasing the dragon" or pursuing the ultimate high.

Naturally, with all this attention cast upon them, both women could be wary of strangers and a bit frightened of fans. Marilyn had a much more open and inviting relationship with her "public," but she too was nervous around large groups of people. Though fans professed to adore her, they too often seemed to be almost out for blood. Marilyn took personal judgments and attacks in the press very personally and when fans became over-eager or predatory, she certainly learned the lesson behind "Be careful what you wish for." Garbo's reaction to this same phenomenon was to remove herself completely. She used her trusted friends as shields from fanatic trespassers, avoided large publicity fueled situations, and de-glamorized herself as much as possible in her private life to detract attention. Marilyn too had an on and off switch that she could flick at will, but she often struggled with whether or not she wanted it on or off. She needed the constant reaffirmation of her worth (Greta avoids the wolves, right).

Both women in turn were suspicious of the new people that entered their worlds, who were certain to have some sort of agenda up their sleeves. Most often, the starlets would find themselves pulled to people who professed ignorance or indifference to their celebrity. Both would also seek out surrogate parental figures to fill the places left vacant by their own absent or deceased parents. Internally, they were both sensitive women, an issue only exacerbated by their feelings that they were intellectually inferior. The more Marilyn tried to improve her mind, the more society seemed to laugh at her (left). Garbo solved the problem by remaining almost universally silent. Mistakenly, people assumed that these ladies were great powers and forces of nature, which in one respect they were, but in truth, they were both evasive and non-trusting, due to vast inferiority complexes. Occasionally, the walls would come down, and the great sadness and personal disappointments that they had would be revealed-- inside, they were outsiders, no matter that they seemed to rule the world.

Maurice Chevalier once recalled chatting it up with a surprisingly candid Garbo. She let her guard down with the debonair Frenchman and seemed at ease. She playfully suggested that they go jump in the ocean, to which the conservative Chevalier expressed confusion and politely declined. The course of their entire conversation changed. After his refusal, Garbo looked as if she had been slapped like a naughty child. She withdrew, became silent, and the girlish light of mere moments before vanished. She quickly left. An honest slight or mistaken insult to an already shaky sense of self would always seem to turn the ever-invasive Garbo back inward (right). Carroll Baker recalled a similar interaction with Marilyn. Marilyn had originally hoped to play the lead in Baby Doll, the role that made Carroll a star. At the premiere, Marilyn, with husband Arthur Miller, graciously congratulated Carroll on the film's success. Carroll, who had endured a great deal of controversy and a negative publicity storm due to the subject matter of the film, responded thoughtlessly, "Thanks, but I don't know if congratulations are in order." In a quick moment, the warm, friendly Marilyn was gone. It was as if she had stepped back deep inside herself. In shock that her kindness had been rebuffed, she too turned inward. Indirectly hurt by Carroll's comments, which the latter was kicking herself for, she simply shut down and compartmentalized, as if to keep her pain under wraps. Both Garbo and Marilyn used this survival technique. Thin-skinned and ever-uncomfortable, they seemed to find no solace but in their own isolation-- sacred cocoons.

So similar and so different, both women suffered and triumphed in their different experiences through life and celebrity. Marilyn suffered a much more tragic end simply because the little girl in her cared too much. She had never received the life lessons of what mattered most versus what was superficial. She learned these lessons, of course, on the way, but too late to be protected from the repercussions of her own early misdirection. Garbo was more blessed in this respect, having grown up in a more conventional household and family that instilled in her the values and confidences that would carry her through her most turbulent moments. Garbo had no problem saying "to Hell with it." "It" was all Marilyn believed she had to hold onto, and the weight of this need led to her ruin. Had Garbo not had a strong family unit in her tender years, her endings could perhaps have been just as tragic, since both women seemed to merely hold themselves together through the same tenuous force of will. (Marilyn objectifies herself yet again for our benefit, left).

Both ladies took a final swim in their last films: Greta in

Two-Faced Woman...

There is something fascinating about the parallels and perpendiculars in these artists' relationship to each other. Both are beauties: one hard and one soft. Both are strong personas: one cold, one warm. Both are sexual representatives: one evasive, one inviting. In their comparisons and their separations, there is much to discover about our own desire and what it craves and seeks in others. Would there have been room for Marilyn in Garbo's time, or room for Garbo in Marilyn's? Were their appeals specific to their personal eras, or was their universality equally timeless? Historically, these women are equal artists who were themselves the product of their own art and, in turn, became the artistic statements of their public. There is no best, no ultimate, no winner in the subjective game in which they found themselves the pawns-- the game of our watching. Both are one of a kind creators and creations. We remain enthralled because they were so distinct, quizzical, loved, and hated in their own lifetimes. We responded to their secret depths and continue to swim in them, for in both there is so much more than meets the eye, and so much more we will always want to know.

... and Marilyn in Something's Got to Give.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Marilyn Monroe

These past two months I have been under severe stress. Severe. Why? Because, like a damned food, I thought it would be a good idea to feature Marilyn Monroe as my February star of the month. Countless books, and movies, and articles, and documentaries later, here I am-- weather worn, exhausted, and certain that even ten more years wouldn't give me the time to prepare a proper analysis of the world's favorite movie star. Marilyn was a chore, as I am sure certain people who knew her in her life could attest. Studying her, living through her life and demise, witnessing her death over and over again... It was like torture. There were days that I didn't think I could do it: either portray her accurately or physically make myself write my conclusions in time for February, the month of hearts. But, despite the fact that I fear I have failed her miserably, I at least owe it to her to try. Her light is too bright to shut out anyway. So, here she is, the eternal star as LA La Land's Star of the Month: Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn Monroe

Norma Jeane Mortenson's chances of achieving fame and fortune were pretty much slim to none. Perhaps this is why the public embraced her so ardently. Overcoming the seemingly insurmountable odds that would have erased anyone else's will, Norma Jeane had enough courage, hunger, and imagination to transform herself from a social castaway into the world's biggest superstar. She became the strutting, purring, giggling personification of the American dream-- beautiful, powerful, famous, desired, alluring-- all while remaining somehow approachable. She was a dream girl, but she was a real girl. Her history-- being tossed from foster family to foster family, her mother's mental illness, her nude photos-- were secrets that Twentieth-Century Fox tried to keep but that Marilyn refused to deny. What her fans latched onto, therefore, were not her perfections but both her beauty and her flaws. Why? Because the kid was so damn lovable. Inhumanly beautiful and oozing sensuality, she should have been seen as a threat to womankind, but there was such a profound sweetness and innocence in her demeanor that the gals loved her as much as the boys, if only because she introduced feminine sexuality as something that was not forbidden, but fun. The love fans gave her was heartily returned, and Marilyn always treated her admirers with kindness and respect, remembering far too well what life had been like on the other side of the movie screen.

With friend Jane Russell in a publicity

still for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

Her gifts on said screen were plentiful. The camera loved her. I mean, loved her. There are few performers that are more hypnotic, more interesting to watch, or who put more stars into their viewers' eyes. What she had isn't made. It just is. Magnetic, funny, warm-- her persona onscreen very often reflected her own nature. She could play stinkers, but, for the most part, she was just plain adorable, even when scheming for diamonds in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. There was no maliciousness in her true character, so when she played malicious film characters, people still sided with her. When Joseph Cotten approaches her with murder in his eyes in Niagara, it is her you sympathize with and fear for, despite the fact that she had tried to have him killed a few frames earlier. In roles like How to Marry a Millionaire or The Seven Year Itch, she is more at home-- gorgeous, but not purposely so, lacking in vanity, unaware of her appeal, and even apologetic about it. She was just a nice girl cursed with a beauty that even she herself didn't understand. She just was what she was; was it her fault that people liked to look?

During the history-making The Seven Year Itch.

But in looking at Marilyn, one sees more than her almost perfect physical attributes. She is intriguing, bewitching, and fascinating for what she is doing and not simply for how she looks doing it. This was not just some dumb blonde out to get rich; she was seriously interested in doing good work. This is visible in every performance she gives, no matter how early, though the payoffs of her dedication are certainly more apparent in her later roles. She tried to make everything real, and you can witness this and the effects of her acting education over the course of her 15 year career. In Clash by Night, when she rises from bed and lazily puts her clothes on, she looks genuinely tired. When she makes a call to her lover in Niagara, she reveals her character's vanity by wiping the lipstick from her teeth. When she blindly nearly walks into a wall in How to Marry a Millionaire and is corrected by a watching elevator operator, she shows legitimate embarrassment. These subtleties and nuances added great layers to characters that could have been otherwise easily forgotten, dimwitted roles. In any other hands, the movies themselves may have disappeared into non-existence. Because of her, they are instead classics. But, it was her work after she attended acting class in New York with Lee Strasberg that really started winning her critical approval. Humbling herself by stepping off her fame pedestal to go to acting school, she was able to erase her token gestures, lip curls, and wide-eyed stares for portrayals with real depth and insight. She outgrew the sexy girl image for the mature woman, playing thereafter women of all kinds: the heartbreaking yet hopeful "Cherie" of Bus Stop, the sexy but savvy dancer of The Prince and the Showgirl, and the loving and graceful wife of her final film, Something's Got to Give. Critics were enthralled! Where had she been hiding this talent!? It had been there all along, but few people in the male-driven Hollywood money machine paid much attention to a girl outside of her looks. Marilyn made them pay attention, and finally won herself some respect.

As Cherie in Bus Stop.

Sadly, the pressures she put on herself to rise above her humble beginnings, the demons of her past, the stereotypes thrust upon her, and her professional criticisms, still took their toll, despite the successes she accomplished. Marilyn's blessing was also her curse. People were drawn to her, first wanting to be near her, then wanting to possess her. She would have few true friends, because people could not be selfless in her presence. She was too vulnerable, too desperate to be loved; people chose to be a savior instead of an ally. Instead of instilling in her the strength and will to take care of herself, they took control: "Let me help you," "I'm here for you," "I care about you," "Here, take these, they'll make it all better." No one told her, "Marilyn, you can do this," "You're better than this." If she became a strong enough person, she wouldn't need her leeches anymore, and her leeches needed her. The "help" and "aid" of people like her therapist Dr. Ralph Greenson, her acting coaches the Strasbergs, or her agents and publicists who pumped her with drugs-- as initially innocent as their concern may have been-- turned to power-hunger, greed, and manipulation, perpetuating in Marilyn a co-dependent child and not a self assured woman.

The men in her life were the same. One sought not to love, but to possess. The honest affection felt by Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller in time became merely the precursor to their own "Marilyn addiction." Physical abuse, mental cruelty, condescension... They married the movie star and then resented her for being one. They were drawn in by her fragility, and then tried to smother instead of nurture it. The woman couldn't catch an even break. With all these voices in her head, she was being driven mad, convinced that perhaps she had indeed inherited the paranoid schizophrenia from which both her mother and grandmother had suffered. At her weakest, she found herself steeped in drugs and alcohol and forcibly detained in the Payne Whitney psyche ward of New York Hospital. Her nightmares had come true.

In what some hail as the funniest movie ever made, Some Like It Hot,

opposite Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis.

These descriptions are used to explain her "suicide." She was held down, and down, and down, until she was buried in her own misery. However, Marilyn at the end of her life was quite different from the victim history has tried to make her. After her last film, Something's Got to Give, was temporarily shut down and she fired, she bounced back with an intensity and spirit that she had not shown for some time. She was focused, determined, and finally taking control. She too was making plans to weed the insincere people out of her life, including the Strasbergs, whom she was about to remove from her will. (Unfortunately, that didn't happen, so they are still bleeding her dry). Some theorize that after the double humiliation of her career flub and her crumbling and sadistic relationships with Jack and Bobby Kennedy, she had had enough. She had been walked on, lied to, used, passed around, blamed, and shamed for too long. Taking the reigns, looking more beautiful and more mature than she had in her life, Marilyn seemed to be on her way back to the top. Then, suddenly , she was dead. Her death was ruled a suicide, but evidence from the case actually pointed to foul play. Between the contrived death scene, her toxicology report, the stifled testimony of those present at her death, and the enraged proclamations of friends who knew her best, the only thing tragic about Marilyn Monroe's suicide seems to be the fact that it was no suicide at all, just another lie devised to confuse our understanding of her; to pigeonhole her, as she herself would say, as an "erotic freak" who had it coming. So much mystery surrounds her sudden demise that the truth may never be known. Some blame her doctors, some the Kennedys... In the end, it seems that it was Marilyn Monroe alone who was innocent.

A goodbye kiss...

What remains of her is legend, myth, iconography, and our unending fascination. In dying, she transformed instead into an immortal deity and finally and fully delivered herself into the hands of her public, her fans, the only ones who truly loved her. For, in the end, all the girl wanted was to be loved. Who is Marilyn Monroe? Whoever you want her to be. That was her great sacrifice. She didn't care how or why the camera fixated on her, as long as it maintained its gaze. As long as it held her in place, kept her in a warm and safe embrace, and gave her at long last a place to belong. The great attention it paid her was returned in full as she sent waves of her own indescribable light back onto us. For this, we too are grateful, and so we continue to rally around her and hold her up as one of our own, one of our brightest, and one of our most beloved. There will never be another Marilyn Monroe. There never was a Marilyn Monroe. But there was a shy and lovable woman who lived inside a manufactured armor, sometimes enjoying its sheen and sometimes suffering under its incredible weight. Hopefully, in her death, she has emerged from it as from a cocoon, existing freely in and melding to the things she always felt she belonged: "...to the ocean and the sky and the whole world."