Brando: Colorful,
contentious, genius

By Bob Thomas

updated 5:40 p.m. ET July 2, 2004

LOS ANGELES - The young man piloted his wheelchair down the corridors of the Birmingham Veterans Hospital in the San Fernando Valley, calling a warm hello to patients, many on crutches or in wheelchairs.

He wheeled into a room, stopped beside the bed. Using his muscular arms, he hauled himself onto the bed, then lifted, one by one, his seemingly useless legs.

This was my first acquaintance with Marlon Brando.

Obviously he was not a disabled World War II veteran. After his meteoric success on Broadway in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” he had been showered with offers from the big studios. In 1950 he chose instead an independent filmmaker, Stanley Kramer, who was producing “The Men,” about a paraplegic soldier trying to adjust to his new life.

MARLON BRANDO (1924-2004) Marlon Brando dies at age 80 Brando cremated in a private funeral Hartl: Original 'method' man was a contender Ventre: Sean Penn carries on Brando's tradition Brando: Colorful, contentious, genius Marlon Brando redefined acting In Hollywood, fans fondly recall Brando American Indians mourn Brando's death   Video: A look at Brando's legendary career Share your memories of Brando   Slide show: Images of Brando

He remained at the hospital for a month and was adopted by the veterans as one of them. He accompanied them to their favorite watering hole on Ventura Boulevard, where one night a tipsy woman preached that they could walk if they believed in God. Brando rose wobbly from his wheelchair, did a little dance and ran out of the bar yelling, “I can walk! I can walk!”

Consummate storyteller
I was intrigued by this funny, immensely talented, young actor and over a 20-year period grabbed every chance to interview him. I never left without a colorful story, often sprinkled with his sardonic humor.

Asked why he attended the premieres in Tokyo, Hollywood and New York of “Mutiny on the Bounty,” which he hated, he replied, “If it didn’t succeed, I would be standing alone in the Gobi Desert.”

Asked about the progress of the sea adventure, “Morituri,” he replied, “It’s like pushing a prune pit with my nose from here to Cucamonga. And here I find myself in Azusa,” referring to a couple of suburbs east of Los Angeles.

“What a bore,” Brando grumbled as he sat on the deck of a Bounty replica off Papeete in 1961. Against all warnings, the company had come to Tahiti during the rainy season, and the movie was disastrously behind schedule.

Despite the troubles, the “Bounty” location marked the beginning of Brando’s love affair with Tahiti.

“I’ll hate to leave,” he told me. “This is the first time in 10 years that I’ve been able to feel comfortable among people. Only in Moscow or Peking or some of the Iron Curtain countries could I find the anonymity that I have lost.”

“A Countess from Hong Kong” in mid-’60s seemed like an ideal project: a comedy with Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren, directed by the great Charlie Chaplin. When I visited the London set, it seemed funereal. The crew spoke in whispers as Chaplin pondered the next scene. Brando suggested we meet later at his flat in Chester Square.

He greeted my wife Pat and me in bare feet and a karate suit, eating a plate of spinach as a dieting regimen. About Chaplin: “He’s a nice old gent. We do things his way, that’s all... So I’ve been following instructions. I’ve done that before, with (Elia) Kazan and...” He couldn’t think of any others.

Personal journey
A few years later Marlon, Pat and I were sitting on the white sand of Papeete with a bottle of rare cognac, watching a faraway storm light up the night sky. The cognac seemed to open Marlon up.

“My father was a traveling salesman and my mother was a drunk,” he said, “and I had a complete nervous breakdown at the age of 19. I might easily have become a criminal. Only by 10 years of intensive psychoanalysis did I manage to retain my sanity.”

That most stirring encounter with Marlon would be my last.

In 1971, Random House offered me a contract to write a biography of Brando. I thought “Marlon” was a balanced and generally sympathetic account of a remarkable life, though I necessarily dealt with his romances and marriages. His secretary thought so too, and she urged Marlon to read it. He refused.

We didn’t see each other for years, so the verdict was a long time in coming. Jim Mahoney, a prominent Hollywood publicist who apparently bears a resemblance to me, recounted a visit to his client, George C. Scott, on the set of “The Formula.” Scott’s co-star, Brando, entered the room, glanced at Mahoney and immediately departed.

The publicist was puzzled until Brando reappeared and explained: “I thought you were the son of a bitch who wrote a book about me.”

Thereafter, I could only view Brando’s life from afar.

The legacy of Marlon Brando, who died Thursday at 80, can be witnessed not only in his own classic films but in a host of other movies of the last half-century.

His influence began with James Dean. Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and others were next to follow the Brando pattern. Johnny Depp, Brando’s co-star in “Don Juan DeMarco,” is the most prominent disciple in today’s generation.

As Brando’s “On the Waterfront” co-star Rod Steiger remarked, “He freed us all.”

MORE FROM MARLON BRANDO (1924-2004)

Brando’s estate valued at $21.6 million

Brando’s estate valued at $21.6 million Brando cremated in a private funeral Remembering Brando Penn carries on Brando's tradition Film legend Marlon Brando dies at age 80 Newsweek: Marlon Brando, 1924-2004 Marlon Brando redefined acting Brando: Colorful, contentious, genius In Hollywood, fans fondly recall Brando American Indians mourn Brando's death   Add Marlon Brando (1924-2004) headlines to your news reader: