“When you weighed one hundred and sixty-eight pounds you were beautiful.” – Charley Malloy.

“It was you, Charley.” – Terry Mallow.

We’ll get to Terry (Marlon Brando) and Charley (Rod Steiger) soon enough, especially the famous scene from the image above. Even though that sequence is iconic and has one of the most memorable lines ever delivered in film, there is far more to the acting in On the Waterfront than any particular scene.

Kazan has often been described as an “Actor’s Director.” There’s more truth to that statement than many might realize. He began his directorial career in theater, but rather than stick to the traditional acting styles, he searched for something new and vibrant. He wanted something realistic that people could identify with. He drew from the Stanislavski System, worked with Lee Strasberg, and founded the Actor’s Studio in 1947. Many of the actors from this studio would become regulars in Kazan films, and many would subsequently become Hollywood Stars. The most notable, Marlon Brando, is considered by many to be the best actor that ever lived.

By 1954, Kazan had successfully implemented his acting system to the big screen. His greatest success was in adapting Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, which won three out of the four acting categories (Brando lost). That and other of his films were revolutionary when it came to the acting, but even Streetcar had a theatricality about it. Even though the acting was superb, it did not have the intense realism that was being imported from overseas, specifically Italy. On the Waterfront would change that, and Kazan considers it the one film where the final product was closest to his original vision.

In addition to Brando and Steiger, who were established method actors, there were other Actor’s Studio alums, including Lee J. Cobb, Eva Marie Saint, and Karl Malden. These performances all stand out, and all were nominated for Academy Awards, with Brando and Saint winning. The strength of the acting extends all the way down to amateurs and extras. Just about every human being in the film is convincingly real, whether they deliver one line of dialogue or several.

Johnny Friendly, portrayed by Lee J. Cobb

Cobb had worked with Kazan as Willy Loman on stage in Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. He was no stranger to the method and could play a variety of characters. He would have quite a career. He is often overlooked for his work as Johnny Friendly, but that is mostly based on the strength of his co-stars. He is the ideal villain. While he does not show the same humanity that Terry and Charley show, we understand that his fiery, combative motivation comes from a sense of self preservation.

Johnny probably did not always come off as the villain. We get a sense in the early scenes that he was a mentor for the Malloys when they were kids. That may have been based on his own self-interest of indoctrinating them into the system, casting favor onto them so they would remain loyal and not “squeal,” but all the same, the hostility Terry would feel toward him was likely a new development. Johnny would remind them where they came from, but he also expected them to do his bidding without question. If someone crosses him, they were gone. It could be something as small as getting a money count wrong (which implies stealing) or worse, talking about their operation to the commission.

Cobb’s performance is nuanced to a degree, in that we see him calmly giving out orders, maintaining his composure under some pressure, while we also see him in a state of fury and rage when the situation calls for it. The ending confrontation between Johnny and Terry is legendary, with an amazing, explosive exchange between both actors.

Father Barry, portrayed by Karl Malden

Terry Malloy might be the protagonist of the film, but Father Barry is unquestionably the “good guy.” He is a local Catholic priest who exhibits real concern and passion for the people who are being taken advantage of down at the docks. Rather than play the priest in stereotypical, solemn fashion, he strikes a balance between Barry’s obsession toward righting the wrong, and even his toughness by standing up to the organized local that he knows has been guilty of terrible crimes including murder.

When he is talking to the dockworkers, especially Terry Mallow, he is understanding of their fears and concerns, while also taking upon himself to get them to take action. He uses religion when needed to prove his point that acting against those in power is not only in the people’s interest, but is in God’s interest as well. When Terry Malloy tells him, “If I spill, my life ain’t worth a nickel,” he quickly retorts, “How much is your soul worth if you don’t?” Most importantly, he is not afraid for his own well being, and in this respect he is one-sided, but Malden adds as much dimension and tenacity as he can.

Edie Doyle, portrayed by Eva Marie Saint

Brando tends to get credit for the great performance in the film, but his work was enhanced by the great work of the people he acted with. Saint was a newcomer to acting, but she had also been educated via the Actor’s Studio. She was also personally similar to her character. She was a scared, inhibited, naive 19-year-old.

Edie is a fragile character, still dealing with the loss of her brother, while being pursued aggressively by Terry. She is reluctant to open up, partly due to her sensitivity with the loss fresh in her mind, but also because of her reservations with Terry’s favored position by the locals in power. She becomes embroiled in the quest of Father Barry and the confidence of Terry Malloy, who is torn as to what he should do. Through her performance, we understand Saint’s manic reaction to what is going on around her. During the wedding scene, she is literally crying at one point, and tentatively dancing with Malloy moments later. Her performance is magnificent, and she helps endear us to both characters, making them more sympathetic.

Charley Malloy, portrayed by Rod Steiger

Rod Steiger has been accused often of over-acting and being hammy. I touched on that to an extent when reflecting on Jubal. He does the same thing on occasion in On the Waterfront. He plays Terry’s brother Charley, who is a ranking member of the union mob.

Most of the time Steiger stays in the character of the henchman and trusted man of Johnny Friendly, fighting his battles, even if those are against his own brother. At times he is quietly obedient to his boss, while at others he would raise his voice and thunderously bash someone who either does not conform to the system or rejects it. He is a company man, through and through. Steiger is excellent in the role, one of the few times I think he has shown his true potential as an actor (the other is The Pawnbroker, which should have landed Steiger an Oscar).

While Steiger has many bright moments, he was at his best during the cab scene. I’ll come back to that momentarily.

Terry Malloy, portrayed by Marlon Brando

I consider Marlon Brando’s performance in On the Waterfront to be the greatest of all time. Some have dismissed him of basically playing a mumbling, gum-chewing buffoon, but that’s part of the strength of the performance. He is a buffoon, but so is Terry Malloy, a former prizefighter with barely any education. Brando is completely realistic in the role, using the vernacular of the waterfront and fitting in with the locals, many of whom were extras that actually were Longshoremen.

Brando is not only engaging and entertaining to watch, but he also carries the personal nuance and sensitivity that his character needs. We need to believe that he would be respected by the mob, yet also they could be afraid of him and what he knows. We need to believe that he is charming enough to lure Edie to his side, while also sensitive enough to not scare her away. We need to believe that this is a man who used to knock people out for a living, who now works at the docks, yet spends his spare time caring for pigeons on a rooftop. The audience has to like the character as much as Edie and Father Barry do, and we have to rally behind him in order to make the plot and ending work. He has to become the underdog.

Brando puts on a clinic with method acting. Yes, he does chew gum. He fidgets and plays with his hair, but these are all things that normal people do. That’s what Kazan was going for. He did not want someone like Ralph Richardson or Laurence Olivier (both fantastic actors, just different). He wanted someone who could act naturalistic at and around the docks. Using props, gestures and body mannerisms was one of the ways Brando would keep himself on his toes. He needed to be distracted enough in the scene that he could be convincing at being the person, and not just enunciating some previously written lines. His performance has the feeling of an improvisation, and some of the best moments come from material that he and his co-stars previously improvised.

The glove scene with Eva Marie Saint

The courting scene between Terry and Edie is a classic, and is notable for the use of the glove. She drops her glove while he is trying to talk to her. He picks it up, plays with it, and eventually puts the glove on, hinting at some sexuality. By this action, with her personal belonging invaded, she gets a little more comfortable and closer to him. They are connected with that glove. When she takes it back at the end of the scene and puts it back on her hand, she is a changed woman and the relationship has made progress.

The glove scene came out of an improvisation during rehearsal. She dropped the glove and Kazan let them keep going. Many directors would have stifled this creativity, but the actors made it work and Kazan used it in the completed film. It is one of the most memorable scenes in the film.

The Contender

If you haven’t seen On the Waterfront, you’ve probably heard of or seen the infamous cab scene and the “Contender” line somewhere before. I’ve seen the movie about 3-4 times, but I’ve seen the cab scene easily a dozen times, maybe two dozen, and it gets to me every time. Even though it stands alone as an exceptional scene, it is the culmination of the performances up to that point that really makes it special.

We learn through dialogue and exposition that Terry used to be a boxer, but that his career ended because he had to take a dive. We do not learn the caliber a fighter he was, or the perspective of Charley until the cab scene.

Terry gently pushing the gun down.

The scene begins with Charley trying to talk some sense into his brother. He doesn’t want him to testify at the commission. When he makes little progress, he uses violent manipulation, probably the same way he has used it many times before. He pulls a gun on his brother and demands that he take a comfortable job in exchange for his silence. This is where Steiger’s propensity for big acting really works. When Terry refuses and Charley realizes that he might testify, things get heated. The performance reaches an unexpected point of tension when the gun comes out. The way Brando reacts is touching. Rather than cowering in fear or getting defensive, he just shakes his head, says his brothers name, and slowly pushes the gun away. He is not angry, just disappointed.

From there, the situation completely changes and the brothers are on even footing. There’s no way that Charley could kill his brother, and him pulling the gun was as empty a threat as he could muster. The scene picks up in this YouTube and this is where the magic really begins.

Even though the “Contender” line is the famous one (#3 on AFI’s Greatest Quotes list), there are another four words that really cut to the heart of the matter and are the most affecting. “It was you, Charley.” They reminisce about old times. He talks of Terry when he was 168 pounds and beautiful, how he could have been “another Billy Conn.” Charley blames it on a manager. No, “it wasn’t him Charley, it was you,” Terry says.

From there the speech happens.

I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could’ve been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let’s face it. It was you, Charley.

Brando delivers the speech with gusto, with passion, with precision. Terry has been waiting ever since that fateful night where he took the dive and lost his shot, feeling resentful towards his brother the whole time. He does not overact here. He does not scream with rage. His words are those of disappointment, of dejection. His dreams were shattered, and finally he can express himself to the man who crushed them, all to make a quick buck.

The rush of passion is gone when he says “It was you, Charley.” The line is delivered with just a feeling of shame for his brother, that he was so short-sided that he ended a dream.

Steiger does not get the credit he deserves for this scene, but the way he reacts is just as important to the scene as the way Brando delivers the dialogue. The way Steiger is silent and expressionless as the words hit him enhances the scene. He is clearly affected by the remarks his brother has made, and immediately changes direction, which seals his fate. He loves his brother and realizes that it was him. There is no overacting here, just acceptance. “Okay, okay,” he says. That’s it.

Through these few minutes, we have someone pulling a gun on his brother, and then just moments later, giving the gun up and sacrificing himself out of love. We see a brief glimpse of Charley, the authoritarian figure, when he barks at the driver, “You, you pull over.” The rest plays out as it has to.

Having seen the scene so many times, it is difficult to put into words how meaningful and memorable it is. The only way I can describe it is beautifully tragic. It is pure power. Brando and Steiger, through Kazan and a makeshift set, made one of the highest points of American cinema in a matter of minutes. It is still remembered vividly 60 years later, and will continue to be remembered as a key part of cinema history.

“This film has no pretension of solving the problem of Franco-German relations, for they cannot be solved while the barbarous Nazi crimes, committed with the complicity of the German people, remain fresh in men’s minds.” – Le silence de la mer

The above words are the opening statement from Jean-Pierre Melville before his first film about the German occupation of France during World War II, Le Silence de la mer. The words represent his anger, and would color his other two films about the resistance. His take on the occupation is pointed, caustic, tragic, and in many instances he does not pull his punches, accusing both French and German alike of misdeeds.

Jean Pierre Melville came from Jewish ancestry, and grew up “in a cultured, bourgeois-Bohemian environment” (Vincendeau). He was fond of American culture, and even changed his surname from Grumbach to Melville in honor of American author, Herman Melville. He served in the military and participated in the French resistance, but details are scant as to what specifically he did. He has revealed little about his activities, and we can only speculate as to the level of autobiography in his later films, although it is clear they are based on his own experiences.

Melville became a cinephile at a young age, and during the 1930s he consumed cinema from morning to night. He claimed to go to the cinema at 9am and leave at 3am, immersing himself completely in the world of cinema. Classical Hollywood and American culture influenced him to the point that “for most of his adult life he wore a Stetson hat and dark glasses, and smoked large cigars” (Williams). Despite his obvious appreciation for all things American, he was also entrenched in the French film culture, among others.

Politically, Melville was an enigma, but he has admitted to being a communist from 1930 to 1939. Afterward, he became a “right wing anarchist” according to his own words. His films show some of these political images, albeit still with some ambiguity. His resistance films are similar in fashion as many of the left-wing films of the 1930s. His gangster or noir films are less political, but you can see a hint of his anarchic philosophy.

His career began in rebellious and anarchic style, with him filming without permission from the unions. He used unconventional methods, such as small crews shooting entirely on location. This would begin his career as a filmmaker in radical fashion. He would produce his films independently and eventually from his own studio, establishing himself as an outsider in the post-war French cinema scene.

La Silence de la mer

Melville’s first film shows resistance in a subtle and quiet form. During the war, a German occupying officer imposes on an uncle and niece’s house for lodging. As they live together, he tries to engage the pair in friendship and conversation. He loves France and its culture, and is blinded by the atrocities committed by his side during the war. They resist by not speaking to him, barely even acknowledging his presence. That he turns out to be a likeable and benevolent person is irrelevant to their resistance, and despite his efforts, they do not break their silence throughout the entirety of the film.

Unlike many of Melville’s later American-style gangster films, this one was in familiar, French film language. Even though having two main characters hardly speak during the film was uncommon for the time, the tone is similar to the later 1930s darker poetic realism. At first it appears the guest is a foreboding, evil German and his hosts are unflinching and condemning. They have an arc that reveals that they are not as unflinching as they intend. The German has some admirable qualities, and charms his hosts to a certain degree. They emote differently during their later, friendlier encounters. Despite their change in expressions, the French pair do not ever speak.

These multifaceted characters are not dissimilar to Marcel Carné’s characters in Hotel Du Nord and Port of Shadows, who are endearing despite their flaws. Another example is how officers from opposing sides find common ground in Renoir’s Grand Illusion. If Melville’s characters would not have parted, they may have eventually broken their silence and found mutual, common ground.

What is striking about the film is that Melville is glorifying the German character, and in a sense, indicting the French. By ignoring his overtures, they do themselves and their cause a disservice. They make no progress and live in discomfort for the entirety of the officer’s stay. The resistance in this case is fruitless and unnecessary. The same could be said with the actual resistance, which would in many cases prove divisive and counterproductive. Melville likely saw this lack of progress in person during his own experiences, and his shift away from communism to the right during the war was probably rooted in what he saw and observed as a member of the army and resistance.

Léon Morin, Priest

Of Melville’s resistance pieces, Léon Morin, Priest is the least aggressive and political. The resistance itself is more in the backdrop, as the plot is about a moral, sexual and spiritual exploration between a single mother named Barny and Léon Morin, a Catholic priest. He directs her towards Catholic teachings without directly trying to convert her, yet eventually and surprisingly, she converts on her own, perhaps to protect her daughter who is in hiding, and because of her romantic attraction to Morin.

Even though it does not make an overt statement about the resistance, there are a few subtle hints. One example is that her daughter is Jewish and named France, and she is sent away to avoid persecution during the occupation, only to return when the Germans leave. Other examples are in the dialog. When arguing with a co-worker about collaborating versus resisting, she says, “Better that France die than live in mortal sin.” Resistance efforts are often mentioned in passing. In one instance Morin mentions the bombing of a building, which Barny walked by without noticing. There are several areas where it could be argued that Melville is making statements about the resistance, such as Barny’s conversion – possibly she is converting to the resistance and away from collaboration.

Again, the film language here resembles 1930s poetic realism cinema. The quiet emphasis on character under the cloud of resistance recalls some of the gloomy late 1930s darker pictures. The story is dialog driven with little action, unlike other mainstream resistance pictures. The relationship between the two leads is high on drama, romanticism, poetry, and reality. Léon Morin, Priest was released in the midst of the French New Wave period, and the leads were both famous from New Wave films, yet the film had less in common with the films of its time and more in common with pre-war films.

It is also worth noting that Barny is communist, which Melville decidedly was not at the time, although there may (or may not) have been some lingering sympathies from the time that this was set. Since he had reformed, there is a chance that Barny’s transformation and conversion was a mirror of Melville’s change in political beliefs.

At first glance, the film is not as anti-French as Le silence de la mer, but there are some mixed messages. Melville is clearly pro-resistance, as expressed in Barny’s argument and by Morin’s actions and sympathies towards the Jewish, yet he is not as clearly pro-French. By Barny sending her daughter away, he could be implying that the real France is absent during the resistance, influencing Barny’s spiritual crisis. There is also the matter of Barny’s workplace and the contrast between resisting and collaborating. The fact that prominent characters are collaborators reopens some old wounds.

The biggest indictment and most surprising given Melville’s American influences is near the end of the movie after the Germans have left. The Americans have taken over, and two of them try to sleep with Barny. While they may be the French saviors, they are hardly morally superior to the Germans. After they leave, Barny’s daughter France asks “Are they Germans too?” Melville might have loved American films, but that did not mean he loved American soldiers in his homeland after the war had ended.

Army of Shadows

Of the three Melville resistance films, Army of Shadows is by far the most ambitious, the most personal, and the most highly regarded. It is the story of a resistance cell, mostly from the perspective of Philippe Gerbier, one of the upper level members. The character is allegedly a composite of people Melville actually knew. The story begins with his jailing and escape, and follows along his further adventures as an active member of a resistance group. It ends with the death of virtually everyone in the upper echelon of the organization. The film is both an adventure and a tragedy.

This was one of Melville’s final films, and was an outlier compared to his productions in this late era. Aside from Army of Shadows, his films were exclusively highly masculine gangster film. Like his previous two resistance pieces, this film had some dark minimalism, which was also present in some of his gangster films. The remnants of poetic realism and most other French influences were for the most part discarded in favor of American and English (primarily Hitchcock) crime films. The realism within the movie has less to do with the 1930s, and more to do with Melville’s personal experiences, including his hero worship from the time. His earlier, realism films countered the idea of resister as hero, whereas this film embraces and perpetuates it.

The message in this film is not subtle — the major players in the resistance were courageous, undeniable heroes, but that it was ultimately a waste of efforts, as it cost more lives than were saved. The fates of his main characters punctuates that the resistance was an unspeakable tragedy. While he does not place blame for the futility of the movement, it is hinted that the lack of organization among movements and the hesitation of the French populace to take sides doomed their efforts. Much of the time spent by the resisters in both the film and history, was in rooting out and executing traitors.

The evidence of Melville’s goal with this film is in what he changed from the source material. Ginette Vincendeau notes that Melville “changed the novel to a different vision of resistance characterized by misery and destruction.” She also notes that unlike the previous two resistance films, the Germans in Army of Shadows are unequivocally evil. There are no redeeming values or morality within any of them. Like with Melville’s gangster films, they are portrayed as the bad guys and are flat characters.

Even though more than 25 years had passed since the war ended and this film was produced, Melville’s personal experience screams at the viewer. His anger had not subsided. It is mostly directed towards the Germans, although the French are not unscathed. They are held accountable for incompetence, and they are often shown as collaborators who thwart the heroes. The key example is when Gerbier commands Mathilde to not carry a picture of her daughter with her. Mathilde disobeys and this is the one action that results in the undoing of the entire operation.

Conclusion

Melville spoke from experience when he made his three resistance films. His first resistance film was close enough to the war that the memories and emotions were still raw. This was both a cathartic and a career breakthrough for him. His second resistance film was a way for him to passively process the spiritual and moral dilemma that encompassed not just him personally, but the entire French people during the time. His final piece on the subject was by far the most autobiographical, the most personal and the most damning of the cause as a whole. Enough time had passed that he was able to tell the tale from a distance, using the American film style that he had become accustomed with. Even with the years in between, his anger towards the entire experience is palpable.

There were many filmmakers that addressed the resistance, including Louis Malle, Claude Chabrol, René Clément, Francois Truffaut, among others. While all of these filmmakers lived during the war and had personal experiences and emotions, they were not as deeply involved in the activities as Jean-Pierre Melville. Like many of them, he became a highly skilled director and had a way of expressing his experiences and ideals through film. As a result, his resistance films, particularly the first and last, are among the most profound and memorable on the subject.

Works Cited

Hayward, Susan. French National Cinema.
Phillips, Richard. World Socialist Web Site.
Vincendeau, Ginette. Jean-Pierre Melville: An American in Paris.
Williams, Alan. Republic of Images: A History of French Filmmaking.