Who Ended up Being "The Next Brando"?

For as long as I can remember, many up-and-coming actors have been given the appellation, The Next Brando. A few names that come to mind:

James Dean
Paul Newman
Steve McQueen
Christopher Jones
John Saxon
Horst Bucholz
Russell Crowe
Mickey Rourke
Sean Penn
Steven Hill
Martin Landau
Burt Reynolds
Al Pacino
James Caan
Robert De Niro
Ben Gazzara
John Cassavetes
Peter Falk
Martin Sheen


...and many more, I'm sure...

So who came closest to being "The Next Brando", and what the Hell does that actually mean? Has there been anyone with that kind of effect on the acting profession?

On a related note, I remember a Siskel & Ebert show where they compared the careers of Humphrey Bogart and Jack Nicholson...do these actors have any acolytes?

I guess the influence of Marlon Brando is everywhere, even if it isn't readily acknowledged by today's "hot" stars.

I have more questions than answers when it comes to this (or any other) topic, but I was hoping this could be hashed out in the comments section. Feel free to speak your mind about this important world issue.

Okay... sing, you sinners!

There Will Never Be Another You: Marlon Brando.

The Ex-Mrs. Bradford (1936)

I finally got to watch one of my most-sought-after movies on TCM last night, 1936’s The Ex-Mrs. Bradford, starring William Powell and Jean Arthur. The film is part of what I call the Husband and Wife Detective Team genre. I did enjoy the movie, which sped by at a brisk eighty minutes. It’s not a great movie like The Thin Man, and it falls short of the 1935 Thin Man knockoff also starring Powell, Star of Midnight (1935), co-starring Ginger Rogers. But The Ex-Mrs. Bradford has enough going for it to recommend to obsessed fans of the Husband and Wife Detective sub-genre. Here we have William Powell on loan from MGM and Jean Arthur was also on loan, as she was under contract to Columbia Pictures until 1944.

Lawrence Bradford (Powell) a successful doctor, is enjoying dinner (prepared by his butler, Stokes; a shamefully underused Eric Blore) when his ex-wife Paula (Jean Arthur) comes in with a lawyer who serves Dr. Bradford—called “Brad” by Paula—with a subpoena for “non-payment of support” which the wealthy mystery writer Paula says was just an excuse to see him again. Paula joins Brad for dinner and drops the bombshell that she wants to re-marry the good doctor. According to Bradford-- in a line I’ve quoted for years—the reason for their divorce was her cockeyed murder mysteries. Why this destroyed their marriage is never explained, except that they made Dr. Bradford “a wreck.” It’s pretty thin stuff, even for a 1930s sleuthing couple movie. Anyway, a jockey dies under mysterious circumstances and the jockey’s trainer asks Brad to investigate. When the trainer ends up dead at Bradford’s door, the doctor must clear himself with the help of his kooky ex-wife; or something like that.

All the Thin Man ingredients are sort of in place but the script lets everyone down. The mystery is somewhat interesting but we never get to know the suspects or their motives. The supporting cast is flat and anonymous—even the usually-dependable James Gleason seems out of his element—and Eric Blore is criminally underused in the potentially hilarious role of the butler, Stokes. He gets one good sight gag, and that’s all. Jean Arthur gets nothing to work with and many of her lines—seeming misunderstandings—fall flat every time. She’s also filmed through an industrial-strength cheese cloth for some of her close ups--extreme even for this era! Arthur looks as though she were filmed through a cloud. And I kept waiting for William Powell to dazzle me with his usual panache, but even the potential gags and one-liners he gets don’t come off with any energy.

The real star of this film is the Art Deco apartment by Van Nest Polglase, whose praises I’ve sung before. It’s a way of fully absorbing this world that I obsess over the living quarters of a detective movie set. Dr. Bradford has a beyond-great apartment—I can’t remember if it's in New York or Los Angeles—and I spent much of the movie trying to navigate its dimensions. It has a foyer with an entrance to the living room and to Bradford’s doctor office on the other, located in the turret of the place on an upper-level floor. The living room is like a wheel with the adjoining rooms spokes leading to and from it. Watching this movie is worth it just for this great apartment. Bradford even has a projector niche hidden behind a painting that allows for movies to be shown across the dining room and on the living room wall. This is what every self-respecting, wealthy, urbane 1930s detective should have! The projector also features in the film’s closing gag and ensures a happy ending. If I ever get the chance to watch The Ex-Mrs. Bradford again, it will be to sketch out a blueprint of his elegant and sophisticated apartment.

Could RKO have had an Ex-Mrs. Bradford film series based on this single entry? Probably, but the movie is slight and half-hearted in almost every aspect of its execution, even for this genre. A better supporting cast would’ve worked wonders here, as would a coherent script with some bite. It’s barely adequate as is and even the titanic star power of Powell and Arthur cannot make it shine. The Art Deco set is a wonder, and anyone with an interest in 1930s high glamour should watch just for that. I’m a big enough fan of the Husband and Wife sub genre to watch The Ex-Mrs. Bradford over and over, but not because it’s a great—or even average—movie.

Now What Would Asta Do...?

1930s Deco Perfection

Take a look at Joan Crawford, Carole Lombard, and Kay Francis. All long and lean--well, not really, of the three ladies, only Kay Francis was actually tall: 5'9" (1.75 Meters) Crawford was 5'5" and Lombard 5'2"! Hollywood had the art of illusion down pat, especially in the 1930s. I love finding photographs of 1930s stars done in a Deco-style setting. It drives home the fact that movie stars were truly at their peak of prestige and the most desirable objects--yes, objects--of the general public's fantasy during that time. It sure makes for some striking imagery.

Carole Lombard

When people think of glamour, they must think of the 1930s, an era so glamorous--at least when it came to Hollywood--that it is today--as it no doubt was then--largely unattainable because of its very perfection. 1930s gowns leave very little to the imagination: The long, satin, backless gowns expose every flaw and one must have a wonderful build to carry off this look. The short hair popular for women then isn't flattering to every face, either. You should see my wife's grandmother's 1930s nursing school yearbook--so many tragic attempts at beauty with disastrous "done at home" hairstyles--discombobulated bobs, crispy-fried Marcels...if it weren't so hilarious, it'd be four-hanky material. So many women mutilated by well-meaning friends and incompetent, small town hairstylists of semi-rural, Mid-West America. The 1940s, with its stacked shoulder pads, imposed "V" shape, and abundance of fabric is a whole lot easier to emulate because no matter what the body type, it can be done. Not so with the 1930s.

Kay Francis

"Finding" Kay Francis

One afternoon in 2006 I was scanning the channels when I stopped upon Turner Classic Movies and saw an interesting-looking 1930s movie. It may have been this one. Anyway, I forgot about the movie, but I didn't forget what proved to be my introduction to Kay Francis. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see anything else with her in it because I didn't have TCM for eighteen long, bitter, hellacious months. In fact, I wept copious tears when September, 2008 saw TCM spotlighting Kay Francis as their "Star of the Month." Curse my barbed-wire soul for not having TCM! Now that I think about it, how in blazes did I not have internet access AND Turner Classic Movies for so long??? What am I, a Buddhist monk?

Insane, ascetic lifestyle aside, it was only last week when I made sure I tuned in to Turner Classic Movies--I've had it back for a few months now--and I jumped at the chance to see 1932's pre-Code delight, Trouble In Paradise. This also happened to be the first Ernst Lubitsch film I'd ever seen in its entirety. Simply put, Trouble In Paradise is one of the few perfect movie experiences I've ever had. Not a scene, not a word of witty, literate dialogue, not a moment is wasted in this wondrous film. Miriam Hopkins, despite her limited screen time, sparkled, Herbert Marshall gave the performance of his life and then there's Kay Francis...

I'll admit to thinking she wasn't much of an actress, based on what I had foolishly surmised to be the truth. I felt that while she was charismatic and lovely, in an awkward beauty sort of way, I didn't think she had the acting "chops" to interest me. Yet in Paradise, whatever it was she did had me watching her and listening to her wonderful-sounding voice and gazing with adoration at her perfect profile, which was showcased a lot. The film went by like a whirlwind and I barely had time to cheer before it was over. I was left dazzled by the production and I found myself on the lookout for more of Kay Francis. Sorry for the lack of deep, meaningful, and thoughtful analysis of this film, but I'm too gah-gah for that academic stuff now. I'm enjoying the thrill of discovery...

Late to the Party, but there nevertheless.