This is one of those movies shrouded in legend – that it is brilliant, that Marlon Brando gives one of the best and most influential performances in history, that its ending is a travesty, and it possesses some of the most poetic dialogue written for the screen. It is also a terrible task trying to ignore everything I have heard about the brute Stanley Kowalski and his treatment of poor Blanche Dubois. As I watched, I tried to forget all my prior knowledge of A Streetcar Named Desire .

Mercifully, Streetcar lives up to its reputation. Made in 1951, the screen version is not as strong as Tennessee Williams’ play, on account of the censoring of dialogue, and THAT ending (more on that later). One positive about the cutting of suggestive and sometimes crude dialogue is that Kazan had to find other ways to express characters’ sexuality. Look at the way actors smoke. The characters aren’t actually smoking at all – they’re offering to light each other’s cigarettes, or showing off their cigarette case, or starting a conversation, hoping to go further.

Sexuality is one of the play’s and film’s themes. Stanley is the embodiment of confident heterosexuality. When he looks at women, he is sizing them up for how good they would be in bed. Mitch is sexually repressed, and Blanche refuses to let him express himself. Blanche has an attraction to young males, and is very concerned with her fading beauty. She needs someone not just emotionally, but sexually, to reassure her that she is okay in more ways than one. Stella treats sex as a drug – she’s high as a kite after coming back and sleeping with Stanley, and having Blanche staying with her prevents her and Stanley expressing their sexuality. In the play, Blanche’s young husband was gay, but here that’s only hinted at. Kazan controls these conflicts between characters masterfully, showing sexuality is very important, but such that the film is not about sex.

Kazan’s direction is absolutely terrific, especially in the way he handles the look of the film. The film is deliberately not realistic; it has Kazan’s sense of heightened realism, which accounts for the characters often walking out of smoke or steam (at the train station, out of the bathroom, the Mexican woman in the street, and also when cigarette smoke is exhaled), and specific moments that are almost surreal. When Stella descends to Stanley at the bottom of the stairs, it looks eerie. The sequence is made all the more haunting because it is slightly overdone. We would have been truly shocked by realism, we’re captivated by heightened realism.

Kazan’s particular style is also observed in the echoes of dialogue and gunshots. They reflect Blanche’s wavering sanity, and how close she is to losing her mind. They also serve to confuse her and us, helping us identify with her, as we begin to like her more. Similarly, the way Kazan conveys the main theme of illusion – the script has Blanche never allowing herself to be seen in strong light and saying things like “A woman’s charm is fifty per cent illusion.” Kazan uses devices such as the steam and smoke already mentioned, but also unnatural lighting with his cinematographer Harry Stradling Sr, and frequent use of pointing the camera at a mirror. Instead of seeing what the characters are doing or saying, we see what the characters’ reflections are doing. It’s a subtle difference, and the moment when the mirror is smashed is extremely important, as the reality of Stanley’s actions sinks in.

On the surface, Streetcar has a completely unoriginal and conventional plot. The happy family is disturbed when an outsider enters (or re-enters) their lives. The outside influence tries to split up the married couple, despite the fact that a baby is on the way. But, in the tradition of the Good American Family, the outside influence is vanquished, and the couple remains together (this is a summary of the play, which gives an indication why the film’s end doesn’t really work). It’s a plot used mostly in westerns and romances…but can and has been in just about every genre. The twist here is that the outside influence would be helping, and that the husband is the real villain (Stanley isn’t a real villain, but the most unpleasant character in the film). At the beginning, though, we don’t realise this. Blanche causes her sister to wait on her hand and foot, continually makes comments about the state of their house (and Stanley), and drinks and lies about it. Stanley, though uncouth, wants to know what happened to Belle Reve (Stella and Blanche’s mansion). Anyone who has heard anything about the play will have an idea that we prefer Blanche over Stanley at the end. But in 1951, when the film opened, or 1947, when the play opened, unknowing audiences would have been shocked by this.

The film’s only major flaw comes right at the end. The play’s final image, of Stanley comforting his wife in the only way he knows how, after Blanche has been taken away to an insane asylum (he begins to put his hands down her blouse), is disturbing and horrifying. The American Family wins a Pyrrhic victory, because Stanley also wins. In the film, Stella takes the baby and charges up to her neighbours’ place, as we hear Stanley (offscreen) shout “Stella!”. Of course, the last time this happened, Stella came back, so this ending slightly ambiguous and can be seen as a subtle win for Stanley as well, but it still loses all its power. We know that Stanley thrills Stella, in bed and with his sheer masculinity, and the sudden character change for her to run away rings false, even though she cares dearly for her sister and baby.

Marlon Brando’s Stanley is unlike any other role you’ve ever seen. I have seen two of Brando’s other performances, in On the Waterfront and The Godfather , for both of which he won Academy Awards. I thought he was overrated in both of them – his performances seemed so rehearsed, so mannered, and Brando seemed so detached from both roles. I could see that it was Marlon Brando mumbling, not Terry Malloy or Vito Corleone. His Stanley blew me away. Actors getting the role today have to strive against audiences’ expectations of a character who is not human, an aggressive brute who happily rapes his sister-in-law while his wife is giving birth. Brando plays him as a simple-minded man with a short temper, but also very sensitive. When he explodes with “Will you cut the rebop!” it’s because Blanche is insulting him (as she continually does). After he throws his plate against the wall and tells Stella “My place is all cleaned up. You want me to clean up yours?”. He could have screamed that line, but he says it quietly, threateningly, and the result is far more powerful than if he had gone for the easy option.

Brando also has an amazing physical presence. Fitting with the character’s sexuality, Brando has large muscles, eats greedily, and frequently walks around with a tight shirt or no shirt at all. Blanche is almost ashamed to look at him, but is somehow attracted to him. He also brings out Stanley’s insecurity. When he lets out his heaven-splitting roar of “Stellaaaaaaa!”, he is nearly in tears. All he wants is for Stella to believe in him, and he needs to get rid of Blanche, in order to have that. My one problem with Brando in the film is that he is too attractive and sexy. I didn’t dislike Stanley enough at the end, even after he has done some horrible things. It will be very hard for me to find a Brando performance that is better, I believe, because here, there is no detachment between the actor and the role, and no gesture looks planned or rehearsed.

Vivien Leigh has a difficult role in Blanche. As the faded southern belle who is hanging on to sanity by a thread, she is stuck-up, insecure, manipulative, and self-indulgent. Leigh’s accent wavers during the film, but she holds our interest, and our fears towards the end, as we learn more about her past, and we pity her. Karl Malden’s Mitch is not easy to write about. I preferred him in On the Waterfront , even though his role was flashier, and easier to like. Like everyone else in the play, he is conflicted, but his Mitch is trying to make the best of everything. He tries hard to impress Blanche, who teases him. The smile on his face before Blanche pushes him away for the last time looks plain evil. Kim Hunter probably has the hardest job in the movie. She is almost always Stanley’s wife, or Blanche’s sister. To use a terrible phrase, she is torn between her love for Stanley and for Blanche (in the play, the decision is made for her. Here, she does it herself). When she gets a scene to herself (after sleeping with Stanley), she is delightful, but most of the rest of the time, she is stressed, or angry, or worried. It is strange that everyone spends more time talking about Brando than the other three leads, even though Leigh, Hunter and Malden are written down as having won awards. All three turn in good performances, but it’s almost a crime to have given Brando second billing.

One aspect of the film I really enjoyed was the score. As I commented in my review on Knife in the Water , a saxophone can sound inviting and threatening at the same time. That statement can be expanded to jazz can do the same. It fits perfectly as a metaphor for Stanley, and complements Kazan’s view on New Orleans. I lived there for some time, and loved it. I was not there in deepest summer, though, but from this film, I know what it’s like. Hot, sweaty, tiring, and at the same time, attractive. The setting would be stronger with the uncensored language, but it would have been hard to recreate the setting on stage, surely.

When I was watching it, I wondered what it would be like seeing the film in colour. This is one of the few films that doesn’t use subtle light changes simply for mood or foreshadowing, but as part of the plot. Having the film in colour would have made such light changes harder to make out, unless they were completely overdone (there is a line between heightened realism and overdoing it). It could well have negated the effect of the smoke and steam as well. Cinematographer Stradling works very hard during the film in shooting it beautifully whilst also keeping in mind how best to light the action. Shooting in black and white was the right choice, as it allows for the lighting devices necessary to the action. Even though it is in colour, it would be fair to say that Conrad Hall and Sam Mendes were influenced by this when doing American Beauty .

Although I approached it with some doubt, I came away from A Streetcar Named Desire convinced that I had seen a truly great film. The acting, directing, writing, pacing, and look of the film are perfect. It isn’t realism, but it is magic.

NOTE: When considering titles for my review of Moulin Rouge , I did consider the one I gave this. I decided to keep this one for the superior work.


Recommended:
Yes

Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older