Listen to Me Marlon dir. by Stevan Riley (review)

Marlon Brando was a complex man, to say the least. A legend in his own time, he spent decades in therapy trying to figure out who he was and how he fit into the scheme of things. Fortunately for posterity, he recorded many, if not most, of his sessions, along with business meetings, press conferences, random musings, and voice-mail messages. He kept a running journal of his life on audiotape, rather than writing it down.

Brando labeled all these tapes and kept them neatly ordered and filed. The Brando estate ultimately turned this trove over to film producer John Battsek who, along with director Stevan Riley, cooked up the idea of using these recordings—along with various archival sources—to allow Brando to tell his own story: “Brando on Brando.” Riley told a Vanity Fair writer that he was originally dubious as to whether this plan could even be realized. It must have been quite a challenge, but he pulled it off, and the results are stunning. Listen to Me Marlon incorporates one of the most creative approaches used in a documentary film.

The film was composed in the editing room. Nearly all of it consists of archival footage juxtaposed with the audiotapes, and this is where it gets challenging—and creative. Sometimes the connections are impressionistic and ethereal, even surreal. Brando’s estate cooperated with the filmmakers, and did not interfere or try to steer the outcome.

The main theme of the film seems to be Brando’s struggle with fame, as well as his accompanying sense of having sold out. The result is a sense of the actor’s deep shame and disillusionment. We watch Brando, a trained dramatist who started out as a purist and loathed Hollywood hacks, strive unsuccessfully to reconcile his devotion to his art with the fact that film is, at bottom, a business and perhaps nothing more. He discovers there is no place in Hollywood for idealists. Bit by bit, we watch him become more and more cynical, until he becomes exactly what he hates, gloating that the producers of the schlocky 1978 Superman paid him $14 million for a couple of weeks’ work. He rationalizes that he needs the money in order to buy his own island in the South Pacific—so he can escape his own fame, which is driving him insane. The fact is, Brando was none too stable to begin with.

Ultimately, money failed to insulate Brando from personal disasters and heartaches, of which he had his share. Brando came from a dysfunctional home and would remain damaged throughout his lifetime. We also watch the actor transform from a trim, muscular sex god to a 350-lb. Jabba the Hut. The film leaves audience wondering whether Brando may have been working hard to sabotage himself and his career, or if he was just trying to test the limits of what his admirers would put up with.

Listen to Me Marlon is a highly recommended, sometimes unsettling glimpse inside the mind of a 20^th Century icon. It provides insights that Brando’s 1994 autobiography could not. It is also, on its own, a milestone in documentary filmmaking.