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Coulda' been a contender? Waterfront is nothing less than a champion
Saturday, May 18, 2024
To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of On the Waterfront, conducted earlier this month, click here. To access the May episode of Cineversary, which celebrates this film’s 70th birthday, click here.
On the Waterfront is fully deserving of our attention in its 70th anniversary year for multiple reasons. First, the collective talent on display here is astounding. It’s almost impossible for this film to fail when you have stellar names attached like Brando, Cobb, Rod Steiger, Kazan, screenwriter Budd Schulberg, producer Sam Spiegel, and composer Leonard Bernstein. More importantly, the movie, along with previous recent movies by Kazan and his Actors Studio thespians like Brando, exemplified a new era of acting that was more emotionally plausible and realistic—a style that is both “physical and introspective and distinctly more nuanced, immediate, unpredictable—more truthful—than most acting that preceded it. It’s the style of poetic realism that informs the great performance,” according to Criterion Collection essayist Michael Almereyda. “Kazan virtually invented the style, and refined it in this film, and its power remains undeniable.”
Ponder, too, how Waterfront is a creative personal statement by a gifted but divisive filmmaker—a subtextually political film that is relevant to and revealing about Kazan’s life and beliefs. In 1952, he agreed to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee and name names of friends and colleagues affiliated with the Communist party, an extremely controversial move that haunted Kazan the rest of his life, but that he justified as the right thing to do at the time. He saw himself as personified in the character of Terry, who also felt torn and ultimately compelled to testify against oppressive forces to do, in his mind, the right thing. It’s ludicrous to many how these two things can be equitable, but Kazan nevertheless envisioned himself as a martyr-like outsider who was forced to make a difficult moral choice, like Terry. Many saw Kazan as ratting on friends who got blacklisted simply because of their political beliefs so that Kazan could continue to work in Hollywood—which he did successfully for years afterward.
This picture works as an effective amalgamation of docudrama, film noir, and topical social message movie. This was the era when noir was in full flourish, and social message films were building momentum thanks to the efforts of producers like Dore Schary at MGM and independent filmmaker Stanley Kramer, who made movies like Tea and Sympathy, Bad Day at Black Rock, Blackboard Jungle, The Defiant Ones, On the Beach, Inherit the Wind, and Judgment at Nuremberg. On the Waterfront drew increased public awareness to the problem of corrupted unions and labor racketeering and also benefited from hitting theaters merely weeks following the downfall of Senator Joseph McCarthy.
There’s no denying Waterfront’s critical reputation and status as a statuette heavyweight. It became one of the most honored and decorated films in Oscar history, earning 12 Academy Award nominations and ultimately claiming eight Oscars, among them Best Picture, Best Actor for Brando, Best Supporting Actress for Eva Marie Saint, Best Director for Kazan, Best Screenplay for Schulberg, and Best Cinematography for Boris Kaufman. This film continues to be regarded as an exemplary, important, and inspirational American work, as well. In the American Film Institute’s top 100 American movies list from 1998, On the Waterfront ranked number eight; in the AFI’s 2007 ranking, it placed number 19. On the AFI’s best 100 movie quotes list, the following earned third place: “You don't understand! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am." And Terry Malloy earns the #23 spot on the AFI’s list of 100 greatest heroes.
On the Waterfront is credited as a pioneering project in a few ways. It was in the vein of topical social problem/social message movies that were popular in the 1950s – which often drew from the look and verisimilitude of Italian neorealism as well as the visually expressive style of film noir. And it was inspired by a true story of a longshoreman who attempted to bring down a crooked union, as reported on by Pulitzer-prize-winning journalist Malcolm Johnson in the late 1940s. His articles and the later film brought to light the widespread influence of organized crime within labor unions, a theme that hadn't been thoroughly explored in mainstream cinema previously.
But what’s especially interesting is that the movie employed Kazan’s distinctive blend of “poetic realism” in telling its story. Kazan said: “I don’t think of myself as a realist…I think of myself as a poetic realist or ‘essentialist.’” Typically, poetic realism films, popularized in France in the 1930s, represented a type of reimagined reality, marked by stylized and studio-confined settings versus the raw authenticity seen in documentary-style social realism. But in Waterfront, Kazan and his collaborators chose to shoot on location in Hoboken, New Jersey, showcasing real docks, alleys, tenements, rooftops, bars, and even longshoremen who play themselves as extras. They filmed during cold, wintry conditions—you can often see cold vapor breath trails spewing from the actors’ mouths—and used natural lighting, often eschewing a controlled, fabricated set or stage. Consider the ragged handheld camera shots when Terry stumbles his way back to work after being horribly beaten. Waterfront can often look and feel like real life while also playing as a stylized morality tale divorced from the real world.
“On the Waterfront earns its status as a masterwork and a classic by breaking free of strict realism to tell a story that is, finally and enduringly, a poetic fable,” per Criterion Collection essayist Michael Almereyda. Slant Magazine reviewer Chuck Bowen wrote: “Kazan conjured an illusion of docudrama spontaneity with his on-location shooting that allows him to stage images with psychological symbolism and religious metaphor with relative subtlety… On the Waterfront is a Hollywood fantasy with an unusually distinct atmosphere of disenfranchised frustration that remains contemporary, which is to say that it fulfills an audience member’s daydream of grandeur while fulfilling his or her desire to see a film that speaks directly to their experience.”
Creative decisions from Kazan—who also impresses with his direction of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945), Gentleman’s Agreement (1947), A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), Viva Zapata! (1952), East of Eden (1955), Baby Doll (1956), A Face in the Crowd (1957), and Splendor in the Grass (1961)—help elevate On the Waterfront to the rank of masterwork. Recall how he shrewdly opted to have a ship whistle overpower Terry’s voice when he’s confessing to Edie his role in her brother’s death, suggesting that the impact of this admission and the emotions triggered by his words are more important than the words themselves. The director also cleverly used geography, landscape, and spatial dimensions to demonstrate moral hierarchy across the narrative. Ponder how the waterfront and docks are slightly above sea level, but Friendly’s ironically cramped shack headquarters is just below that, while Edie’s tenement is high above the street and Terry’s rooftop pigeon coop—enclosed within confining wire yet exposed to the great wide open—is at the highest level. Likewise, Kazan commonly employed two-shots or wider compositions in Waterfront to illustrate a character arrangement or power hierarchy, often carefully placing one character opposite another in dominant-subordinate respective positions.
Additionally, Kazan staged some crucial scenes outdoors that perhaps should have plausibly occurred indoors, such as Edie and Terry’s getting-acquainted scene in the park, Terry confessing his guilt to Father Berry outside the church, and Terry’s discovery of his dead brother hanging on a fence. The takeaway here is that Hoboken is not only an important character unto itself but also a witness to these important events, silently observing and absorbing the good and bad words and actions of its people and bearing the scars of the conflict and violence they create.
More significant historically is that Waterfront ushered in a new age of acting authenticity. Brando's portrayal of Malloy marked a sea change in film acting thanks to the performer’s approach to the role and his adherence to the method acting technique, which was characterized by deeply internalizing the character's emotions and delivering a more naturalistic performance. The offbeat choices he makes depicting this pugilistic lost soul, including his mannerisms, facial expressions, line deliveries, and physical gesticulations, inspired thespians of his generation and beyond.
Furthermore, reflect on how this film influenced many screen and stage works in the years following its release. Playwright Arthur Miller was inspired to write the play A View From the Bridge (1955), and Edge of the City (1957), starring John Cassavetes, was an obvious knockoff. Rocky (1976) and Raging Bull (1980), and their brawny yet vulnerable boxer characters, drew heavy influence from Brando’s Malloy. The shy and inexperienced Adrian in Rocky also owes a debt to Saint and her personification of Edie. Martin Scorsese pays homage to Waterfront in Goodfellas (1990) in several shots, including the dead mobster hanging from a hook like Charley. Praising Waterfront, Scorsese commented: “The faces, the bodies, the way they moved…the voices, the way they sounded. They were like the people I saw every day. It was as if the world that I came from, that I knew, mattered.” Three movies released in India were inspired by or served as remakes of On the Waterfront: Kabzaa (1988), Ghulam (1998), and Sudhandhiram (2000). (Interestingly, the contender monologue drew from a predecessor, Force of Evil [1948], which also has a similar scene in the back of a taxicab.)
The casting of Brando proved pivotal, for obvious reasons if you pay close attention to his portrayal and compare it to acting styles of this time. Kazan said: “... what was extraordinary about his performance, I feel, is the contrast of the tough-guy front and the extreme delicacy and gentle cast of his behavior. What other actor, when his brother draws a pistol to force him to do something shameful, would put his hand on the gun and push it away with the gentleness of a caress? Who else could read ‘Oh, Charley!’ in a tone of reproach that is so loving and so melancholy and suggests the terrific depth of pain?”
Roger Ebert believed “Brando cut through decades of screen mannerisms and provided a fresh, alert, quirky acting style that was not realism so much as a kind of heightened riff on reality…He became famous for his choices of physical gestures during crucial scenes…There's a moment when Terry goes for a walk in the park with Edie…She drops a glove. He picks it up, and instead of handing it back, he pulls it on over his own workers' hands. A small piece of business on the edge of the shot, but it provides texture…And look at the famous scene between Terry and his brother…it has been parodied endlessly (most memorably by Robert De Niro in “Raging Bull”). But it still has its power to make us feel Terry's pain, and even the pain of Charley, who has been forced to pull a gun on his brother.”
Indeed, the latter sequence has rightfully been cited as a game-changer in cinema history. J. Hoberman of the Village Voice opined: “The scene of scenes, in which Terry reproaches his smarter brother (Steiger) for selling him out, is the most triumphant expression of failure in American movies.”
It’s striking how often Brando elects to, despite facing a character he’s talking or listening to, cast his eyeballs elsewhere, far off in the distance. No other actor in the film does this, which makes this idiosyncrasy stand out. Actors in the classic Hollywood period typically maintained eye contact or looked up at an opposite character’s forehead or hair when engaged in a dialogue, but not Brando.
Quick sidebar: It’s noteworthy that, early in his film career, Brando became known for playing martyr-like personalities who often take a serious physical beating yet defy the odds and fight back, as evidenced in this film as well as Viva Zapata! (1952), One-Eyed Jacks (1961), The Fugitive Kind (1960), The Appaloosa (1966), and The Chase (1966).
It makes sense that neither Cobb, Steiger, nor Malden picked up a win for their Best Supporting Actor nominations because they’re each so good that they likely canceled each other out among Oscar voters. Steiger is particularly memorable in his more mannered style contrasting with Brando—and it helps that the actors look like they could be related. And Cobb practically oozes steam from his pores when he reveals the hair-trigger rage that colors his character and stares with those fiery eyes. Malden’s Father Barry more than capably looks his part, commands a righteous indignation that’s crucial for this story, and deftly leverages the chemistry he created earlier with Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951).
Making her film debut, Saint shines as the angelic-faced love interest and female voice of principle who helps convince Terry to do the right thing. Her slim and delicate physicality, sincerity, and naïveté juxtapose effectively with Terry’s burly presence and streetwise machismo. Everybody remembers the “coulda been a contender” line, but Edie has the most ethically impactful quote in the film: “Shouldn't everybody care about everybody else? Isn't everybody a part of everybody else?”
On the Waterfront continues to impart valuable life lessons seven decades onward. It certainly preaches the virtues of making the right ethical choice and listening to your conscience. Terry is caught in the middle between two opposing forces—the morally righteous duo of Father Barry and Edie on one side, and the cruel, manipulative thugs led by Johnny Friendly and his brother Charley on the other. He must decide whether to protect the evil status quo or expose them to aid the cause of their exploited workers.
Additionally, this is a cogitation on the corrupting nature of power. Johnny Friendly is depicted as having a tough childhood, but his lust for power has stripped him of any kindness, grace, or humility. Even his overlord, “Mr. Upstairs,” doesn’t hesitate to drop Johnny when his underling brings heat to their operation.
At its core, Waterfront is an affecting redemption story, as well. This is ultimately a yarn about a troubled young sinner who has a chance to do the right thing and redeem his self-respect, dignity, and soul. This theme ties in nicely with the backstory that Terry was a prizefighter, one who “coulda’ been a contender,” but lost his opportunity; this represents his second chance, the ability to fight the mob bosses and stand up for the little guy.
The film reminds us, too, that we are our brother’s keeper. It teaches us that human beings have a responsibility to help and protect others, especially those in duress. Edie expresses this in her question to Terry: “Shouldn't everybody care about everybody else?” Terry’s responses are telling: “What good does it do ya besides get ya in trouble? You wanna hear my philosophy of life? Do it to him before he does it to you…Down here, it’s every man for himself.” Terry’s change of heart and brave stand against the mob demonstrate that even one determined man – small as he is against the might of the machine – can have a significant effect on the lives of many.
Sacrifice, martyrdom, and faith represent a powerful thematic triumvirate in Waterfront. Terry must risk his life by choosing to inform on the criminals and trust in the intangible power of faith—not religious belief, but personal conviction—espoused by Edie and Father Barry, which is in contrast to the very tangible allure of money and power wielded by Friendly. Joey paid the price earlier by being killed after informing, and he serves as a Christ-like figure when we see his body cradled in Edie’s hands. Other religious motifs and imagery are used throughout the film, including the shot of Father Barry ascending from the cargo hold with Dugan’s corpse like he’s rising to heaven, and Charlie’s body hanging slumped and dead on a hook, resembling a crucified Christ. Recall, too, how the near-dead Terry is resurrected to life by the priest’s inspiring words.
If you’re a fan of cinematic symbols and motifs, Waterfront’s got plenty. Among the signifiers prevalent are:
- Pigeons, identified with Terry and vice versa. Terry wants to live free and simple like them, but they’re also vulnerable to the hawks he mentions to Edie; Terry can also be viewed as a “stool pigeon” by the mob.
- Hooks, used by the longshoremen in their work but which signify the heavy, dangerous weights that hang over them literally and, in the form of Friendly’s thugs, figuratively. Hooks also play into the talon-like imagery of the hawks that endanger pigeons that Terry mentions.
- The rooftop, standing as a sanctuary and retreat from the oppressive world below and a step closer to aspiring to new moral, religious, and personal heights that Terry, even subconsciously, yearns for. Joey was a past denizen of the rooftop and became a victim because of it.
- The Hudson River, representing a demarcation line between the exploited workers and the majestic Manhattan skyline beyond—a line that they cannot cross due to their symbolic slavery.
- Gloves, which are dropped and/or removed by Edie and Charlie, leaving exposed hands that epitomize their vulnerability. Terry playing with and putting on Edie’s dropped glove, while a subtle move, indicates an intimate, sexual, harmless as well as aggressive gesture.
Perhaps certain elements of Waterfront haven’t aged as gracefully viewed through the modern lens. Case in point: Malden’s Father Barry comes off as a bit too preachy to some tastes. The character and its performer could benefit from more nuance, internal conflict, and a greater range of emotions. Malden is primarily playing this priest in a one-note fashion, unswervingly virtuous, heavy-handed, and sanctimonious. One can respect that this is necessary for the character as written, but it’s hard to relate to a 1950s-era man of the cloth whose best efforts at appearing human and down to earth are to ask for a cigarette or a glass of beer. Then there’s the scene where Terry busts down Edie’s door, grabs her as she’s clad in a skimpy slip, and forces her to kiss him as she acquiesces to his passion—which doesn’t play so nicely today. While it’s only one short segment, Terry becomes a much less sympathetic character nowadays. Lastly, the brassy, emotional musical score by Bernstein, while superb in many sections, sometimes catches the ear as syrupy and prolonged.
Flaws aside, the biggest present this picture bestows on us in its 70th birthday year is its ability to inspire. Terry’s devolution then evolution from promising pugilist to conformist palooka to rebellious protester to witness for the prosecution to bare-knuckled boss-buster is a stirring flight path we follow and admire. His pluck, and Brando’s extraordinary embodiment and rendering of that underdog gumption and avenging angel resolve, light a fire in the viewer’s belly and help make Waterfront revisits reliably gratifying. Audiences love a good David versus Goliath story, and this film never disappoints on that level. It holds up surprisingly well for a 1950s-era film in the 2020s, primarily because corruption and pessimism never go out of style in the modern era. One of the best exchanges in the film is when Terry tells Edie that pigeons are faithful and “get married just like people,” which provokes Terry’s younger buddy Tommy to say “Better.” That cynical view of humanity in one simple word sums up how far we’ve fallen as a species and how much of a triumph Terry, the pigeon-like ex-prizefighter with a birdbrain but the heart of a champion, achieves by the conclusion of the narrative.
