4.5 out of 5 stars

“Elia Kazan is a traitor!” Orson Welles famously pronounced. “He is a man who sold to McCarthy all of his companions, at a time when he could continue to work in New York at a high salary. And having sold all of his people to McCarthy, he then made a film called On the Waterfront, which was a celebration of the informer.” After riotous applause, Welles held up his hand, a look of acquiescence on his face: “I have to add—he is a very good filmmaker.”

Such is the complexity that informs any viewing of On the Waterfront. It’s an exceptionally well-structured film, benefitting from towering performances that were so influential they’ve since been shown in acting schools. It features an essential parable on the importance of standing up against injustice, a film about the ordinary man in his fight against the corruption that besets him on all sides. And in this, there is an earnest plea to do the right thing, no matter how dangerous it may be.

But the central issue is that the film misconstrues what the right thing is: to inform on evil is to do good, but one must first identify an evil correctly. In Elia Kazan’s masterpiece, history is tastelessly distorted, with our director exonerating himself of any wrongdoing two years after committing a disgraceful betrayal: when McCarthy and the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) led a baseless tirade against supposed Communist factions in Hollywood, Kazan named eight Communists in the industry. They were blacklisted.

Compared to the Spanish Inquisition or the Salem witch-hunts, the investigation ruined countless lives. Careers built over years were summarily dashed.

Yet Elia Kazan, in an attempt to save face, maintained that cooperating with HUAC had been the right decision. His choice to direct On the Waterfront was seen as a public declaration of his lack of shame about informing. He was, if anything, turning the tables on his critics. From his perspective, the stench of corruption lay with his accusers.

This move was criticised at the time. Arthur Miller, Kazan’s close friend and the actual playwright who penned the first draft of On the Waterfront, refused to speak to Kazan for years. In his testimony, Kazan had specifically named members of The Group Theatre, an acting and writing collective that included many artists close to Miller. The playwright was disgusted.

He responded by writing works that openly excoriated Kazan, with the play A View from the Bridge being the most blatant example. He even sent Kazan a copy of the story, and when the director offered to film it, Miller retorted: “I only sent you the script to let you know what I think of Stool-Pigeons.” The Crucible, a dramatisation of the Salem witch trials of 1692-93, was also seen as an allegory for the HUAC investigation and another condemnation of Kazan’s involvement.

That On the Waterfront is so steeped in history ensures it is not easy viewing. I constantly find myself questioning how much I can view the film as a pure, untarnished text, and to what extent I should consider the historical context of its creation. As Welles mentions in his denunciation of Kazan, the man was still an exceptional filmmaker and, despite the controversial circumstances from which the film arose, it is undeniably his masterpiece.

The plot follows Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando), a former boxer now working as a dockworker. He’s not particularly bright, and his days as a prizefighter are long gone after squandering his athletic career. He’s the quintessential everyman.

The docks, where Terry works as a longshoreman, are soon revealed to be a dangerous place controlled by the local mob boss, Johnny Friendly (Lee J. Cobb). Anyone who dares to speak out about the appalling conditions they’re forced to endure ends up dead.

In the opening scene, Terry does a favour for Friendly by calling Joey Doyle to the roof. Terry believes Friendly’s henchmen will simply intimidate Joey into not testifying for the Waterfront Crime Commission. But he soon realises his terrible mistake: Doyle is murdered, and thrown off the roof. Charley Malloy (Rod Steiger), Terry’s older brother and Friendly’s right-hand man, assures Terry there was no other way the situation could have been handled.

Terry is unsure. A great pang of guilt soon plagues him. This is a central theme of the film, with our protagonist’s exploration of his moral dilemma leading to sequences of iconic drama. At first, he is adamant about not helping justice be done; he may not like what they did to Joey, but he understands that to be a dockworker means to stay in line. The longshoreman’s motto is ‘D&D—deaf and dumb.’ Silence and complicity are encouraged by easier work and better pay.

What’s more, anyone who has the poor sense or strong virtue to speak out against injustice usually enjoys a similar end to Joey. Terry is all too aware of this, which is why he protests when the local priest, Father Barry (Karl Malden), insists that he testify at the upcoming hearing: “If I spill, my life ain’t worth a nickel.” Barry patiently informs Terry that he has entirely missed the point: “And how much is your soul worth if you don’t?”

It is no accident that Kazan juxtaposes wealth and morality. The disreputable behaviour of Friendly and his associates ensures that their pockets are always lined, despite the fact they don’t ever have to do a hard day’s work. In this, we can see that having moral scruples costs—either in money or in blood. The impoverished masses are shown to be sanctimonious, held under the thumb of an oppressive capitalist. Ironically, it’s quite a socialist message for a director who had so recently accused those with communist sympathies.

The answer to the longshoremen’s plight is revealed to be compassion. However, there’s a severe lack of empathy on the docks, largely due to the competition that Friendly artificially creates. The union leader deliberately conflates the hardship he brings about with traditionally masculine traits, reminding everyone how he had to beg for work in the pit as a young teenager. He suggests that if you’re man enough to provide for your family, you’ll do whatever it takes.

As such, he justifies his illegal behaviour as being socially acceptable, if not an essential component for keeping the docks a thriving success. He rationalises his foul treatment of others, suggesting that life is suffering, but if you’re tough enough, you can become as powerful a man as he is.

This is hinted at in relatively subtle ways. When he watches a boxing match on the television, he laments the pitiful display as being less than macho: “There’s nobody tough anymore…” He has positioned himself as the arbiter of masculinity, with everyone in his general vicinity having to prove themselves worthy.

It’s no wonder, then, that the stevedores refuse to stand united against Friendly: a real man keeps their mouth shut and does the job. Besides, everyone wants their slice of the pie, knowing that if they don’t take it when offered, someone else will. In this, the film remains massively important as a treatise on the need for unionisation in America (as long as they’re not riddled with corruption, of course).

Terry’s been around these men too long—it takes a woman to knock some sense into him. Edie Doyle (Eva Marie Saint), Joey’s sister, is trying to track down those responsible for his murder. This brings her into direct conflict with Terry, tasked with keeping an eye on those conspiring against the union. Over a drink, his general lack of compassion stuns Edie: “Hey, you wanna hear my philosophy of life? Do it to him before he does it to you.” While this might reflect the common mentality of dockworkers, for Edie, it’s a frightening display of solipsism.

Bewildered, she asks him earnestly: “Isn’t everyone a part of everybody else?” What might sound like common sense to most people becomes utterly laughable to the individualistic Terry. However, it’s an idea he’ll be confronted with repeatedly. Father Barry castigates all those who stand by and watch innocent men killed for speaking out: “You want to know what’s wrong with our waterfront? It’s the love of a lousy buck! It’s making love of a buck—the cushy job—more important than the love of man!”

Such Christian rhetoric permeates the film. Overcome by the desire to do the right thing, Terry testifies against the corrupt union, even though he’s certain it will result in his early death. In doing so, Terry becomes symbolic of Christ’s sacrifice, ready to become a martyr to stand up against the evil that has infected the docks. As Terry also clearly represents Kazan, this can at times become a rather uncomfortable viewing experience; events outside the diegetic space cloud the text.

Much like Welles censured, it’s a celebration of Kazan’s role as an informer. There’s a poetic justice in that Kazan, attempting to portray himself as a Christ-like figure, reveals himself to be a Judas. The shadow of his ignominious betrayal looms large, casting a shade over the rest of his work. While celebrated at the Academy Awards that year, Kazan’s decision to make On the Waterfront ultimately left his legacy in tatters.

The American Film Institute (AFI) refused to honour his achievements. Other institutions, such as the Los Angeles Film Critics Association (LAFCA), also declined to recognise his contributions to cinema in the traditional form of an honorary award. Joseph McBride, a former Vice-President of the organisation, stated that the award acknowledges the entirety of what an artist represents. However, McBride considered the director ineligible for his conduct outside the arts: “Kazan’s career, post-1952, was built on the ruin of other people’s careers.” When an Honorary Academy Award was presented to Kazan in 1999, many refused to stand in protest.

It is unfortunate. The film itself is incredible. The performances are utterly staggering. Brando’s performance as Terry Malloy has gone down in history as one of cinema’s finest, and it’s clear to see why. There’s a smouldering intensity in Brando’s movements, a bitter reluctance in his slightest facial expression. He might not be the brightest, but he’s not stupid either; he can understand the difference between right and wrong. Watching an ordinary man develop a conscience against all odds, and finding the courage to do the right thing amidst the forces of evil, represents some of the finest moments that filmmaking has to offer.

Furthermore, this preoccupation with morality is compounded by a persistent ghost from the past—the regret of throwing the biggest fight of his life. He did it for his supposed friends, a fatter pay cheque, and a promise of more to come. But what has it left him with? Unending shame and the unshakeable weight of regret, for he has done little more than betray himself and his potential for a quick buck. Characters who recognise him on the street all convey their surprise that he lost the most important fight of his life, making it painfully clear that the memory haunts Terry endlessly. He has sold his right to pride, and the knowledge gnaws at his soul.

This internal conflict led to what is arguably the most famous monologue in cinema history. “You don’t understand—I could have had class! I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am… let’s face it.” This is the first time we witness Terry being anything more than an emotionless shell, the first time he explicitly conveys the bitter regret that haunts him every day. When acting icons like Robert De Niro and Al Pacino claim this specific performance opened up a world of drama they hadn’t previously known existed, it speaks volumes about the power of Brando’s portrayal.

Brando is ably supported in his performance by Eva Marie Saint, who just so happened to turn 100 years old this month. She mesmerises in her screen debut and won the Academy Award for ‘Best Supporting Actress’. Lee J. Cobb, Karl Malden, and Rod Steiger were all nominated for ‘Best Supporting Actor’, but none were awarded the prize. Cobb displays his particular brand of loud, brash energy, while Malden arguably steals the show in the smaller scenes as the local priest who just wants to do the right thing for his parish.

Besides the immense performances, the film possesses superb narrative structure and pacing. There isn’t a single ounce of fat in the film; no scene can be labelled inessential. Additionally, there is symbolism in this masterpiece that adds another layer of appreciation for the story: the contrast between the pigeons and the hawks. While Joey is called up to the roof to receive his bird, two ominous figures lurk in the shadows, birds of prey poised to strike. The fact Terry demonstrates an affection for the pigeon suggests what side he is truly on.

At a particular moment in the film, one of Friendly’s cronies distributes tokens to the longshoremen, possession of which decides who will work and who must return home without a job for the day. After being crowded by a frenzied mob of hungry dockworkers desperate for work, the goon throws the remaining tokens on the ground, where the dockworkers fight over them like pigeons would breadcrumbs. The fact Kazan would continuously be referred to as a stool pigeon for the remainder of his days is another intriguing coincidence.

With this in mind, the only truly negative argument one can level at this colossal work is the background which hangs over it. The film itself is perfect, at least in terms of its formal qualities. But as soon as you understand what message the film is imparting outside the diegesis, it becomes difficult to stomach. The fact Kazan’s greatest contribution to cinema should be so enshrouded in controversy is, perhaps, the most fitting punishment of all.

USA | 1954 | 108 MINUTES | 1.33:1 • 1.66:1 • 1.85:1 | BLACK & WHITE | ENGLISHLATIN

frame rated divider retrospective

Cast & Crew

director: Elia Kazan.
writer: Budd Schulberg (inspired by the ‘Crime on the Waterfront’ articles in The New York Sun by Malcolm Johnson).
starring: Marlon Brando, Karl Malden, Lee J. Cobb, Rod Steiger, Pat Henning & Eva Marie Saint.