Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

Continued from page 64 She stood near my car for a moment, looking up at the wild hills that surrounded her house. “Do you know,” she said, “I think we have mountain lions or bobcats up here in these hills. I can hear them screaming at night.” “Do they frighten you,” I asked. “Not when Marlon is here,” she answered. “I’m not scared when Marlon is here.” We both looked over at the parking area. Anna’s Chevy, with a baby seat hooked over the back of the front seat, was still there. But Marlon’s Ford was gone. I said goodbye and Anna turned away. As I swung my car around, the headlights shone directly on her for a few seconds. She seemed very small, suddenly; small and helpless. In the next few days I tried twice to write the story of that interview with Anna Kashfi Brando. The theme was always the same, the happiness of a wife and mother, but somewhere along the line something always went wrong. Little things Anna had said . . . and the memory of the expressions of sadness and strain that had flitted across her face . . . blotted out what I was trying to put down on paper: “But then I got upset by something” . . . “There are times when he ignores me completely” . . . “Then he first says hello to me” . . . “It can get so lonely up here. I never get used to it” . . . “I’m not scared when Marlon is here.” Then, on the morning of September 30th. I picked up the morning paper and read the headline: Anna Brands Brando Truant Hubby, Quits. The story said that Anna was suing Marlon for divorce. “This is final,” she declared. “I can no longer take his indifference and neglect and his strange way of living. I will charge desertion and cruelty.” The article went on to state that Anna had lost much weight — she was down to 100 pounds — and was taking tests for a heart condition, which she maintained Marlon knew about. “Naturally, in my present condition I’m frightened. To whom but my husband should I turn for comfort. But how can I — he is never there,” she added. I called the Brandos’ private number at their house on the hill at 12900 Mulholland Drive, but it had been disconnected. From friends, I learned that Anna was staying at Phyllis Hudson’s house, but I was unable to reach her. As for Marlon, no one knew where he was. And besides, it was almost certain that he wouldn’t talk about his personal troubles. Nevertheless, just on a hunch, I drove over to The Unicorn, one of the “beat” joints that Anna and Marlon had visited together. I walked up a single step into a small room. It was very dark inside, the only lights being from candles on the four tables that lined one side. The walls were covered with modern paintings — mostly nudes and clowns. A young fellow with a crew cut was playing on an upright piano. The tables were crowded — fellows with beards and girls in leotards — and the place was filled with music, talk and smoke. The piano player told me that Marlon used to come here pretty often when the place first opened but that he doesn’t come any more. I sat down at one of the tables — it was early and there was still room to sit down — and ordered Italian coffee and pastry. A young fellow in faded blue jeans and a black sweater sat down next to me. “Heard you ask about Marlon,” he said. “What do you want with him?” “Just trying to find out where I might get in touch with him,” I answered. ‘I want to ask him some auestions.” “What kind of questions?” he asked. “Questions for an article I’m writing,” I answered. He laughed. “Oh, that kind of questions. Give up. Even if you catch up with him, he’ll never answer you. Why don’t vou ask me about him? I used to know him very well. But let’s get out of here and go where we can get a drink.” So we went to Cosmo Alley, the other “beat” club that Anna and Marlon had gone to. We entered through a narrow alley, and although it was on the street level, I felt like we had gone down into a murky cellar. The main room was jammed with tiny tables, four chairs to the table, and most of them were filled. The lighting was just as poor here as it had been at The Unicom, except that it came from orange colored discs hanging from the ceiling. The main wall was of red brick, on which a mural had been started and left unfinished. We sat down and my new-found friend ordered wine while I asked for a beer. The waiter disappeared through a hole in the wall, a hole that looked like it had been made by a cannon. In a still smaller room in back I could see a jazz combo playing. The noise ws deafening. “Marlon digs this place the most,” my companion said. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Everybody calls me Ned,” he answered. “That’s not my name but it’ll do. You’re probably wondering if I really know Marlon or whether I’m just trying to mooch drinks from you. Well, I do know him and I am trying to mooch drinks.” And then he started to tell me about Brando. As he talked, recalling first the old days when he had first met Marlon in New York, telling me about the parties they used to go to in Greenwich Village, filling me in on the details about Marlon’s early days in Hollywood, and bringing me up to the present, any doubt I had about whether Ned really knew Marlon faded. And in trying to find out what had gone wrong between Anna and Marlon, a few things Ned said stood out above all the rest. Marlon wasn’t a “beat” character, Ned declared. He had been attracted by the way the poets and the would-be actors and the artists and the folk singers were trying to live their own lives, trying to remain individuals in a world where everyone was becoming more and more like everyone else. But Marlon had found, Ned said, that there were as many phonies among the “beat” characters as there were among the people who made moving pictures. And their protest against society, their rebelliousness, was all out of the same mold, as predictable as were the habits and the actions of the most conservative pillars of the community. So Marlon had come, had seen, and had walked away. Not back to conformity, not back to ease and comfort, but to his own private, desperate fight to find meaning in the world around him. “Marlon’s a great guy,” Ned said. “Warm. Friendly. Sympathetic. But he’s as sensitive as the litmus paper we used to use in chemical experiments in high school. You know the stuff. Just a tiny change in the temperature and it reacts. That’s Marlon. He’s tortured bv himself. He seeks perfection. And in this crazy, beat-up world he’ll never find it.” Ned swallowed a glass of wine at one gulp. “I’m sure Marlon loved Anna in the beginning. Maybe he still loves her. And I know he’s crazy about his kid. But he’s not a pipe and slippers kind of guy. He’s always searching for something: new people, new ideas, new places, new answers to old questions, new answers to new questions. He gets a bee in his bonnet and just takes off. For a woman to love Marlon is okay; for her to want to tie him down and housebreak him is impossible. He’s too restless, too driven. He’s . . . he’s . . . well, he’s just Marlon.” A girl came ud to the table, a pretty girl with black bangs and a bright red sweater. “Ned, honey.” she said, “you’ve been ignoring me. Let’s you and me dance.” He lifted the whole bottle of wine to his lips and gulped it down. Then he got up to dance. “That’s all there is, poos,” he said. “There is no more. A guy that can’t ever find peace within himself — that guy j should never marry. A woman doesn’t change a fellow like that. Nothing changes him. He’s gotta keep running round in circles. I know how it is. And I’m sorry for him. I’m sorry for Marlon.” And then he and the girl danced away and the jazz seemed to get louder until I just had to get out into the air. “Poor Marlon,” I thought, “poor Anna, poor Christian.” And then I went home to write my article. The End MARLON WILL SOON APPEAR IN PARA mount’s “one-eyed jacks” AND ANNA IN m-g-m’s “night of the quarter moon.” statement of ownership, management, and circulation required by the act OF CONGRESS OF AUGUST 24. 1912. AS AMENDED BY THE ACTS OF MARCH 3. 1933. AND .11 LJ 2. 1946 (Title 39. United States Code. Section 233) of PHOTOPLAY, published monthly at New York, N. Y., for October 1. 1958. 1. The names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher, Macfadden Publications. Inc., 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. ; Editor. Evelyn Pain. 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. ; Managing Editor. Claire Safran. 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. ; SecretaryTreas.. Meyer Dworkin, 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. 2. The owner is: (if owned by a corporation, its name and address must be stated and also immediately thereunder the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding i percent or more of total amount of stock. If not owned by a corporation, the names and addresses of the individual owners must be given. If owned by a partnership or other unincorporated firm, its name and address, as well as that of each individual member, must be given.) Macfadden Publications. Inc.. 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17. N. Y. ; Meyer Dworkin. c/o Macfadden Publications, Inc.. 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17. N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Anna Feldman, 835 Main St.. Peekskill. N. Y. ; Henry Lieferant, Tile Hotel Hamilton. Apt. 1205, 141 West 73rd St.. New York 23, N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Elizabeth Macblin, 299 Park Avenue, New York. N. Y. ; Irving S. Manheimer, 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17. N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Ruth B. Manheimer. Somerstown Rd., Ossining. N. Y. ; Samuel Scheff; 1841 Broadway. New York 23, N. Y. ; Joseph Schultz. 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. ; Arnold A. Schwartz, c/o A. A. Whitford. Inc., 705 Park Ave.. Plainfield. N. J. ; Charles H. Shattuck. Box 422, Pharr. Texas: (Mrs.) Elizabeth B. Wise. RFD 1 — Box 159. Onancock. Va. 3. The known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding 1 percent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are: (If there are none, so state.) None. 4. Paragraphs 2 and 3 include, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom such trustee is acting: also the statements in the two paragraphs show the affiant's full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders and security holders who do not appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stock and securities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner. 5. The average number of copies of each issue of this publication sold or distributed, through the mails or otherwise, to paid subscribers during the 12 months preceding the date shown above was: (This information is required from daily, weekly, semiweekly, and triweekly newspapers only.) (Signed) MEYER DWORKIN, Secretary-Treasurer Sworn to and subscribed before me this 23rd day of September, 1958. (SEAL) TUI.LIO MUCELLI, Notary Public State of New York No. 03-8045500 Qualified in Bronx Co. Cert. Filed in New York Co. Commission Expires March 30. 1960 66