A Streetcar Named Desire (1951): Directing actors
Stanley (Marlon Brando) and Stella (Kim Hunter) Kowalski embrace after a violent fight
By Kia Khalili Pir
This review contains minor spoilers
A Streetcar named Desire (1951) has often been a source of motivation. It reminds me what cinema can be. The setting is theatrical and out-dated, but the story, the beautiful script by Tennessee Williams, and the overall nostalgic feeling of the movie always leave lasting impressions long after the film is finished. Most striking of all, it has among the finest performances in American cinematic history from Vivian Leigh, Kim Hunter, and Karl Malden. It also has young Marlon Brando. The acting is so naturalistic, so human, that one can watch it today and still see themselves—or people they know—in the characters. And for that we must thank the confident, focused, and supremely insightful direction of Elia Kazan.
Considered probably the best “actor’s director” in Hollywood history—though he despised that title—by the likes of Kubrick, Brando, and Scorsese, Kazan’s movies spearheaded the exposure of the “Method” in the acting scene of the ‘40s and ‘50s. A Streetcar Named Desire, which Kazan had previously brought to Broadway in 1947, epitomized this new system of acting, which sought to use the actor’s life experience to bring on stage aggressively naturalistic, and raw performances. In complete opposition with the then classic theatrical system based on the player’s imagination and exercises. It was a triumph.
Kazan’s notes on the homonymous play and film were collected in the book On Directing (reprinted in 2009) and provide a lucid look into the craft of directing. Ever since its publication, it has offered valuable lessons to any filmmaker seeking enlightenment or just inspiration: Francis Ford Coppola himself referred extensively to Kazan’s directing ways in preparation for The Godfather (1972). And so did I for my short, The Old Civilian (2020).
In preparation for the filming of The Old Civilian, I ingurgitated, revised, brought back to memory any movie, any lesson, any past mistakes, anything that could help me make the film better. It has often been the case that, after a project would have gotten underway, the euphoria would subside, and a debilitating self-doubt would start creeping in, spreading all over my flesh like a rash. What if I cannot tell the Director of Photography where to put the camera? If, or better, when something unexpected happens on set will I be able to rise to the occasion? Or will I let my crew down? Will I direct the actors correctly? Uncertainty can be crippling, as it can be a motor. The only way to fight uncertainty is preparation, so I prepared.
This article will showcase a part of the result of that preparation. While using the movie A Streetcar named Desire as a backdrop and a vehicle, this piece will focus on the craft of directing actors. All of the following suggestions are the fruit of readings and teachings, of mistakes and accomplishments—both on set as a director and as an actor. For the sake of clarity, the article will be divided in three sections: in preparation, rehearsal, on set.
Blanche DuBois (Vivian Leigh) arrives in New Orleans
In Preparation
The direction of actors has solitary beginnings. Even before meeting the players, the directors must start preparing by themselves. I have already made the mistake to think I could start curing the acting on set, and I was always left with bitter disappointment the day we went seeing the rushes (the filmed material). In that, the name of this chapter, “In Preparation,” refers to two activities: the work the directors do alone and casting.
Before anything, the directors must gain the deepest understanding of the text they will be working with—everything starts from there. They must become one with the material. When Kazan was first offered A Streetcar, he approached it in the same way that he had approached all the other projects beforehand: he looked for a personal connection. He always stated that if he could not find elements in the script he could relate to, if he was unable to answer questions like: “Why do I want to do this?” “What do I want to say?” then he would not take up the project.
Equally important was the identification of the theme of the story. Regarding the theme of A Streetcar, Kazan reported in his notebook that it was:
[A] message from the dark interior. This little twisted, pathetic, confused bit of light and culture puts out a cry. It is snuffed out by the crude forces of violence, insensibility, and vulgarity that exist in [the American] South—and this is the cry of the play (On Directing, p. 44).
This theme then guided every decision that was taken from set design, to lighting, to acting.
In the same way, the director must gain absolute understanding of the characters and their spine. Once again, they ought to look for personal affinities within the characters, found either within themselves or people they know. What does the director have in common with this or that character? Alternatively, does the persona remind them of someone they know intimately? Kazan saw much of himself in Stanley Kowalski: “He is exactly like you in some ways. He is supremely indifferent to anything except his own pleasure and comfort (On Directing, p. 56-57)” On the other hand, he identified the protagonist Blanche DuBois (Vivian Leigh) with Stella Adler, the famous acting coach of Marlon Brando, Robert DeNiro, and Harvey Keitel, and at the time, married to Kazan’s mentor Harold Clurman. It goes without saying that unflinching honesty is critical both in the analysis of the characters and of the self. Similarly, the directors have to find the character’s spine, also referred to as objective: that dramatic force that moves them into action—normally expressed with the use of an active verb. Blanche’s objective, for example, was “to find protection (Ibid. p. 46).”
During this process it can also be useful to list what the possible pitfalls of the film, or scene, might be. This will help directing the performance. In The Godfather, one of the pitfalls Coppola envisioned was that Italians would be stereotyped down to a series of “Hey! Oh! Ehhh!” He worked diligently to avoid that. Conversely, in A Streetcar Named Desire, a failure to have the audience side first with Stanley, the defender of his household, and ultimately feel for the plight of Blanche would have made the tragedy empty.
The more confident the grasp on the material is the more confident and consistent the directorial decisions will be.
Casting is probably the most paramount decision a director needs to take. Kazan, Scorsese, and Lumet all considered it half of the work when making a movie. When it comes to casting, oftentimes a chat with the candidate can be sufficient (though an audition is advisable when dealing with less experienced actors). The point of the chat or the audition is to discover the emotional substance of the actor, their life experience. With that, the director will work. Kazan famously cast Ed Begley in the role of the father in Arthur Miller’s play All My Sons (1947) because he knew he was a reformed alcoholic, and as such, still carried the guilt typical of drunkards.
Moreover, when choosing which actor will get the part, directors ought to keep in mind that long chats and hours together with the actor await them. So it is best to choose people they enjoy spending time with. Conversely, cast the actor that shows the qualities the character embodies underneath their personal projections, underneath their social mask. Marlon Brando was acutely sensitive, capable of great gestures of tenderness and childishness. When made to play a brute, sex-driven, and naïve Stanley, he infused in his performance that sense of vulnerability that immediately made him more approachable, more pathetic, more human.
That, combined with his young-Marlon-Brando looks, and the audience had no chance.
Elia Kazan directs Vivian Leigh and Kim Hunter in a scene of the film
Rehearsal
Rome was not built in a day. Directors must prepare the actors. During rehearsal, it is paramount to have time devoted to lengthy conversations about the character. Directors will expound their ideas, making sure to be detailed about the character’s habitual behavior. What are small actions he or she does, how does he or she react when insulted, does he or she hide their feelings or show them openly. Directors should use the actor’s memory and personal affinity with the role to make them appreciate their character’s objective—to give reason to their actions. Action without intent is just movement, but give it intent and it will immediately turn affirmative, meaningful. The audience will notice.
Therefore, the actors need to know what and why. What is their character pursuing and why? As seen previously, Blanche wants protection. Why? Because that is how she was brought up: she belongs to the last remnants of the dying Southern aristocracy. She was taught that a man would take care of her in any regards, that she should have married, stayed home, and looked pretty. So she seeks protection, that is, men, through her only weapon: sex. Stella (Kim Hunter), on the other hand, “wants to hold on to Stanley.” Because Stanley has changed her, has freed her from the traditions of the American South. He made her a woman and without him she would be nothing. Stanley wants to protect his home from his wife’s sister. Blanche is a home-wrecker: she is the enemy. And he has spent far too much energy to make this abode his castle, to make Stella his.
Stella and Stanley Kowalski
Often, actors (if they are any good, or professional at least) will already come to the meetings with their own ideas about the character. In those cases, if the casting was right, the director’s and the actor’s ideas will fuse together, evolving the character beyond everyone’s first conception. Those moments can be exhilarating, but it is always important not to diverge from the theme of the story, or the character’s objective.
Once more, the preparation the directors do by themselves will prove crucial to make any decision and shape the performances. Because any detail, any line is important, and actors will hold directors to them. Karl Malden, who played Mitch both in the play and in the movie, remembered fondly how Kazan had been particular during rehearsal. In his notes, Malden vividly illustrates Kazan’s care for every aspect of the performance, the way he fastidiously molded each line and action.
During one instance, in the scene where Blanche asks Mitch if he loves his mother, he replies: “Yes.” Malden felt lost: he could not wrap his head around what Mitch meant while saying that simple expression. That time he turned towards Kazan, and saw him pulling a face at him, looking disgusted.
Did you watch me? That’s how you feel when you say that line. Because you hate your bloody mother. Sure, you have to say you love her—you even have to think you do. But deep inside you know she’s got a double nelson on all your emotions and she’s the reason you can’t develop and mature (On Directing, p. 65).
That simple explanation, with that childish grimace, painted such a precise picture in Malden’s mind of Mitch that quickly erased any questions he had about the character. There were no more doubts after that.
David Mamet once said: “Make them understand the action!” If the actor knows the action, knows what’s exactly happening in the scene, where they are going, and if this has become part of their muscle memory, then they can focus on the acting. They can focus on the subtext of a scene.
The subtext is what happens underneath all the action, what is really happening, what is the character really feeling. To make actors appreciate the subtext, it is best to break down each scene in a series of dramatic beats. Every scene has a structure and every structure is punctuated by moments of change—normally a change in mood.
When analyzed closely, most scenes have a three-acts structure. When Stanley is drunk and angry because he is losing at poker with his friends, Blanche loudly turns on the radio to listen to some music with Stella. Stanley, in response, commands them to be quiet and turns off the radio. Blanche, however, decides to test him and to reject the orders of the brute who married her sister, so she turns on the music again. Now Stanley has been humiliated in front of his friends, in his house, by a woman who openly disregarded his orders. He storms into the room and throws the radio out of the window.
Stanley plays poker
2. Blanche turns on the music
3. Stanley turns off the music
4. Blanche turns on the music again
5. Stanley storms in and crashes the radio out the window
On the surface, the scene goes from Stanley losing at poker, to Blanche’s instigation through music, and ultimately concludes with the fight. But underneath it all is a struggle for power and respect inside the Kowalski’s house. Blanche wants to show Stanley that she is more refined than him, better than him, and that she is not like her sister. Stanley wants to remind everyone who the king of the castle is. If he lets Blanche disrespect him like that in front of everyone, soon Stella will follow suit, and then the whole New Orleans!
During rehearsal, actors and directors can also indulge in improvisations. Kazan used it extensively as a tool to take the characters in different directions, to experiment with some lines or actions. Thus, improvisation should be an opportunity to free the conscious; but it should also be guided. It will be up to the director to decide how far to take it and where to take it, so I will leave it to them.
Stanley screams Stella’s name after their violent confrontation
On Set
If the preparation was thorough, if the casting was right, if the rehearsing was performed with purpose, directors won’t direct the actors on set, they’ll suggest. They’ll remind the actors where to go, they’ll position them better in front of the camera, and they’ll observe. Life on set is chaotic as it is, millions of questions and problems coming from everywhere and at any moment. So, it is best not to start worrying about character building and what to say to the actor when the camera is about to run.
On set, directors ought to be simple. Kazan would just give a few hints here and there and then let the player do the rest. Directing, he believed, was the last option, when all else had failed. Marlon Brando famously needed only one or two suggestions, and would normally walk away mid-sentence, before stunning Kazan with an amazing take. But then again, he was Marlon Brando.
When directing, Kazan would often remind the actor not to give more than what they had: “Don’t act, just say the lines, just do the action.” When executing a scene, instead of telling them how they felt, he would have the actor reenact what had happened before. So, if in the previous scene Stanley had humiliated Stella, and now Stella had to decide whether to take Stanley back, Kazan would quickly repeat that humiliation scene to bring Hunter and Brando back to the appropriate emotional state.
Sidney Lumet had an interesting method to judge a performance: “If at any moment my concentration dips, I know something has gone wrong.” So he would do another take. And if the actor wanted one more take, unless it was really unfeasible time-wise, Lumet, like Kazan before him, would give it to them. The actors were normally right.
Directing, most of the time, amounts to this: to make the actors feel comfortable and heard. Great directors like Kazan, who came from a background as an actor, interacted with actors as people, not as “talent.” He built an intimate connection with them, inspired them, and made them passionate about the project. They, in turn, devoted themselves to him.
When you go to film school, there is lots of mysticism around actors. Teachers talk about them as spoiled children who will make your movie great if manipulated correctly. Instead, Kazan listened to them, corrected them, heard their demands, and discussed with them. The result was A Streetcar Named Desire.
Lastly, every director must have this thing: an open mindedness to the twists of fate. Things happen. All. The. Time. So be ready, and open. When producer Jack Warner insisted that Kazan cast Vivien Leigh in the role of Blanche, and not Jessica Tandy, whom he had already directed in the Broadway production, Kazan resisted. He did not think a British actress could properly and realistically portray a girl from the American South. Eventually, however, he had to desist and Vivian Leigh joined the cast. Her performance in the movie was mesmerizing, with Kazan himself saying that she would have crawled over glass if it had helped her acting. Elia Kazan relented, Vivian Leigh won the Oscar, and the film turned out to be one of the greatest in Hollywood’s history. Everyone was happy. As Bruce Lee said: “Be water, my friend.”
Directing actors well is a skill that takes years to master. I, for sure, am not there yet. All these suggestions were based on the teachings of our great predecessors, and on my own experience—first as actor and then director. As always, without experience, what is on paper now means nothing. These suggestions must be tried out, tested, then rejected or approved based on what works for you. They are just a starting point.
Ever Tried.
Ever Failed.
No matter.
Try again.
Fail again.
Fail better.
Samuel Beckett
*All pictures belong to Warner Bros Studios and are intended for editorial use only. All material for educational and non commercial purposes only.
**Further Readings:
Kazan, E., Kazan on Directing, Vintage Books, USA (2009)
Lumet, S., Making Movies, Bloomsbury Publishing, London, UK (1996)
Mamet, D., On Directing Film, Penguin Books, New York, USA (1992)
Clurman, H., On Directing, Simon & Schuster, New York, USA (1997)
Stanislavski, C., An Actor Prepares, Methuen Publishing Ltd, UK (1988)
Kia Khalili Pir was born in Verona, Italy, and does his best to be a good writer and film director. He is a trained classicist who graduated from the King’s College of London and now resides in the Old Smoke. Apart from movies, he enjoys chess, boxing, and getting angry at modern technology.
