My mom woke me up on Friday morning to tell me that Marlon Brando had died. (My mom loves to wake me up with bad news.) Sometime during my teen years, I became a raging Brando fan. Like most dorky young girls who love movies way too much, I started watching old movies and realized that they did indeed make them better back then. I first noticed Brando in Guys and Dolls, if you can believe it. (Oddly enough, my love of Brando coincided with my musicals phase.) I loved him as Sky Masterson, perhaps because I'm always a sucker for a bad-boy-good-girl combination, but more likely just because he was damn beautiful and damned good. Late-night cable revealed his lesser roles to me first: Desiree, Sayonara. And then I saw On the Waterfront, and I was never the same.
I didn't want to write this until I'd had a chance to watch it again, to fix him in my mind the way he was. He was somebody.
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