The Men Behind ‘The Men’: Brando’s Preparation for His Breakout Role
Over the past 77 years, PN (Paraplegia News) has documented the history of Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA) and those living with spinal-cord injury and disease (SCI/D).
The PVA Publications office has become a repository for articles, documents, photographs and random ephemera. Recently, I came upon some things relating to PVA’s once-cozy relationship with Hollywood legends. I found a letter from Cecil B. DeMille thanking PVA for a birthday card he received and another one from Walt Disney expressing his concerns about wheelchair accessibility at his then-new amusement park called Disneyland. I even found an autographed picture of Jayne Mansfield. Who knew she had a thing for PVA?
But the most intriguing item I found in the office was an article that appeared in the April 1950 issue of Varsity magazine. It was authored by a then-emerging actor named Marlon Brando.
The article, 30 Days In A Wheelchair, gives Brando’s firsthand account of the intense preparation for his inaugural film, The Men. It’s an interesting read, and I think it was his way of introducing himself to Hollywood.
He wrote about his upcoming role in the movie as an Army captain named Ken Wilocek who was paralyzed by a sniper’s bullet. Brando wasn’t paralyzed and never served in the military, but that wouldn’t stop him from appearing genuine.
For the purpose of authenticity, Brando asked to be admitted to the spinal-cord injury (SCI) center at Birmingham Veterans Administration Hospital in Van Nuys, Calif. Pretending to be a patient, Brando lived amongst the 32 veterans with SCI for a period of 30 days.
In the article, Brando shares his goal to familiarize himself with a wheelchair and figure out how to look like a veteran who had been paralyzed.
“My plan was to start immediately living without the use of my legs,” Brando wrote in his article. “A wheelchair was ready for me, and I got into it. From then on and throughout my stay in the hospital, with very few exceptions, I lived and moved exactly as did the rest of the boys in the ward.”
However, Brando knew that portraying a veteran with SCI was much more complicated than pretending his legs didn’t work, using military jargon and being able to pop a wheelie in his wheelchair. He knew he had to gain access to the veterans’ psyche and try to make sense of all that stuff in their heads.
Brando was known as a method actor, which meant he would dig deep to identify, understand and experience his character’s emotions. He needed a person from whom to draw inspiration; but Capt. Wilocek was an imaginary character, so Brando would need to create him.
Making Brando’s preparation more intimidating was the intense indoctrination engineered by the SCI center’s chief, Ernest Bors, MD. Aside from Bors’ command of all things SCI, I’m sure his Slavic accent, high and tight haircut and his tendency to lecture like a drill instructor intimidated Brando even more.
It wasn’t until Brando met Pat Grissom, then-president of the local PVA chapter, did Brando begin to relax. Grissom was shot and paralyzed four years prior in Germany, so he was a great resource for Brando’s preparation. He gave Brando a tour of the SCI center and introduced him to the other patients as if he were a fellow veteran with SCI.
At that time, only Bors and Grissom knew Brando was pretending to be a patient. However, while the nuances of legitimate paralysis are hard to spot by those who aren’t paralyzed, they are quite apparent to those who are. With that said, Brando was quickly called out as a phony. But despite the initial deception, Brando was eventually embraced by the patients.
“What struck me most was the overwhelming spirit of cooperation,” Brando wrote in his article. “Everyone was anxious to help me, to explain the efficient operation of a wheelchair, how to get in and out of beds and automobiles, how to dress and undress and how to take part in their sports and amusements.”
Brando went on to write that much was gleaned from the patients’ sense of humor. He added that he was in a constant state of observation, and the others were quick to point out his missteps or when he accidentally broke character. Matter of fact, it happened so often that the other patients began a routine of placing bets on his ability to feign paralysis.
Brando wrote that he observed a close camaraderie among the patients, and the help they offered each other was impressively generous and sincere. As the days passed, the patients began to include Brando when sharing their feelings of sadness, fear and anxiety — an indication they had fully accepted him.
“For an actor to pass in this company is something of a triumph,” he wrote in his article. “I was accepted as a person.”
With the 30-day indoctrination completed, Brando was ready to begin filming. He concluded his article by writing, “In talking to the men, I sensed that the horror, fatigue, filth and desperation of battle do not breed heroism as great as that required of them when the uniforms and speeches and decorations are forgotten and they must realize that they have to adjust to wrecked lives. It isn’t that they have courage greater than other men. I learned through them that people are not brave. It is just that some are less afraid than others.”
Brando had vicariously lived the lives of these men. He had developed empathy for those he was about to represent on the big screen. This revelation may have been an unintended consequence, but it certainly lent to his credibility as an actor.
As always, let me know what you’re thinking at al@pvamag.com.
