ONE-EYED JACKS (1961) ***

There’s a fine line between art and crap.  Because of that, it can sometimes be difficult to tell if the movie you’re watching is terrible or if it’s a work of greatness.  That’s the overriding feeling you get while watching One-Eyed Jacks, the first and only film directed by Marlon Brando.  It’s obtuse and frustrating at times, and yet it’s hard to take your eyes off it.  I can’t say it’s particularly well-made or has any distinguishing directorial touches, but it has a lure to it that is hard to deny, even if the film itself is rather leaden.

Brando replaced Stanley Kubrick as director, if you can believe it.  He stars as a bank robber named Kid who gets left in the desert by partner, Dad (Karl Malden).  Naturally, Kid gets caught by the authorities and is sent to prison.  He breaks out five years later and heads to Monterey, California where Dad is now sheriff. 

This set-up is rather laborious and will likely have you squirming in your seat but stick with it.  An odd thing happens as One-Eyed Jacks enters into its second act.  It becomes less a western and more a maudlin morality play.  You see, once Kid stares down Dad face to face, he realizes he can’t very well kill the man in cold blood.  Dad is grateful of course, but that all changes when Kid starts messing around with Dad’s stepdaughter.  From here, the picture turns grim, violent, and nearly operatic.  

It’s clear when you watch One-Eyed Jacks that Brando was in over his head.  He went way over schedule and over budget and legend has it his first cut clocked in at a whopping five hours.  The studio naturally took it away from him and cut it down to 141 minutes.  

It’s hard to tell just what he was going for.  At times, it’s introspective and moody.  Other times, there are outbursts of violence.  It’s a western in sheep’s clothing as it doesn’t really cater to the demands of the genre.  It almost seems as if Brando was making it all up as he went along.  The picture, like his acting technique calls for long quiet stretches punctuated by great emotion.  I can’t quite say it works, but it’s certainly something.

At times you can almost feel like Brando is only playing coy with the genre and seeing just how far he could push it.  For example, many scenes in the film take place at the beach.  I can’t say I can recall the last time I saw a western with so many (if any) beach scenes.  It’s as if Brando was literally pushing the western as far west as it could possibly go.  

The drama, as I’ve said, is nearly operatic.  You don’t need to be a psychologist to read into the fact that the protagonist and antagonist are named “Kid” and “Dad”.  Nor is the castration metaphor subtle when Dad catches Kid with his daughter and smashes his gun hand, leaving him unable to “shoot”.

It’s hard to say what Stanley Kubrick would’ve done with the material.  If he had done everything exactly the same, it might’ve been hailed as a masterpiece.  Because Brando did it, it’s merely a curiosity piece.  I don’t think Kubrick, who is known for his cold, detached style would’ve allowed Brando to act as theatrical as he does here.  That unrestrained passion seeps into every other aspect of the movie, making One-Eyed Jacks worth a look for Brando enthusiasts.