Sayonara

Despite being the actor of his generation (or maybe because of it), Marlon Brando was responsible for more than a few instances of cinematic sabotage. His antics during the latter part of his career are well documented (with his pasty-faced performance in The Island of Dr. Moreau being the most high profile), but even early on the actor was forcing his decidedly off-beat creative choices on films that would have otherwise walked the straight-and-narrow. Sayonara (1957), based on James A. Michener's novel, is part Japanese travelogue, part social justice film; its beautiful scenery and edgy interracial romance playing out with predictable old Hollywood class.

And then there's Brando.

With his makeshift southern drawl, ad-libbed lines and mumbled delivery, the actor exists in a world apart from the rest of the film. It's a poor fit...but it's a hoot to watch him swagger through a big-budget, widescreen production with all the chutzpah of an Actor's Studio exercise.

An ace fighter pilot on active duty during the Korean War, Major Lloyd Gruver (Brando) is reassigned to a cushy desk job in Japan by General Webster in order to finalize the engagement to his daughter, Eileen (Patricia Owens of The Fly). But once they're reunited, it becomes obvious that neither party is anxious to move forward. Gruver, a career military man, is just doing what's expected of him. But Eileen wants true love and romance.

Ironically, they both find it in someone else. Eileen ensconces herself in Japanese culture and finds herself falling for a famous Kabuki performer (played ridiculously enough by Ricardo Montalban). While Gruver vigorously pursues a relationship with Hana-Ogi (Miiko Taka), the lead dancer in an all-female performance troupe who rejects his advances at every turn.

But overcoming their own inherent prejudices is only part of a larger problem. The military strongly discourages any fraternization with the indigenous population, banning Japanese from social clubs and preventing the men who marry Japanese women to take their families back home with them to America. Initially, on board with government policy, Gruver sees the error of his ways after falling in love, even risking his own military future to help a buddy (Red Buttons) fight against the system.

Directed by Joshua Logan, the masterful craftsman behind Picnic, South Pacific and Camelot, he shepherds Sayonara with the same technical precision, bouncing between staged performances and location photography that never fails to impress. And the script doesn't shy away from pushing its message of racial tolerance, casting an equal amount of blame on both sides. But while film tries to pass off the motivation for these mixed marriages as honorable, modern audiences will surely scoff at the endless backrubs, tea service and general submissiveness of the Japanese women (no wonder these guys want to take them home!).

As professionally competent as it all is, it would be a bit of a bore without Brando there to muck up the works. His performance is so awkwardly brilliant and accidently humorous that you can't believe he actually got away with it. The rest of the cast doesn't even bother trying to match his off-tempo take - the exception being James Garner who takes it all in stride as an outspoken Marine also bucking the system. One gets the impression that the producers' of Sayonara bit off more than they could chew by casting Brando, but were too afraid back out. The result is far from flawless cinema, but it's fascinating all the same!

Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray sports a solid hi-def transfer (those musical numbers really pop) along with an isolated music and effects track (Irving Berlin composed the title song), the original theatrical trailer and Julie Kirgo's liner notes.