A titan of 20th century screen acting, Marlon Brando may well have proved F. Scott Fitzgerald’s maxim that there are no second acts in American life. But what a first act! Dying in 2004 at the age of 80, the godfather of raw-knuckled naturalism may have become a bloated self-parody in his later years, better known as Michael Jackson’s eccentric pal rather than a smouldering screen superstar. And yet, even now, he still routinely scores highly in polls of immortal sex symbols.

Despite squandering his talent, looks and credibility decades ago, Brando’s legacy lies all around us. Schooled at New York’s fabled Actors Studio theatre workshop, where his fellow students included James Dean and Paul Newman, Brando popularised the highly influential “Method” style of character assimilation pioneered by Russia’s Constantin Stanislavsky and his American acolyte, Lee Strasberg. Intense emotion, raw improvisation and rugged naturalism defined this virile new acting school. And Brando, with his shocking beauty and animalistic grace, was its young prince.

Whatever techniques he absorbed, it was his explosive charisma and brute sexuality that made Brando the brightest male star of the last half-century. But he was also a volatile mix of arrogance and vulnerability, turning his back on the profession he came to despise in later decades.
Wracked by family tragedy in later life, the reclusive superstar’s last public appearance was at Michael Jackson’s Madison Square Garden show in 2001. The 76-year-old actor, reclining on a leather couch in sunglasses, anticipated audience reaction with his opening remarks: “Who’s that old fat fuck? What’s he doing here?” He then garbled a jaw-dropping monologue about children being “hacked to death with machetes”.
An angry crowd booed the babbling Mount Rushmore of American cinema offstage, a sad finale for a living legend. But at least it demonstrated, as generations of inferior screen imitators have already proved, that there was only ever one Marlon Brando.