Amending the “breaking of charity”, affirming “brother-love” The Miller-Kazan controversy reconsidered in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 1 Junghyun Hwang Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible and Elia Kazan’s film On the Waterfront are generally regarded as the respective authors’ opposing commentaries on the ethics of testifying before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) - the former for refusing and the latter for consenting to “confess” and “name”. Miller and Kazan, however, stand more on the same side of critical standpoints than opposite each other, tackling from the liberal progressive points of view the problematics of Cold War America as a fundamental conflict between individual and society and proposing an anti-ideological critique of the American political system. Comparing and connecting both works with the autobiographical writings of the two authors, this paper aims to explore how their personal lives were inextricably woven into their critical positions on the ideologically charged milieu of early 1950s America. In effect, the two texts showcase similar positions and visions espoused by their respective authors: they both advocate alike speaking up and voicing dissent against authoritarian oppression, and in the process, they wrestle with the fundamental question of the arts - the complexities of envisioning humanity in relation to society. 1. “The liberal duelists”: facing the same direction Arthur Miller’s 1953 play The Crucible and Elia Kazan’s 1954 film On the Waterfront are generally regarded as the respective authors’ opposing commentaries on the ethics of testifying before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) - the former for refusing and the latter for 1 This research was financially supported by Hansung University (Seoul, Korea). AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Agenda: Advancing Anglophone Studies Band 50 · Heft 2 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen DOI 10.24053/ AAA-2025-0013 Junghyun Hwang 206 consenting to “confess” and “name”. Although Miller posits as his object of criticism both ideological extremes of the far right and far left under the comprehensive theme of “tyranny” (1987: 348), The Crucible is frequently read as the playwright’s condemnation of the HUAC along with its “friendly” witnesses, including most notably Kazan. In turn, On the Waterfront, Kazan’s highly acclaimed film on the issue of labor, is often castigated as the director’s blatant response to Miller’s play with an explicit justification of informing. Miller and Kazan, however, stand more on the same side of critical standpoints than opposite each other. They share liberal progressive critiques of authoritarianism, both aiming at the ideological extremes of McCarthyite anti-Communist and Stalinist- Communist regimes. They produced their respective artistic works as the crucible of their personal and political crises by weaving each of their stories around the central conflict between individual and community. The Crucible is the crucible of Miller’s personal guilt for the crisis of his marital life as well as the left’s collective guilt for “being unable to speak simply and accurately of the very recent past” (Miller 2008: 89). Likewise, On the Waterfront is the crucible of Kazan’s private guilt for his betrayal of former colleagues in the process, the director himself becomes the crucible of Hollywood’s “institutional guilt over the McCarthy era” (Steyn 2003: 38). Miller and Kazan were, as Kenneth Hey observes, “the liberal duelists”, “firing at each other by firing in opposite directions”, Kazan firing at the political left while Miller at the right (2016: 234). Both The Crucible and On the Waterfront draw as much on the contemporary political conditions as on the personal life stories of the respective authors. Inspired by the parallels between 1692 Salem and 1952 Washington upon reading Marion Starkey’s The Devil in Massachusetts (1949), Miller took Charles W. Upham’s nineteenth-century book, Salem Witchcraft, as “the hard evidence” of his play’s center: “the breakdown of the Proctor marriage and Abigail Williams’s determination to get Elizabeth murdered so that she could have John” (1987: 337). In The Crucible, he thus reconstructs the history of Salem-McCarthyism as the protagonist John Proctor’s journey through a moral crisis, caused mainly by his extramarital liaison with Abigail Williams, presented as seducing Eve, toward a reclaming of his individual conscience, largely thanks to the wise mentoring of his wife Elizabeth, portrayed as saving Mary. With an implicit reference to his own failing marriage at the time, the playwright admits that he was “not only writing myself into the wilderness politically but personally as well” because in this tripartite story, “I knew that my own life was speaking here in many disguises, not merely my time” (1987: 332, 338). Likewise, On the Waterfront was brought into being in the mixed cauldron of political and personal elements. Despite its social theme about the labor union, the film was severely criticized by the left for its thinly The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 207 veiled pro-informer motif. Based on Malcolm Johnson’s Pulitzer Prizewinning articles on union corruption, the screenplay recasts the story as a moral crisis of the central character, Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando), whose ethical maturation is premised upon his decision to testify against the mob murder of a dockworker Joey Doyle. Terry’s inner journey is spurred by Edie (Eva Marie Saint), Joey’s upright and outspoken sister who is a trainee teacher at a Catholic convent school, and Father Barry (Karl Maldon), a Catholic priest and a voice of ideological persuasion to testify. 2 In particular, Terry was modeled on Tony Mike deVincenzo, a renegade ex-gangster who was being threatened by the mob for having testified against them. Kazan expresses a strong sense of identification with his story: “I did see Tony Mike’s story as my own”, even flaunting a defiant self-defense of his own HUAC testimony: “When Brando, at the end, yells at Lee Cobb, the mob boss, ‘I’m glad what I done - you hear me? - glad what I done! ’ that was me saying, with identical heat, that I was glad I’d testified as I had” (1988: 498-500). As such, for both Miller and Kazan, the central concern revolves around not so much an ideological problem of right or left as a question of individual conscience and human dignity faced with an oppressive system. Although Miller was more explicitly critical of the McCarthyite right, he was less outspoken about his stance towards Communism, having publicly neither condemned nor advocated for the Communist Party. Nevertheless, he counts himself as one of “fellow travellers”, standing “somewhere within the conventions of the political left of centre” (2008: 86). Thus in The Crucible, he lumps “Communists and capitalists” together as equally authoritarian and responsible for creating the divided world - “still gripped”, since 1692, “between two diametrically opposed absolutes” - as opposed to a liberal worldview, in which “good and evil are relative” to specific contexts and “always joined to the same phenomenon” with each particularity constituting the whole (2003: 31). 3 In comparison, Kazan readily professes himself a staunch anti-Communist, but he simultaneously underscores his political orientation as “left of center” and sympathetic to “socialism” (1988: 217). Although he depicts the workers’ union as corrupt in On the Waterfront, he never makes a clear analogy between mobsters and Communists, nor does he identify the 2 Just as Terry’s testimony was maneuvered by Edie and Father Barry, Kazan’s decision to testify was also allegedly influenced by Molly Thacher, “my Puritan wife” (1988: 298). Kazan married her in 1932, and his wife remained a powerful influence until her death in 1963. Although Molly Kazan was part of the Group Theatre during the thirties, by the early fifties she had become an outspoken anti- Communist that arguably influenced her husband’s decision to testify (Neve 2003: 23). 3 Hereafter, all quotations from The Crucible will be cited only with page numbers in parentheses. Junghyun Hwang 208 Crime Commission, possibly a democratic civil institution, with the HUAC. Rather, notoriously ending the film by having Mr. Upstairs, a capitalist shipowner, continue to assume control of the laborers, Kazan even seems to insinuate a homology between mobster-capitalist exploitation and the HUAC-capitalist American system. In this vein, this paper aims to revisit The Crucible and On the Waterfront, focusing on the similar ways in which both works weave liberal-left critiques into the ideologically charged milieu of early 1950s America. It explores how the respective authors attempt to come to terms with their private guilt over failing to uphold their political convictions and abide by their personal commitments. 2. The personal is political: passion, patriotism, and the American Dream The similar critical standpoints in The Crucible and On the Waterfront can be noted above all in the two authors’ political visions and personal ambitions - specifically, in their complex and often contradictory stances towards the American Dream. The turbulent relationship between Miller and Kazan began in the late 1940s and lasted well into the 1960s. They launched their respective careers jointly in the late 1940s with reciprocal collaborations: Kazan as director of Miller’s Broadway plays, All My Sons in 1947 and Death of a Salesman in 1949. The seeds of their break-up were sown under the strained political circumstances of the second HUAC hearings on Hollywood in 1951-1952, 4 while they were still working together on The Hook, Miller’s newly written, but never-to-be-produced, screenplay about the corrupt longshoremen’s union on the Brooklyn docks. In 1951, Miller accompanied Kazan to Hollywood in order to run the script by Harry Cohn, president of Columbia Pictures, who then forwarded it to Roy Brewer, “the right-wing head” of the Hollywood unions and “a close ally” of the mob-dominated International Longshoreman’s Union (Shulman 2003: 29). Cohn and Brewer allegedly suggested to change the waterfront mobsters into Communists, which eventually led Miller to withdraw the script (Hey 2016: 233; Miller 1987: 308; Shulman 2003: 29). 4 The HUAC had hearings on Hollywood in 1947 and 1951, contending that Communists had inserted pro-Soviet messages in films. In the first hearings in 1947, forty-one witnesses were subpoenaed and nineteen of them refused to answer questions concerning their political beliefs. Ten of those “unfriendlies,” or “the Hollywood Ten,” were charged with contempt of Congress and sent to prison for up to a year (Roffman & Purdy 2016: 212-213). In the hearings of 1951, both Kazan and the screenwriter Budd Schulberg were among “friendly” witnesses (Neve 2003: 27). The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 209 Besides, the trip to Hollywood was to be of crucial significance to both authors not only politically but also personally. It was at this time that Kazan introduced Marilyn Monroe, with whom he was having an affair, to Miller, who immediately fell in love with her. As the meetings with film studios ran aground, Miller left Hollywood rather abruptly and informed Kazan of his decision to withdraw The Hook from production. Then came the estrangement of the two auteurs in 1952 with Kazan’s friendly testimony before HUAC, where he eventually named eight of his former associates from the Group Theater, including Clifford Odets and Paula Strasberg. Miller came up in 1953 with The Crucible, loaded with mixed emotions of condemnation, sympathy, and guilt. Kazan followed in the next year with On the Waterfront, a self-claimed defense of his informing, yet filled with ambivalence, moral quandary, and guilt. Miller was to come forth again with a much more complex and empathic rumination on the morality of informing with his next play, A View from the Bridge (1955-1956), while Kazan was to present a more comprehensive vindication of himself as an immigrant-outsider in American society in his autobiographical film, America America (1963). The two were to collaborate one last time on Miller’s 1964 After the Fall, a self-critical scrutiny of his marriage to Monroe. With respect to contemporary American society, the two friends seem to share not only their critical stands but also their complicated personal stakes. Miller locates at the problematic core of McCarthyism the contemporary disintegration of American democratic idealism. Caught in the contradiction between America’s claim to be the leader of the free world and its actual conditions of unfreedom - clutching “corruption to its breast” at home while sending “its sons to cleanse the earth” abroad in Korea, Miller says that he could not bring himself to jump on the national bandwagon of the celebrated “American Century” (1987: 309-10). And it was this “unacknowledged contempt” for the American system that he finds at the root of the left’s collective guilt: “What the Left were not saying was that they were in truth dedicated to replacing capitalism with a society based on Marxist principles” (2008: 97). Besides, the playwright’s passionate involvement with Monroe in his private American Dream further complicates his stakes in the collective malaise. Stuart Marlow, for one, criticizes Miller’s fascination with the movie star, “the icon of the American Dream and Hollywood glamour”, as an illustration of his desire for success - for “a prominent place within the hierarchical registers of cultural relevance” - and thus a betrayal of his integrity as a writer of the liberal left (2008: 148, 152). It seems, however, that Monroe represented for him a lot more than just the luminous dream of success. He was undergoing a personal crisis at the time - “a painful time of rebirth”, even “a second adolescence” - and Monroe symbolized for him, more than Junghyun Hwang 210 anything, “the vitality of a force” - a promise of life and a potential spring of his creative energy (1987: 325, 327). Interestingly, Kazan similarly characterizes his former friend’s ordeal as “that old quagmire of ambivalence, the natural home for an artist”, even lauding it as a testament to “his humanity” (1988: 366, 371). Kazan’s relationship with America seems as much, if not more, ambivalent and contradictory as Miller’s. It seems that his patriotic desire to affirm America’s ideals was overdetermined by his “Anatolian” contempt for its limitations while his personal desire for success was compromised by his insecurity as an immigrant. 5 If the collective guilt of the left was, as Miller has diagnosed it, due to the deprivation of voice, Kazan suffered more than a fair share of the burden. He seemed to be guilty not only for his inability to speak his part of the left’s contempt for America’s cherished norms due to his status as an outsider, but also for speaking about his political convictions about Communism. Kazan was a member in a Communist Party section within the Group Theatre for eighteen months from 1934 to 1936, but he resigned when the Party attempted to take complete control of the Group, disallowing any dissenting views (Georgakas 2011: 7). As a disgusted former member turned anti-Communist, Kazan was convinced that the Communist Party was “a thoroughly organized, worldwide conspiracy” (1988: 449). He eventually decided to name, although he agonized over testifying, pleading with Miller that he was prepared to give up for a while “no movie work or money”, but unwilling to sacrifice his career for a cause he did not believe in (1988: 460). 6 Complicating his anguish between personal ambitions and political convictions, moreover, was his intrenched sense of insecurity as an immigrant. Kazan, an Anatolian Greek who had come to the United States as a child, was a perennial outsider and boasted his natural bond with the marginalized in American society such as James Baldwin, who once told 5 Kazan analogizes his sense of outsider insecurity to his “Anatolian smile” that covers “resentment,” “fear,” and “cunning” (1988: 4). His Anatolian smile is a defensive mechanism, but it is also based on, according to Dan Georgakas, “a sense of cultural superiority that borders on contempt rather than fear” (2011: 9). Behind his smile, “a masquerade of equanimity,” he may have also developed “an appetite for revenge and its corollary, vindictive triumph” (Lahr 2010: online), as he insists, for instance, that On the Waterfront was motivated by “a desire for revenge” for “the beating I’d taken” (1988: 488). 6 Despite his initial objection to naming, Kazan seems to have succumbed to his ambition for a film career, especially to the pressure from Spyros Skouras, president of Twentieth Century-Fox, who informed him that he would not be able to work in Hollywood if he did not name names. Kazan did not “sell out,” as Victor S. Navasky says, in the sense that he did it for money or against his political convictions, but his testimony ended up lending “legitimacy” to “an anti-democratic institution,” leading to an ironic, self-contradictory effect of undercutting the very democratic values he so passionately fought for (2011: 54). The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 211 him, “Gadg, baby, you’re a nigger too”, and Tennessee Williams, whose “gayness”, he claims, along with his own “foreignness”, made them both “freaks”, “outsiders”, and “quirky rebels” (1988: 43, 334, 336). Underlying the nebula of his doubts, regrets, and guilts was then his contradictory relation to the American Dream - his intense desire for the inside dope complicated by his outsider complex and his convictions compromised by his ambitions. 7 In this sense, just as Kazan admired Miller for his humanity, the director might deserve the same tribute for the acknowledgment of his own human limitation. As a matter of fact, Miller and Kazan never criticized each other publicly despite the oft-cited dissent between the two. Rather, on several later occasions, they would express mutual sympathy and ongoing fellow feeling. Miller would be merely “sorrowing” over Kazan’s testimony, just as the latter remained “protective” of the former by keeping silent about his friend’s suspected Communist allegiance (Schickel 2005: 233-234). Miller insists that he was compelled to write The Crucible not to condemn Kazan but to castigate “the whole hateful procedure” itself; that he was “not filling up with hatred or contempt for him” because “his suffering was too palpable for that” (2008: 104). Regarding Kazan’s HUAC testimony, Miller admits that he did feel betrayed because he thought his name could have been included as well if circumstances had required it. Nevertheless, he asserts his unceasing camaraderie for his friend, even insinuating a sense of guilt for his own inability to accept Kazan’s weaknesses as limitations of common humanity. Upon meeting Kazan on his research trip to Salem and learning about the latter’s decision to testify, Miller writes: [As] usual I was carrying several contradictions at the same time, my brotherlove as painfully alive in me as it had ever been, alongside the undeniable fact that Kazan might have sacrificed me had it been necessary. In a sense I went naked to Salem, still unable to accept the most common experience of humanity, the shifts of interests that turned loving husbands and wives into stony enemies. [emphasis added] (1987: 335) And it was this betrayal of humanity, his guilt for not living up to his brotherly love for Kazan, that he posits as the primary tale of The Crucible: “that was the real story of ancient Salem Village, what they called then the breaking of charity with one another” [emphasis added] (1987: 335). 7 That this uncertainty of status influenced Kazan’s decision to inform is also recounted in his depiction of Greek immigrants like Skouras and himself. Always anxious to “certify their good hearts” and ready to “reaffirm their civic and national loyalty,” they would, especially in times of crisis, “defend themselves by flaunting their patriotism” (Kazan 1988: 451). Junghyun Hwang 212 Like Miller did with The Crucible, On the Waterfront represents Kazan’s struggle with his own guilt for “breaking charity’’ - his betrayal of “brother-love” for his former fellow-travelers, including Miller, for whom Kazan professed a deep friendship, describing themselves as “consanguineous” “blood brothers” in “our tastes, our convictions, our pleasures, or our politics” (1988: 365). Kazan not only refused to offer any resolute apology for his naming, but he also compounded the incense of his critics by insistently justifying his decisions: “The ‘horrible, immoral thing’ I would do, I did out of my true self. Everything before was seventeen years of posturing” (1988: 460). Nevertheless, he does express his “regret” and “shame”, especially in relation to Clifford Odets, himself a friendly witness and one of the eight people Kazan had named. Unable to recover from his guilt for having named, Odets died tragically young, and Kazan ruefully laments him: “I saw the awful damage HUAC had done to a man I loved, and I regretted my influence on what had happened”; and in what seems to come closest to a confession, he even says: I still believed what I’d done was correct, but no matter that my reasons had been sincerely founded and carefully thought out, there was something indecent - that’s how I felt it, as shame - in what I’d done and something murky in my motivations. What I’d done was correct, but was it right? [emphasis added] (1988: 463, 465) In other words, he was convinced of the political correctness of his actions but felt guilty nevertheless because he was unsure of their moral uprightness. In their later writings, the two estranged friends seem to gesture towards making amends with each other. In his 1988 memoir, Kazan expresses a sense of disappointment he had felt following his testimony with Miller’s failure to acknowledge “some past friendship”, even with “a few words, however condemnatory” (1988: 471). And Miller seems to offer his belated concession in a 2008 lecture, revealing in no uncertain terms where his sympathy lies. Referring to the 1999 honorary Oscar awarded to Kazan and the still vindictive reaction by some in the audience, 8 the playwright deplores the unjust burden his former friend had to bear for half a century: “Kazan now bore very nearly the whole onus of the era, quite as though he had manufactured its horrors all by himself, when in fact he was surely its victim” (2008: 105). With such complex 8 The 1999 honorary Oscar bestowed to Kazan was controversial due to his 1952 HUAC testimony. Some in the audience applauded the filmmaker and others such as Nick Nolte and Ed Harris sat on their hands while hundreds of both antiand pro-Kazan protesters gathered outside the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion (Smith 2015: 90). The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 213 emotional baggage of suppressed anger, unarticulated sympathy, and above all, repressed guilt, which they felt verboten to express in plain language at the time, Miller and Kazan turned instead to their respective artistic venues, offering metaphoric mea culpas for the “breaking of charity” - “betrayal, of the self no less than of others” (Bigsby 2003: xi). 3. “A boy becomes a citizen! ”: Naming, masculinity, and human dignity In this context, both The Crucible and On the Waterfront can be read as the attempts of the two estranged friends to come to terms with their guilt about failing to speak up for their political convictions and personal commitments. Woven around the central conflict about testifying, both works are often criticized for similar reasons: each allegedly has an ulterior political motive of either condemning or defending informing; and each reenacts its respective agenda as a symbolic re-masculinization, displacing in the process its claim for subjectivity along the axes of gender and/ or race. However, the intended recuperation of masculine agency remains no less than ambivalent in both works, thereby complicating the two auteurs’ presumed stances towards (not)testifying. In effect, the two texts showcase, I would argue, similar positions and visions espoused by their respective authors: they both advocate alike for speaking up and voicing dissent against authoritarian oppression, and in the process, they wrestle with the fundamental question of the arts - the complexities of envisioning humanity in relation to society. Taken as Miller’s political commentary on informing, The Crucible is often paired up with Kazan’s film as expressions of their “private” Cold War: one as the playwright’s determined subversion of “the mixed motives of informers like Kazan” and the other as the director’s “retaliation” in response (Shulman 2003: 30). Critical debates on the possible political stances of Miller’s play, in particular, seem to range across the entire ideological spectrum. It has been criticized, on the one hand, for being too “liberal”, taking flight into the evasive metaphor of “the soul”, rather than unequivocally condemning Communism (Warshow 1969: 2). On the other hand, it is also denounced for not being politically left or social realist enough but compromised by the playwright’s personal interest - his “biographical urgency of expression” (Marlow 2008: 142). Interestingly, however, the play is simultaneously upheld as an example of “Miller’s Marxist ideals in practice” - a synthesis of the “bourgeois realist” dramatic theatre and Brechtian epic theatre (Polster 2012: 43-61) - as well as a work of social realism which effectively illustrates not just “the relativity and subjectivity of moral justice”, but more importantly, “the abso- Junghyun Hwang 214 lute moral principles of charity and humility and forgiveness” [emphasis original] (Budick 2008: 35). Also, The Crucible is frequently criticized for its narrative reliance on gendered and racialized displacements. Wendy Schissel has famously brought to critical attention that Miller’s play reinforces the androcentric female stereotypes of “femme fatales” and cold “unforgiving wives”, echoing the “gynecophobia” of the 1950s (1994: 461-462). 9 Other critics have followed suit, agreeing that the play ultimately reproduces “the very same patriarchal attitudes” it appears to be criticizing (Adler 2008: 78), or even branding this tendency as “reactionary” and a waste of its critical potential (Marlow 2008: 139-140). Still others have problematized the play’s handling of race in reducing Tituba, the enslaved woman from the Caribbean, into the one-dimensional “mammy” figure (Roszak 2014: 115), or associating “evil” with “the color of her skin” (D. Miller 2007: 442). As such, Miller does seem to utilize sexual/ racial stereotypes in order to draw the schematic moral division between treacherous Abigail/ Tituba and nurturing Elizabeth. However, the contradictory model of female treason and nurture embodies for him a much more complex artistic vision that ultimately taps into the fundamental human condition - the paradox of Eros and Thanatos - complicating the simple equation of Proctor’s claim of subjectivity with his re-masculinization. As observed by critics, Miller construes the protagonist by displacing his guilt mostly on the two female types. As a man “in his prime”, wellbuilt, rational, and morally upright, Proctor embodies a virile frontiersman, “seeding” his farm as large as “a continent”, and simultaneously, he is a man of liberal sensitivity, “seasoning” the stew to his taste and admiring the beauty of spring flowers (19-20, 47-49). As he journeys through soul-searching self-examinations on the question of morality, he further develops into a man of psychological depth and moral complexity. In contrast, female characters remain generally one-dimensional. Abigail is the conniving seductress, a “strikingly beautiful” girl of seventeen, but a chronic liar with “an endless capacity for dissembling” (8), so she is condemned by Proctor as “a whore” and “a lump of vanity”, trying to destroy 9 As Elaine Tyler May has amply illustrated, the Cold War politics of national security and containment often spilled into the private sphere of individual sexuality and domestic life. National “security” was translated into secure jobs, secure homes, secure marriages, as well as the secure country, and “containment” meant not only the atom bomb “harnessed for peace” but also the domestic policing of the home as the “sphere of influence.” Momism and homophobia, in particular, were manifest social phenomena of sexual containment outside the boundaries of heteronormative marriage. Red-baiting was synonymous with gay-baiting, while Philip Wylie’s “momism” vilified women, or “sexually frustrated” and “domineering” mothers, as the breeding ground for weak, effeminate, “deviant” men (1999: 80- 99). The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 215 his “good name” and his “dear good wife” (102). Elizabeth is the frigid wife, reproved by Proctor as “sad”, “suspicious”, and unforgiving (49-53) and even corroborated by her own admission: “I have sins of my own to count. It needs a cold wife to prompt lechery” (126). In this way, “the Fall of a good man” is blamed on the “complicity” of Elizabeth in her husband’s adultery and the seduction of “evil and/ or mad” Abigail (Schissel 1994: 465-469). For Miller, however, the “feminine legacy” of “betrayal” and “blessedness”, as Iska Alter argues, ultimately represents the inherited paradox of human existence - “the unavoidable rifts and cracks of selfhood” that “as such must be acknowledged and accepted” (1989: 118). Interestingly, moreover, it is the female characters that not only epitomize this higher understanding but also facilitate the hero’s attainment of it. Abigail’s “knowledge”, the fruit of passion, is her recognition of the amoral nature of sexuality as the human condition: “I look for John Proctor that took me from my sleep and put knowledge in my heart! I never knew what pretense Salem was” (22). Elizabeth’s “understanding” of the contradictory human impulse eventually guides Proctor to see the complexity of the human heart and to accept the subjectivity of moral judgment: “John, it come to naught that I should forgive you, if you’ll not forgive yourself” (127). Significantly also, as Thomas P. Adler points out, Elizabeth’s “lie” to protect Proctor is itself “an act of love” in refusing to specify “the guilt of others”, or “to name names” (2008: 79). Thus, proclaiming “I have given you my soul; leave me my name! ” (133), Proctor can “choose” to die a martyr with his righteousness reaffirmed by his “honest” wife: “He have his goodness now” (134). In the final analysis, Abigail’s “betrayal” necessarily connotes “blessedness” because it saves Proctor from retreating into the prelapsarian oneness of being, or “murderous innocence” (Alter 1989: 118); and in the end, Elizabeth’s redemptive femininity enables Proctor, having refused to judge others and name names, to accept humanity and die “whole”. 10 In this way, Miller would have his protagonist redeemed, re-masculinized, and reclaimed as the legitimate subject of history. Yet Proctor’s reclaimed name/ masculinity remains less than unambiguous. For one thing, his assertion of masculinity is premised upon his affirmation of a feminine quality because his refusal to name the accused women such as Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey evinces his determination to protect “the female principle”, thus attesting the dependence of his masculinity upon the preservation of “female authority” (Alter 1989: 10 Tituba is also an interesting example of both racial stereotyping and critical empowering. Although depicted as a one-dimensional black “mammy,” she is simultaneously “oddly liberated” as a subtle critic of the Puritans (Alter 1989: 122). Junghyun Hwang 216 124). Moreover, I would argue, “not-naming” - the premise of Proctor’s name/ masculinity - is not so much “silence” - a gesture of consenting to institutional mandates - but rather “speaking up”, an active expression of dissent against the imposed norms of society. Proctor’s anguished struggle with the morality of naming proceeds from a confession of his personal guilt to an affirmation of his ethical principle - what Miller posits as the tragic hero’s fateful journey from human fallibility to the attainment of self-understanding. Proctor refuses to name primarily out of his own sense of guilt because he believes it “a pretense”, “a fraud”, for a sinner like him to not name and thus die “like a saint” (126); he is willing to admit his own guilt but determined to reserve judgment about others: “I speak my own sins; I cannot judge another. I have no tongue for it” (131); and eventually, “weeping in fury, but erect”, he tears up the written testimonial as both an act of protest and a gesture to protect his “name” from “such dogs” (133). As such, Proctor’s heroic journey towards higher understanding is essentially mediated by the supposedly female principle of nurture and treason, symbolizing the paradox of the human condition; and his insistent “silence” about others is virtually synonymous with raising his “voice” about the ethical principle, which for Miller comes down to claiming his “rightful” place in society (Miller 1996a: 4-7). Thus, Proctor’s outspoken disobedience against the unjust legal imperatives turns out commensurate with Terry Malloy’s speaking up against the mob violence. And here is Miller’s ambivalence, I would argue, towards Kazan’s HUAC testimony. In having Proctor attain a higher understanding of the complexity of the human heart and speak up against judging others, it seems that Miller himself is refusing to name the names of friendly witnesses, including Kazan. Apparently, The Crucible was a product of the playwright’s engagements with the political as well as personal crises of the time. It was his literary project to rectify the deprived voice of the left, “the sense of impotence” (2008: 89), by symbolically recuperating Proctor’s name/ masculinity. Also, as he admits it, he found in the Salem story not just his “time” but also his “own life” - his own crisis of sexuality and marriage (1987: 338). Relating how Miller took a hasty flight from Hollywood after he had fallen in love with Monroe and reconciled immediately afterwards with his wife, Kazan notes that he understood Proctor’s confession of himself to be “a sinner” for his act of infidelity as Miller’s public apology to his wife (1988: 366). In this sense, it is not surprising that Miller would resort to the female authority of Elizabeth not only to exonerate Proctor but ultimately to facilitate his enlightenment: “Do what you will. But let none be your judge. There be no higher judge under Heaven than Proctor is! Forgive me, forgive me, John - I never knew such goodness in the world! ” (127). In other words, hav- The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 217 ing Proctor reserve judgment by proclaiming that the individual is the only judge of one’s morality, Miller seems to be doing vicariously through his art what he could not do in real life: admitting his own guilt about failing to accept Kazan’s betrayal and more precisely, his own complicity with the common experience of humanity - “the breaking of charity”. 11 On the Waterfront is likewise a Cold War political film overdetermined by the director’s personal agenda, and the hero’s journey to selfunderstanding is similarly dramatized as a symbolic process of remasculinization, although also ridden with ambiguities. Praised highly, on the one hand, as “the greatest labor film ever made in America” (Schwartz 2004: 380), it was severely criticized, on the other hand, as a Cold War propaganda film with its labor theme dismissed as only a “façade” (Wertheim 1997: 111), even as “Fascist” for allegedly being “contemptuous” of unionism (Anderson 1955: 128). And of course, the film is most famously condemned for its undisguised defense of “informing”, making Kazan “the celebrity informer” (Schickel 2005: 272). Considering that in addition to Kazan himself, the screenwriter Budd Schulberg as well as co-stars such as Lee J. Cobb, Karl Malden, and Rod Steiger had all testified as friendly witnesses (Shulman 2003: 32), such a political reading might have been inevitable, but conversely, it would be just as hard to see the film as a defense of HUAC testimony if you did not know about the background history. Paradoxically, the script was initially rejected by most of the major studios, because, as Joanna Rapf says, in 1953 at the height of McCarthy hysteria, it was seen by the studios as “‘pink’, prolabor, prounion, maybe even ‘red’” (2003: 10). The conflict surrounding Terry’s decision to testify certainly constitutes the narrative core of the film, but the motif of speaking out needs to be addressed in relation to the larger thematic issues such as manhood, subjectivity, and ethical responsibility. Moreover, the social drama about testifying is inextricably interwoven with Kazan’s personal drama of his guilt about informing, his sense of insecurity as an immigrant, and his contradictory stance to his adoptive state of America. As he has claimed in no uncertain terms how personally he was invested with the film, Kazan draws a parallel between himself and Terry: “On the Waterfront was my own story” (1988: 488), and the primary story for him is about “a bum” becoming “a man”: “That is the personal story. A bum becomes a man. That’s it” (Kazan, qtd. in Rapf 2003: 12). Specifically, Kazan approaches Terry’s manhood as his right to civic subjectivity and ultimately, 11 Leo Braudy also seems to see Proctor’s refusal to testify as Miller’s confession of his personal guilt. Taking Miller’s abrupt departure from Hollywood as “a flight” from guilt for his failing marriage as well as his love for Monroe, he says: “No wonder perhaps that John Proctor in The Crucible assuages his sexual guilt by his political refusal to incriminate others” (2005: 13). Junghyun Hwang 218 to human dignity, and central to the reclamation of his masculine subjectivity is his decision to testify. Thus, the director writes in his Production Notebook: “This is about Terry! A Boy becomes a citizen! A man finds his DIGNITY AGAIN”; “He wants his dignity back. … He testifies! ” (Kazan, qtd. in Rapf 2003: 12, 13), making Terry equate his manhood with his civic subjectivity: “I ain’t a bum. I’m just gonna go down there and get my right”. 12 In short, Terry’s testimony as the symbolic enactment of manhood is of central significance to Kazan because he saw it as an enabling condition for citizenship and a prerequisite for dignified human existence. In the film, Kazan thus utilizes the trope of speaking out to portray Terry’s claim to masculine subjectivity, but in doing so, he seems to construe the protagonist in gendered terms by having Terry progress from feminized silence to masculine speech. Terry introduces the metaphor for testifying as “ratting” and not-speaking as manly, as he defensively denies his involvement in the murder of Joey: “I don’t know nothing, I ain’t seen nothing, and I’m not saying nothing”, while dismissing the two men from Waterfront Crime Commission as “feminine”: “so you and your girlfriend take off”. The rest of the film is a process of inverting the tropes, as Michael Schuyler explains it in detail, where telling does not “sissify” but “masculinizes” him (2011: 111), turning Terry’s testifying into the condition of his masculinity. The metaphoric inversion, or Terry’s conversion into manhood, is enabled mainly by Father Barry and Edie Doyle. Father Barry, a voice of rhetorical persuasion, provides a rationalization for the inversion of the argument, differentiating “testifying” from “ratting” and re-aligning the former with “telling the truth”. In his famous funeral oration, he spells out the political and moral significations of testifying as “a crucifixion”, equating it with the “duty of a citizen”, thus pushing Terry further to overcome “[his] silence” and to “speak[ing] up without fear against every evil”. Edie in particular functions as the central prop against whom Terry’s masculinization is enacted. According to Schuyler, Marlon Brando, “a bastion of masculinity” and “the quintessential ‘man’s man’”, is methodically feminized in contrast to Edie (2011: 98). The initial portrayal of Terry as feminine is visually emphasized by Brando’s almost drag-like heavy eye makeup in marked contrast to Edie’s unmade-up, genderneutral, almost boyish face; and once Terry testifies and eventually stands up in his final test of masculinity, his feminine makeup is practically replaced by the manly prosthetic paint of “cuts, bruises, blood” (Schuyler 2011: 106-107). Unlike Terry, portrayed as trapped, confused, and inar- 12 Hereafter, the quotations from On the Waterfront will be given without parenthetical citations. The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 219 ticulate, “Edie opens her mouth”: outspoken and fearless, standing up against the male authority figures such as her father and the local priest, as well as initiating the courtship with Terry, Edie is masculinized via “her physical stature, her sexual aggression, even her name”; as Terry gains voice, however, Edie recedes into silence, returning to “a docile female” (Schuyler 2011: 109), even suggesting to him to compromise and run away with her to a “farm” “out west someplace”. In this sense, On the Waterfront does read like another male story by Kazan, a director of male actors and himself a self-claimed womanizer. However, Terry’s reclaimed masculinity remains not so much fully reassuring as imbued with characteristic Kazanian moral ambiguity. Kazan himself seems ambivalent towards masculinity, expressing more readily his affinity for feminine qualities. He writes that he values women’s “loving loyalties” over “the male world and its concerns”, and that those men he has liked best, including Brando, Odets, and Williams, have had “strong ‘feminine’ characteristics”, “those same sympathetic yielding qualities” (1988: 27). Maybe it is his penchant for exploring emotional complexities and feminine vulnerabilities in male characters that makes possible even a homoerotic reading of his movies, identifying in them “a parallel ghost narrative” that presents the male hero as the object of potential gay desire (Harris 2011: 103). 13 Or Kazan the director of male actors can even be recast as “a director of women in epic female stories”, where he “speaks through” the female character doing a kind of “gender mimicry” (Lee 2011: 116, 121). 14 Kazan’s heroes, such as Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), James Dean in East of Eden (1955), Montgomery Clift in Wild River (1960), and Warren Beatty in Splendor in the Grass (1961), are not so much ironclad with John Wayne-like warrior masculinity as representative of Gregory Peck-type Cold War liberal manliness (Moeller 1989: 315). Similar to Proctor’s frontier masculinity redefined by his sensitivity and inner complexity, Kazan’s heroes resonate 13 According to Mark Harris, Kazan identifies the camera with the female character’s point of view, thus placing the male hero as the object of her desire and inviting the potential gay viewer to gaze at the male body through her “frank lust” (2011: 103). Despite the homosexual subtext, Harris also argues, the director’s view on sexuality was prototypical of the 1950s. In Kazan’s view, homosexuals were “not men, but lost boys,” emotionally arrested and inadequately manly, or “a way station on the road to heteronormativity”; nevertheless, Harris pays tribute to Kazan for “the generosity of spirit and complicated empathy,” which he finds “modern” and “unique” in the context of 1950s Hollywood (2011: 106-14). 14 According to Savannah Lee, specifically in Pinky (1949), a film about racial passing, Kazan speaks “his outsider experience” through the heroine, doing “crossidentification” through the character of Pinky. She also argues that Kazan is interested in “discovering the inner life of a woman” and that “he liked women to have inner lives that were ‘masculine’ in depth, difficulty, and toughness” (2011: 116, 120- 121). Junghyun Hwang 220 with the contemporary Cold War liberal reconfiguration of manliness. Emotionally sensitive, feminine in sensibility, and ambivalent about their place in relation to the world, they are “confused by [their] world” and “tortured by self-doubt”, yet still “heroic” in their journey toward “selfawareness” (Basinger 2011: 8). 15 Like Kazan’s other male heroes, Terry is a sensitive man concerned with his “feelings” and “intimate life” (Kazan 1988: 27). Terry’s ambivalent masculinity, in particular, is a dramatization of Kazanian ambiguity, where the individual, faced with absolute moral choices between right and wrong, remains unconvinced, unable or unwilling to pass judgment. As encapsulated in the iconic “I coulda been a contender” speech and the “glove” sequence, Terry struggles with moral uncertainties, wavering between “the tough-guy front” and “the extreme delicacy and gentle cast of his behavior” (Kazan 1988: 517) while trying on Edie’s white glove as “an awkward experimentation with a different view of life” (Neve 2003: 35). Like Proctor agonizing in a moral quandary, Terry struggles in order to decide for himself, be the only judge of his morality, and take responsibility for his decisions. As a personal parallel drama, moreover, it may as well be Kazan himself that is admitting his own guilt for the betrayal of the self no less than of others, when Terry mutters: “Conscience. That stuff can drive you nuts”, or “I was ratting on myself all those years”. Kazanian ambiguity, in other words, like Miller’s ambivalence, comes down to reserving judgment about others and understanding the complexity of the human heart. Terry’s testifying concerns not so much naming names and passing judgment on others as accepting ethical responsibility and asserting human dignity, ultimately replacing this “psychological anatomy” of “shame and guilt” with “self-reliance and dignity” (Kazan, qtd. in Rapf 2003: 13). On the Waterfront ends in characteristically Kazanian ambiguity, where Terry’s final walk of defiance across the pier can seal anything but his unproblematic masculinization. Bruised and bloody, Terry reels his way to his crucifixion and leads the workers into a dark shipbuilding, upon whom the heavy iron door lowers to the ominous rather than triumphant film score. The controversial last sequence seems to draw widely varying, 15 Descending from, but repudiating, the politics of the Popular Front in the 1930s, the Cold War liberal left of the 1950s realigned themselves as anti-Communist liberals under the umbrella of the Americans for Democratic Action (ADA) in 1948. Cold War liberals were recast, à la Arthur Schlesinger Jr., as “tough-minded” political “realists” and the bastion of restored American masculinity, distinguished from their political antecedents, who were dismissed as “soft,” “sentimental,” and “effeminate” idealists (Cuordileone 2005: 2-36). The Cold War anxieties about the emasculation of American men and the feminization of the entire nation - the “softening” of American “moral fiber” - ironically mirror the inner-directed, complex, or “feminine” characteristics of contemporary liberal manliness. The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 221 even mutually contradicting, interpretations as either a cynical pessimism, only “pretending to idealism” (Anderson 1955: 128), or a Hollywood triumphalism complete with the superhero anointed by “sudden mass conversion” (Wertheim 1997: 111). As for Kazan himself, he reasserts his progressive idealism as the consistent undercurrent of the film, but simultaneously insists on acknowledging the persistence of ambiguity in reality: I think democracy progresses […] We’re in a constant state of tension. I believe in Marxism, you know - I believe that one thing affects the other, I believe in interplay, in the dialectic. But I never meant that when they go back to work at the end of the film, there isn’t going to be that same corruption starting up a month later (qtd. in Briley 2016: 48). Kazanian ambiguity, then, may be inherent in his liberal worldview, in which the individual, fundamentally in conflict with the environment, can “come home in the world” only theoretically as a constant process without definitively arriving at any ideal place. Terry’s ideal, be it masculinity, ethical maturity, or even citizenship, is asserted as an individual practice of morality in speaking up against encompassing systemic violence; yet as the unjust system persists, so does ambivalence. Kazanian ambiguity, in other words, illustrates the director’s artistic visions and political convictions that combine Marx - “art should be a force for social change” - with Stanislavski - “psychology could be turned into behavior through the art of performance” (Basinger 2011: 5). In the final analysis, it is Terry’s individual act of defiance that carries democracy a little forward; and it is this note of hope inscribed throughout the film, like Miller’s insistence on the absolute moral values concerning humanity, that upholds Kazan’s essential faith in individual conscience and human dignity. Thus, Miller and Kazan, both from the liberal progressive points of view, tackle the problematics of the Cold War in early 1950s’ America as a fundamental conflict between individual and society, proposing an antiideological critique of the Cold War political and American capitalist system. The intertwining of the personal and the political makes their works artistically complex and their public appeal universal. As Miller’s abiding artistic concern was the essential human condition where the individual is in a constant struggle with society in search of his “rightful” place in it, or the “ethical” way of coming home in the world (1996a: 4- 7; 1996b: 9-11), so was Kazan’s lifelong striving fundamentally for “human dignity” as a “universal value”: “Again here we’re approaching a universal value. A man has a right to regain the human dignity that he has unwittingly let slip! ” (Kazan, qtd. in Rapf 2003: 17). Proctor’s elo- Junghyun Hwang 222 quent “silence” in his refusal to judge others is in fact an act of raising his “voice” for a rightful place in the world, just as Terry’s decision to testify is his vocal assumption of ethical responsibility for a dignified state in society. So, Proctor walks into his death as his last act of defiance against the oppressive environment, just as Terry staggers his way through the hostile world, bearing the burden of moral decisions. In the end, both The Crucible and On the Waterfront are “social drama[s]” that take their critical aims at the “essence of our system, the capitalist system”, not by “rhetoric” but “by that unchallengeable vocabulary, action between people” (Kazan 1988: 359). The two works are the outcomes of the unfortunate friends’ artistic actions, through which Miller and Kazan grappled with their personal dramas of guilt and betrayal, eventually sublimating them into meditations on the human condition and the universal value of human dignity. Miller and Kazan collaborated one last time in 1963 in After the Fall. The play caused quite an uproar, with critical outrage over “Miller’s lack of taste” (Murphy 2006: 51) for drawing on his marriage to Monroe as subject matter. However, Kazan defends the play, standing by his former friend. Unlike the popular reaction that Miller was “unfair to Marilyn” and “self-serving” in “using her to make himself look good”, Kazan says that he was “sympathetic to Art, not to her”, because he finds the Miller- Quentin character “un-self-favoring”, “so unflattering to himself”, in contrast to “Marilyn-Maggie”, whom he considers “true”, “pitiable”, and “tragic” (1988: 673, 690). As for Miller, he also comes close to defending his ex-friend, speaking out against passing moral judgment on him, “how many who knew by now that they had been supporting a paranoid and murderous Stalinist regime had really confronted their abetting of it? ” (1987: 529), while portraying the Mickey-Kazan character in a more sympathetic light and even emphasizing “Quentin’s failure” to respond to Mickey’s call for help (Murphy 2006: 56). Throughout the production process, the two collaborators were quite respectful of each other: Miller expressed his gratitude to the director for creating “a production of great control and truthful feeling, surely one of the best things he had ever done” (1987: 536); and Kazan reciprocated by saying, “I was one hell of a good boy, compliant and respectful, with Art Miller”, and “I worked on Art’s play as best I could - that is, ‘professionally’. I did my job” (1988: 660, 683). Nevertheless, the burden of history proved too heavy to bear as Kazan admits, “I would never really feel toward him quite what a friend should. Nor, I imagine, he toward me” (1988: 471). The two friends remained personally and professionally sympathetic towards each other, but the breach caused by the political storm was not to be fully mended, preventing the complete restoration of their once-brotherly friendship. The Miller-Kazan controversy in The Crucible and On the Waterfront 223 References Adler, T. P. 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