Everyone talks about James Dean. They talk about the red jacket, the fast car, and the "live fast, die young" mantra that turned a kid from Indiana into a global monument. But if you want to understand where that brooding, sensitive, hyper-masculine but deeply vulnerable energy actually started, you have to look at Montgomery Clift.
He was the original. The prototype. Before Marlon Brando mumbled or Dean leaned against a wall with that specific brand of angst, Monty was already there, reinventing what it meant to be a leading man. Then, one foggy night in May 1956, everything changed.
The story of Montgomery Clift before and after isn't just a Hollywood trivia point about a car crash. It’s a messy, tragic, and strangely beautiful look at how a human being survives when their entire identity—literally the face they show the world—is shattered in an instant.
The Face That Launched a New Hollywood
Before the accident, Montgomery Clift was, quite frankly, a god.
There was this stillness to him. Unlike the booming, theatrical actors of the 1930s and 40s, Monty acted with his eyes. In films like Red River (1948) and A Place in the Sun (1951), he looked like he was harboring a secret that would kill him if he let it out. He wasn't just "handsome" in the way Clark Gable was handsome. He was beautiful. Fine-boned. Precise.
He was also a pioneer of the Method. He famously turned down massive studio contracts because he wanted control over his scripts. He didn't want to be a product; he wanted to be an artist. By the mid-50s, he had three Oscar nominations under his belt. He was at the absolute summit of his powers.
Then came the production of Raintree County.
Twelve Minutes in the Fog
On May 12, 1956, Monty was at a dinner party hosted by his closest friend, Elizabeth Taylor. She lived up in Benedict Canyon, which, if you’ve ever driven it, is a nightmare of "cork-twister" roads. Monty was tired. He was struggling with his lines. He was already leaning a bit too hard on a "concoction" of substances to get through the day.
He left the party around midnight. His friend Kevin McCarthy was driving in front of him. In the rearview mirror, McCarthy saw Monty’s headlights swerve, weave, and then simply vanish.
The crash was catastrophic. Monty’s car slammed into a telephone pole at high speed. The engine was still roaring, the smell of gas was everywhere, and the car was, as Taylor later described it, an "accordion-pleated mess."
The Moment Elizabeth Taylor Saved Him
This is the part that sounds like a movie script, but it actually happened. McCarthy ran back to the house to get help. Taylor didn't wait for the ambulance. She ran down the hill, crawled through the back window of the demolished car, and cradled Monty’s head in her lap.
He was choking. He couldn't breathe.
Two of his front teeth had been knocked out and were lodged in his throat. Without hesitating, Elizabeth Taylor reached into the "bloody pulp" of his face and pulled the teeth out with her bare fingers. She saved his life right there on the asphalt.
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She also stood between him and the photographers who arrived, threatening that they’d never get another photo of her if they snapped one of Monty in that state. That's why there are no photos of him from the immediate aftermath.
Montgomery Clift Before and After: Spotting the Difference
When people talk about Montgomery Clift before and after, they usually point to Raintree County. Since the film was halfway finished when the accident happened, you can literally see the transition on screen. It is one of the most jarring things in cinematic history.
In the "before" scenes, his skin is smooth, his jawline is sharp, and his energy is vibrant.
In the "after" scenes—shot months later after his jaw had been wired shut and his nose rebuilt—he looks like a different man. The left side of his face was partially paralyzed. His nose was different. He looked like he had aged fifteen years in a single summer.
What Changed in His Acting?
Honestly? The accident might have made him a deeper actor, even as it destroyed him physically.
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- The Vulnerability: If he was "brooding" before, he was "haunted" after. The pain wasn't a performance anymore.
- The Physicality: He developed a slight limp and a stiffness in his neck. He used this to play characters who were broken, like the rodeo performer in The Misfits (1961).
- The Focus: He became even more obsessed with the interior life of his characters. Since he couldn't rely on his "pretty boy" looks, he leaned into the raw, nervous energy that eventually became his trademark.
The "Longest Suicide in Hollywood History"
The decade following the crash is often called "the longest suicide in Hollywood history." It’s a harsh phrase, but it captures the reality of his decline. To deal with the excruciating physical pain of his reconstructed face and the psychological trauma of losing his looks, Monty turned heavily to alcohol and painkillers.
He wasn't easy to work with anymore. He was often intoxicated on set. In The Misfits, Marilyn Monroe famously said of him, "He’s the only person I know who is in worse shape than I am."
Yet, he still turned in incredible work. His performance in Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) lasted only seven minutes, but it earned him another Oscar nomination. He played a man who had been sterilized by the Nazis—a character whose confusion and mental instability mirrored Monty’s own reality at the time.
The Mystery of the Final Night
Monty died on July 23, 1966. He was only 45.
The details are lonely. He was in his New York apartment. His personal assistant, Lorenzo James, asked if he wanted to watch The Misfits, which was playing on TV that night. Monty’s last words were a firm, "Absolutely not."
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The next morning, James found him dead in the bathtub. The official cause was a heart attack brought on by "occlusive coronary artery disease." But anyone who knew him knew that his heart had been under siege since that night in 1956.
How to Appreciate the Legacy
If you want to truly understand the impact of the accident on his craft, don't just look at side-by-side photos. Watch the movies.
- Watch A Place in the Sun first. Look at the way he looks at Elizabeth Taylor. That is the "before." It is pure, unadulterated cinematic beauty.
- Then watch The Misfits. Look at his eyes. The beauty is gone, but the soul is much more exposed. He’s playing a man who gets his head kicked in by bulls for a living, and you can feel every bruise.
Actionable Insights for Film Buffs
If you’re researching Clift for a project or just a deep dive into film history, keep these nuances in mind:
- Don't call him a "victim." Despite the addiction, he fought to stay in the industry and worked with the best directors (Huston, Wilder, Kazan) until the end.
- Analyze the lighting. Notice how post-accident directors used shadows to hide the left side of his face. It created a specific "noir" aesthetic that defined his later career.
- Acknowledge the friendship. The bond between Taylor and Clift is one of the few genuine, non-toxic relationships in Old Hollywood. She even put her own salary on the line to get him cast in Reflections in a Golden Eye (a role that eventually went to Marlon Brando after Monty died).
Montgomery Clift didn't just have a "before and after" career. He had two distinct lives. One as a prince of Hollywood, and another as its most resilient, broken-hearted survivor.