The Hollywood War (2015)

Tonight SBS aired the last episode of the three-part documentary, The Hollywood War (2015), which looks at how the American cinema industry played a major role in World War II. The series is presented in three parts: ‘From Berlin to Hollywood’; ‘Star Wars’; and ‘The End of Innocence’. Here is the premise of the series:

Answering President Roosevelt’s call, Hollywood’s eight major studios devoted their resources and their talents to the war effort. Drama, documentaries, cartoons: thousands of films were produced, meant either for the general public or for the different branches of the military.

The documentary shows the origins of America’s defiant patriotism, with various Hollywood celebrities helping the war effort, including Casablanca‘s Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. Among the films referenced in the third and final episode include The Story of G.I. Joe (1945), with Burgess Meredith as war correspondent Ernie Pyle, Orson Welles’ The Stranger (1946), with Welles playing ex-Nazi Franz Kindler (with Edward G. Robinson hot on his trail), and the docudrama The Beginning or the End (1947), which dramatises the creation of the atomic bomb in the Manhattan Project, and the bombing of Hiroshima.

See part 1 and 2 online at SBS.

Orson Welles on Hemingway on Parkinson (1974)

On May 18, 2015, Sadie Stein of The Paris Review wrote a short piece about the great American director Orson Welles waxing lyrical about his odd ‘friendship’ (and rivalry) with great American author Ernest Hemingway (there’s also a mention of great Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov) on Michael Parkinson’s show. Below is the clip:

 

 

No Rosebud for Welles: ‘Sartre and Borges on Welles’ (2014)

From the Paris Review, Dan Piepenbring looks at one of Orson Welles’ most famous and most criticised films, Citizen Kane, and the theorists who condemned the film. View the article, Sartre and Borges on Welles, published August 12, 2014.

Orson Welles’ “Too Much Johnson” (1938)

Originally believed to be lost, and then burned in his Spanish villa, Orson Welles’ unfinished short films titled Too Much Johnson (1938) have been restored and screened for the first time in Italy and at the Eastman House in Rochester, New York.  Welles created the films to accompany his original stage adaptation of the William Gillette 1894 play of the same name, the films acting as prologues to each act of the play. The Mercury Theatre originally intended to screen the comedy with live music and sound effects, but the films were never actually finished. After being found in a warehouse in Italy in 2012, the films have had their world premiere on October 9, 2013, at Le Giornate del Cinema Muto in Pordenone, Italy. The first North American screening was on November 25, 2013 at the Dryden Theatre at George Eastman House. Welles fans gathered to watch the screening, with tickets being sold for $50 a pop. A reviewer from Silent London writes of the film:

The experience of watching them on a big screen, projected from 35mm, with expert piano accompaniment from Philip Carli, and commentary from Paolo Cherchi Usai, was dream-like, exhilarating and occasionally laugh-out-loud hilarious. Because we don’t have a final cut of Too Much Johnson, the footage includes retakes, gaps and mistakes. The extant material is a hint of what might have been – but also the heights that Welles was to achieve later in his career.

This is one of many films of Welles’ oeuvre left unfinished or unseen. Among the unfinished projects are Don Quixote (1992), which was put together by Jess Franco and released at Cannes to scathing reviews; The Dreamers, a project which Welles never gained financial backing for, and whose footage can be seen in the documentary Orson Welles: The One-Man Band and on the Criterion DVD release of Welles F for Fake (1973) (the rights to the source material are owned by Welles’ business partner Andy Howard; Orson Welles’ Magic Show (1976-1985), an unfinished television special; The Deep, based on the novel 1963  Dead Calm by Charles Williams; The Merchant of Venice, completed but partially lost, with Francesco Lavagnino, who composed the music for Welles’ Othello (1952) and Chimes at Midnight (1966) providing the musical score; and, most notably, The Other Side of the Wind, of which partial footage was uploaded to Youtube in November 2012, and whose main character is modeled on Ernest Hemingway. The film encountered various complex, legal difficulties. Although rumours have been floating around that the film is due to be released soon, Peter Bogdanovich, one of the cast members of the film, has stated that it is unlikely eager fans will see the film in its completion any time soon. Despite the original negative reportedly being in excellent condition (after Bogdanovich inspected it in its Paris vault), and despite huge demand to see the film, the director is currently working on a comedy starring Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson. Click here to see Bogdanovich’s thoughts on the completion of the film.

Midnight Special

The time or concept of Midnight holds a special place in film; while Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy is ending with the acclaimed Before Midnight, (2013) here are some other films in which Midnight is featured as significant cultural metaphor:

Chimes at Midnight (1966)

Who better to play the famed Falstaff than Orson Welles himself, who directs the film inspired by five Shakespearean plays including Henry IV, Part 1 and Henry IV, Part 2, Richard II, and Henry V. The film was a long time in the making, with Welles developing the idea through several plays including Five Kings (1939), before settling on the idea that would become Chimes at Midnight, a story about the betrayal of friendship. The title comes from the second part of Henry IV, in which Falstaff states: “We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.” According to Welles scholar Bridget Gellert Lyons (no relation), the title: “which is given further resonance by the repeated intoning of bells throughout the film, is associated for the audience with sadness and mortality more than youthful carousal.”

Midnight Cowboy (1969)

Ultimately a story about friendship, based on the 1965 book of the same name by James Leo Herlihy, John Schlesinger directs a young Jon Voight in the role of naïve though somewhat kind-hearted male prostitute, Joe Buck, who has a habit of dressing up as a cowboy. Buck travels to New York intent on making a career in prostitution, making money from sex-starved women, although it doesn’t go according to plan. Soon Buck meets small time con-artist Enrico “Ratso” Rizzo, (played brilliantly by Dustin Hoffman) who is crippled and abrasive but eager to be friends with Buck. John Barry composed the melancholic, Grammy award-winning theme for the film, while the song “Everybody’s Talkin”, written by Fred Neil and performed by Harry Nilsson, won a Grammy for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance.

Midnight in Paris (2011)

Arguably Woody Allen’s most popular feature film, Midnight in Paris is a colourful, nostalgic work that follows Gil Pender (Owen Wilson), as he travels back in time to 1920s Paris at midnight every night, meeting such illustrious historical figures as Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Salvador Dali and an assortment of others. While Gil struggles to write his book, he deals with the romantic dilemma of whether to leave his impatient, superficial girlfriend Inez (Rachel McAdams), for the lovely Parisian art-groupie Adrianne (Marion Cotillard). Underpinning the whole story is the issue surrounding nostalgia and the process by which the past becomes romanticised. Pure gold.

Midnight Express (1978)

Brutal and disturbing, Alan Parker’s American/British film, based on Billy Hayes’ 1977 book Midnight Express and adapted to screenplay by Oliver Stone, tells the story of Billy, an American college student who, while holidaying in Istanbul, straps 2kg of hashish blocks to his chest and attempts to board a plane bound for America. Billy is arrested and eventually sentenced to 30 years in prison, where he suffers physical and mental torture before breaking down and almost beating to death one of his inmates (biting off the prisoner’s tongue in the process). Gruesome and alarming, the film was a critical and commercial success despite criticisms about the portrayal of Turkish people.

Bizarre Noir

Each genre, be it in film, television, literature or music, adheres to its own set of rules and conventions. Occasionally these expectations need to be altered or shattered completely in order to keep the genres from becoming stale. Hardboiled fiction and noir are two of those genres whose characterisation is specific, brutal in its crudeness and gritty with darkness and colourful unsentimentality. So when the obscure interpretation of this genre arises, it not only challenges the conventions of noir and hardboiled but in fact reaffirms it to make it even stronger by playing with these conventions. But so rare are the examples of obscure hardboiled fiction that it does not encompass a complete list, though there are a few instances where the conventions of noir are ripped apart and reinterpreted quite nicely, keeping the genre suitably fresh.

Noted as a children’s classic, but found in the ordinary film section of JB-HI FI, the Steven Spielberg film Who framed Roger Rabbit? (the title possibly inspired by Agatha Christie’s classic Who killed Roger Ackroyd?) is an underappreciated subgenre of the hardboiled detective genre. Based on the little-known book Who Censored Roger Rabbit? (1981) by Gary K. Wolf, , the quirky comedic twist on noir tells the tale of a cartoon rabbit who is framed for murder. After cartoon creator Marvin Acme is seen playing paddy-cake with Roger’s wife Jessica Rabbit—the very epitome of hardboiled femme fatal, with her impossibly perfect hourglass frame, red hair, sultry eyes and velvet voice—he is later found dead. When Roger is targeted as the prime suspect, he enlists the help of reluctant detective-to-the-toons, Eddie Valiant, who uncovers a comic conspiracy. The film became a classic and features the jazzy film score of composer Alan Silvestri, performing with the London Symphony Orchestra. Bob Hoskins’ Eddie Valiant is the disgruntled, world-weary hardboiled detective par excellence, with a suitable hatred of the toons he works for, before glimpses of his personal life and inner self soften his prickly façade. One poignant, noir-driven scene shows Valiant pouring out a bottle of scotch before throwing it up in the air and shooting it with a cartoon bullet.

The book differs quite a bit from the film. Rather than Marvin Acme being at the centre of the murder, Roger Rabbit himself is the one who is murdered. In Wolf’s universe, comic strip characters rather than cartoon characters can converse with humans, with their speech bubbles being visible, and comic strips created by photographing the characters. Also in the book version, conversely to the film, the comic strip characters are able to be killed, though they can create a doppelgänger of themselves that turn to dust after a few minutes. Wolf dedicates the book to Bugs, Donald, Minnie and ‘the rest of the gang at the B Street Smoke Shop.’ Early in the novel Valiant makes a humorous observation about the liquor that toons drink:

Since Toons could not legally buy human-manufactured liquor, most drank the moonshine produced by their country cousins in Dogpatch and Hootin’ Holler. Potent stuff. Few humans could handle it. Although no stranger to strong to drink, I knew my limitations well enough to pass.

Later, Valiant witnessing Baby Herman, a toon whose a 36 year old man in a baby’s body, smoking a Havana cigar: ‘He lit up and exhaled a cloud that would have done credit to a locomotive.’ We then get a great hardboiled reference to one of the masters of the genre, Dashiell Hammett: ‘I cradled my head in my hands. What had I ever done to deserve this? Other detectives get the Maltese Falcon. I get a paranoid rabbit.’

And of course, whether in the film version or the book, Jessica Rabbit (voiced in the film by sultry-voiced Kathleen Turner) embodies the femme fatal to a tee: ‘A knockout. Every line perfection. Creamy skin, a hundred and twenty pounds well distributed on a statuesque frame, stunning red hair. Easily able to pass for human. “What did someone like this ever see in a cartoon rabbit?”’Fans of traditional hardboiled noir will easily be fans of this ode to the genre with a comedic twist. It takes the edge of what might otherwise be a fairly mediocre tail.

South of the border there is Christa Faust’s Hoodtown. Hoodtown is described as a ‘Lucha-noir’ novel. For those wanting a change of location and occupation, this fish-out-of-water noir offers the reader a sumptuous banquet of culture shock, women fighters and a culture obsessed with the act of masking:

‘Now maybe you don’t have hoods in your nice suburban neighbourhood, but this ain’t Cobalt Street, baby. This is Hoodtown. Secreto City. La Yasa. The story takes place around the rather macabre event of Lucha libre wrestling. It follows former luchadora turned private eye ‘X’, who begins to investigate the murders of unmasked prostitutes, the unmasking considered a dishonour. A Marxist would find the work an intriguing statement on class structure in Mexico, considering the discrepancy between the masked and the non-masked. For those noir fans, Faust provides a strong, hardboiled female voice in a genre otherwise occupied by men (although Sara Paretsky and Patricia Highsmith are good contenders). Faust happens to be the first woman published in the prestigious Hard Case Crime series, featuring such notable authors and hardboiled masters as Lawrence Block and Donald E. Westlake.

Described as ‘Casablanca with wrestling masks’, Hoodtown is an innovative addition to the noir oeuvre, and the dialogue is snappy and exudes traditional noir charisma, though undoubtedly brings new scenarios to the table. Those hoping to brush up on their Spanish will also benefit from reading the novel, which provides a glossary of ‘Hoodtown slang’ including the ever popular ‘cajones’, and ‘dinero.’ And, in keeping with the hardboiled noir theme, Faust assures her readers that X is anything but a hero:

Name’s X. I’m a wrestler, at least I used to be. They used to call me the Ice Queen, on account of my ice-coloured eyes and emotionless persona in the ring. I’m a ruda, a stone cold bitch and no kinda hero, but I still have a story that needs telling. Oh, and in case you couldn’t tell by this mask on my head, I’m a hood.

Set in an entirely different culture than traditional noir is used to, the culture clash between the masked and the unmasked (the latter purporting to be superior) makes for an intriguing read.

Jonathan Lethem, an editor of the work Kafka Americana, meshes two cult genres: noir and sci-fi, in his much neglected work Gun, with Occasional Music (1994). Opening with a Raymond Chandler quote, Lethem follows private detective Conrad Metcalf through a futuristic San Francisco, hired by a man accused of killing a urologist. Amidst the dark and dank locations Metcalf bumps into all kinds of strange characters, including one sly kangaroo by the name of Joey Castle who works for the boss of the mafia:

I let Angwine chew that over while I nursed my drink and took a look around. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dim lighting, and I could make out the other patrons of the bar at the far-off tables—but only just. I was a little surprised to see an evolved kangaroo drinking alone near the window, his furry face backlit with moonlight. He was staring at our table and looked away when I glared at him, but there was no way he could hear what we were saying and I wrote it off. The rules barring the evolved were slackening everywhere, and bigots like me were just going to have to get used to it.

Lethem is not without humour though:

Standing in the doorway was the evolved kangaroo I’d seen in the bar of the Vistamont. He was wearing a canvas jacket and plastic pants with a tight elastic waistband, and his paws were tucked into his pockets. He stepped into the room. I got up off the edge of the bed. “You’re in too deep, flathead,” he said. He spoke in a clipped, recitative way, in a voice that was a bit too high to sound as tough as he wanted.

Like Wolf, Lethem blends the ludicrous with the dark, featuring evolved animals that can talk including a kitten and an ape. There are also technologically advanced children known as ‘baby-heads’, who are able to surpass adults in terms of intelligence. Quite dystopian in theme, toward the end of the novel, after Metcalf has been frozen, society deems memory a social taboo, while private investigation becomes illegal. A dark work that fits the mould of noir superbly, readers will find it shares similar traits to the works Brave New World and Blade Runner in terms of bizarre social mores and strange, artificial characters. A cult classic that has been underappreciated in both the science fiction and noir genres, this is a strange albeit arresting novel that would appeal to noir aficionados looking for darkness within the absurd.

There are many strange and alternative noir thrillers, including Rudolph Mate’s 1950 noir flick DOA that sees the protagonist attempting to reveal the identity of his own murderer, leading journalist David Wood to state that the film had one of cinemas most innovative opening sequences of all time. Orson Welles’ 1947 classic Lady from Shanghai was also branded by film critic Dave Kehr as ‘the weirdest great film ever made.’ But in keeping with the sci-fi theme I thought I’d bring up an old favourite. While noted for its mastery of filmic subtlety, the French New Wave movement was not restricted to stories of neglected women, doomed criminals and tragic, philosophical love affairs. In Jean-Luc Godard’s science fiction masterpiece Alphaville: une étrange aventure de Lemmy Caution (1965), the director taps into the popular theme of dystopian futures, wherein a characteristically grim and no-nonsense detective Lemmy Caution (a brilliant Eddie Constantine), who loves gold and women above all else, investigates crime in the strange, futuristic city of Alphaville, or Nuevo York, a city entirely controlled by a computer, Alpha 60, and in which emotions are forbidden. Much of Alpha 60’s discourse is directly excerpted from the work of Argentinian poet Jorge Luis Borges, from his essays ‘A New Refutation of Time’ and ‘Forms of a Legend’, including: ‘Time is a river which carries me along. But I am time. It is a tiger, tearing me apart; but I am the tiger.’ Completing the picture is one Natasha Von Braun, played by Anna Karen, a robotic woman who ruffles Caution’s feathers with her dim sentiments and placid façade. In keeping with the noir motif, Caution saves Natasha not from an actual corporeal enemy or ‘bad guy’ but from herself, injecting love and conscious into her emotionally anaemic life.

Alphaville is bereft of authentic humanity, which makes the hardboiled scene even more potent. The film contrasts two distinctly different and strong emotional levels: there is the dark void of the computerised city, controlled, organised and docile, and the brutal, uninhibited humanity of Lemmy’s detective. One could claim Lemmy’s characterisation of unruly detective to be the ultimate representation of Alphaville’s rival. It is not enough to express human emotions, but to express them in an extreme, uncontrollable manner. Detectives fit this profile perfectly.

In the scenes where Caution appears to admire Paul Eluard’s poetry, this appears to be reminiscent of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, in which Smith desires all the things representative of humanity: ‘But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.’ Caution declares in a similar manner: ‘I shall fight so that failure is possible.’

Moreover the contrast between the hardboiled detective and dystopian control mirrors Winston Smith’s perceptions of humanity and rebellion in George Orwell’s 1984, where Smith favours Julie for sleeping with so many people, believing sex to be a political act against the dominating party. Sex, violence and disarray reflect the values of humanity as being in complete contrast with the mundane orderly values of Alpha 60, The Party, and controlled society in general. Anything logical is presented as starkly inhuman, as Caution yells to the master computer: ‘Fuck yourself with your logic.’ A refreshing take on the noir business in general, Godard does not stray from philosophical explorations in the midst of ‘cloak and dagger’ themes. Constantine’s Caution is an advocator of conscience and a detractor of logic. For French new wave and noir fans alike it is pure gold.

A Hitchcock Homage

“Call me Hitch, hold the cock,” says the playful, flirty characterisation of Alfred Hitchcock in Sacha Gervasi’s film Hitchcock (2012).

History has a way of distorting popular figures, especially through the medium of Hollywood films, and this Hitchcock biopic is no exception. If you like your history sunny side up, this film would be of interest to you. The many flaws of Hitchcock are presented in an endearing, flattering manner that tries to paint his flaws as comedic. While he is evidently presented in an unfavourable manner for much of the film, he is nevertheless presented as a redeeming figure who is ultimately a kind old man underneath a filmic genius. Those who are familiar with Hitchcock’s notorious ways behind the camera may dislike the film. The casting itself is a curious thing, with Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh, and Helen Mirren as Hitchcock’s long suffering wife Alma. Fitting the boisterous role of Hitchcock is Sir Anthony Hopkins, playing not his greatest role to date, but one that certainly deserves attention, considering the literally enormous shoes he is filling.

Rather than following all of Hitchcock’s career, the film focuses on Hitchcock’s struggles, both financial and personal, getting his adaptation of Psycho off the ground. Paramount Pictures are hesitant but later give in, and the censor’s board continue to badger Hitchcock about the nude and murder scene.

While the opening plays with the nostalgic elements of those who watched Alfred Hitchcock Presents, from there, very few authentic characteristics are revealed about the darkness of Hitchcock. In fact, if not for the plot centring around Psycho, a viewer might not catch on that this is actually about the master of suspense, rather than about a rich older man and his wife. The darkness is played in the light, with Hitchcock’s peepholes into his leading actresses’ dressing room garnering laughs from the minute audience. While Tippy Hedren of The Birds called Hitchcock a ‘mean, mean man,’ the leading actresses in this film (Johansson and Jessica Biel playing Janet Leigh and Vera Miles respectively) muse over Hitchcock being easier to work with than Orson Welles. His womanising, drinking, and difficult working habits are downplayed as a mere character flaw that should not corrupt the man’s genius. This is often the way with masters of cinema and geniuses of film: think Peter Sellers and even Ernest Hemingway. In fact, Sylvia Beach was said to have dismissed James Joyce’s act of cutting her out of future publishing profits, by claiming that she had been working with a genius. The light touch of the film is further accentuated by the poor choice of composer, Danny Elfman, whose upbeat scores do not parallel with the reality that was Hitchcock.

A mercifully darker element to the film is the relationship between Hitch, and the man who inspired the character Norman Bates, Ed Gein, whose house was filled with skin-made lampshades and lips for curtain handles. Throughout much of the film, the murderer invades Hitch’s conscience, offering him advice about his personal issues with his wife. As far as films go, this is right on par with the kinds of films made today, where characters are fairly bland and little substance can be seen. It is too superficial to be something of real value. While Anthony Hopkins does his best with Hitchcock,  it is the rather predictable, Hollywood type script that fails what could have been something much more intriguing.

I grew up in the 90s, where films were beginning to wane in quality but still had a decent amount of gusto. It is my belief that films truly began to lose their lustre at the turn of the century, with The Matrix rounding off the last pop-culturally interesting films in 1999. After that, there grew an overly focused attention on acting and character driven films with bland characters that are all talk with little substance to them. The last few Oscar-winning films, for instance (Crash, Million Dollar Baby, A Beautiful Mind, The Departed, etc.) are amnesiatic films, in that they are applauded on acting and receive a great number of awards, before they disappear into oblivion, and nobody remembers them. People remember The Great Escape, Gone with the Wind, The French Lieutenants Woman, The Shining and The Godfather. The integral quality of a film, a part from characters, is its ability to be remembered, to be sustained throughout popular culture. While there were many good elements to this film, including a vaguely comedic touch at the beginning and at the end that tapped into authentic Hitchcock nostalgia, many of these elements were not good enough to lift the film up from its underwhelming aftertaste. It exists in the same vein as popular, ‘big’ films such as this years’ biopic from Spielberg, Lincoln. The endurance of these big films is very short-lived indeed. While French director Jean-Luc Godard once stated that bad reviews are pointless, they are perhaps more necessary now that films lack any enduring quality.

“No sense of home…No Rosebud”: The 27th Anniversary of Orson Welles’ Death

On this day 27 years ago, great American actor, radio presenter, film director, writer and producer Orson Welles died of a heart-attack a few hours after giving his last interview on the Merv Griffin Show. The actor, who experienced a long, notorious life was found slumped over his typewriter while working on a new script- perhaps a more poignant way to go.

In his final interview, a somewhat characteristically guarded Welles discusses Rita Hayworth and turning 70, in an eerie manner that seems to allow him his final thoughts on touching moments in his life, as though it was meant to be the last interview.

Welles’ voice, more so than any other aspect of his being, is his most well-known feature; the deep, wisdom-laden voice that was always there beyond his years. The most notorious example of this was his infamous radio broadcast of H.G Wells’ classic The War of the Worlds, taken to be real by its listeners. After the event, Welles was forced to apologise for the stunt.

While his most notable work is undoubtedly Citizen Kane (1941), Welles has a long list of creative achievements, including his final film, The Immortal Story (1968). Set in the Portuguese colony of Macao in the 19^th century, Welles plays the character Mr. Clay, an old, wealthy merchant who makes his clerk, Levinsky, read to him each night. Mr. Clay then expresses his desire to hear the story of a rich man who paid a dishevelled, penniless sailor to make love and father a child with his wife. Despite being childless and alone, Mr Clay decides to manifest the story, hiring a sailor and another clerk’s mistress to re-enact the story. A short film- less than an hour long- the story is nevertheless an intriguing and often neglected work in Welles’ oeuvre. It is subtle, abreast with symbolism throughout the film, with the ending scene of the porch not too dissimilar from the train station in Welles’ F for Fake (1973), another great work. Other greats included Eric Ambler’s Journey into Fear (1943), Chimes at Midnight (1965) and Mr Arakadin (1955). His foray into Noir also proved fruitful with A Touch of Evil (1958).

In another interview, Welles is asked whether ‘home’ has any meaning for him, to which he responds:

Welles: Oh yes. As a kid I was moved around everywhere. I have lots of homes. But I would like to have the one.

Interviewer: You don’t have a Rosebud?

Welles (smiles): No..

Interviewer: But one must have inside oneself a sense of home…

Welles: Yes

Interviewer: You must have it…Now where is it?

Welles: That’s a wonderful question…While I sit here and think about it, all the viewers will be bored it’ll take me so long to think…I suppose it’s Woodstock, Illinois if it’s anywhere…

The interview is available here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tk6oQbhZRdE&feature=related

One of the comments to this clip states, ‘this was back when interviewers asked real questions.’ Similarly, what can be said about the tremendous reception of Welles’ work is that it was composed in a time when each and every scene seemed crafted with deadly precision, which is at least true for Welles’ works. Analogous to French new wave cinema, Welles, as director, used each scene itself, each angle to communicate something of significance. Of films, Welles stated, ‘A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.’ When comparing his vast body of work with the films of today, it is easy to spot the crucial difference between those films that communicate merely via the script– the obvious form of communication—and those that utilise every inch and aspect of the camera itself. Ironically, and somewhat disconcertingly, current films seem to forget or ignore that film is a visual art-form, and therefore must be taken advantage of as such.

It is with a cautious approach that great men must be talked of and about, especially where ‘greatness’ is, pessimistically or not, something that has degenerated into chaotic ubiquity. By this I mean that writing or talking about the greatness of someone like Orson Welles makes one reflect unfavourably upon the present. In a unit I am currently completing for my honours, myself and my peers are looking at Charisma and Celebrity. In his scathing essay on celebrity, The Human Pseudo-Event, Boorstin writes, ‘The universal lament of aging men [and women, like myself], in all epochs, then, is that greatness has become obsolete…Each successive age has believed that heroes—great men [and women]—dwelt mostly before its own time.’

With severe lack of clarity, it seems as though Boorstin’s grim prognosis has its footing well within the twenty-first century culture. While it’s debatable whether Boorstin’s essay may have been referring, intentionally or not, to Welles, we can certainly place the man in this seemingly ‘obsolete’ category of greatness.

American writer Rodger Jacobs compares Welles to the equally egotistic detective Sherlock Holmes in his essay, A Man of a Certain Ego (2010):

“There are numerous similarities in the psychological make-up of Orson Welles and Doyle’s famous fictional detective, both men possessing extraordinary intellectual gifts, both haunted and made dangerously restless by the “bone-deep understanding” that each individual life is but a mere speck in the cosmos.”

The rest of the article is available from Popmatters here: http://www.popmatters.com/pm/tools/full/119264

It is difficult, or at the very least tricky to discern whether Welles’ greatness surpassed that of his films. Like the chicken and egg scenario, one wonders whether Welles acquired greatness through his films, or whether his films were great because of Orson Welles. Though Welles had an interesting take, as he did on a great many aspects, on his work and life: ‘I do not suppose I shall be remembered for anything. But I don’t think about my work in those terms. It is just as vulgar to work for the sake of posterity as to work for the sake of money.’

Kane overthrown by Vertigo: Bernard Herrmann’s unshaken legacy

Earlier this month a British Film Institute poll revealed that for the first time in 50 years, Orson Welles’ brilliant film Citizen Kane (1941), often considered the best film of all time, was no longer number one on the list. Topping this great work was another classic, Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), rated for the first time as the greatest film, a position held continuously by Kane. Before 2012, Citizen Kane had won every poll, conducted every ten years by critics around the world, since 1952. Nick James, editor of Sight and Sound magazine, which conducts the poll, said, “Cinephilia has changed in that there’s less of a massive respect for the all-singing, all-dancing, every technological achievement in one film kind of film, like Citizen Kane. People are moving towards more personal films, ones that they can react to personally in their own lives, and Vertigo is that kind of film, especially if you watch it more than once. It is a film that grows and grows on you.”

Herrmann and Hitchcock

The top five of this year’s list concluded with Yasujiro Ozu’s Tokyo Story (1953), Jean Renoir’s La Règle du Jeu (1939) and German expressionist director Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau’s Sunrise (1927).

Yet despite Kane being bested, both Vertigo and Citizen Kane were scored by great twentieth century composer Bernard Herrmann, whose iconic and culturally significant scores (Psycho (1960), Taxi Driver (1976)) have become part of cinematic history. More of his work is heard in films Tender is the Night (1962), North by Northwest (1959), The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956) and The Ghost and Mrs Muir (1947). It is an unfortunate fact that despite the societies dedicated to his work, most notably The Bernard Herrmann Society, Herrmann’s work as a composer is undervalued in contemporary cinema. He collaborated with some of the greatest directors of cinema, including François Truffaut, Hitchcock, Welles, and Martin Scorsese. Though in contemporary culture, Herrmann’s name is less known among today’s cinema-goers than his famous musical scores, particularly for Hitchcock’s Psycho, which continues to be one of the most well-known pieces of music in cinematic history.