Mnk, are you an idiot full-time or do you just moonlight? Despite the length of your posts, and the constant reference to simplified synopsis of biographies I can't believe you've actually read, you seem to have about as many active ideas as those children who burst onto the Citizen Kane board on a regular basis and declare it "overrated, a boring mvie!" You seem to maintain the old-fashioned (modified post-Kael) idea of Welles that allows critics and audiences to utterly dismiss everything he did after Kane just because it was not like Kane, or because it might (gasp!) be difficult or strange or new. You also seem to have not made any effort to verify through different means that Welles was as you say, because said different means (i.e. biographies that don't presuppose that Welles was a prick and a liar and a loser) seem to suggest different. Welles by no means told the truth all of the time, but no less than anyone else, and certainly no less than anyone possessed of his theatricality and refined gift for storytelling would be expected to do. The majority of Welles's associates, close or otherwise, tended to speak of him in glowing terms, moody and difficult as he could be (those sound suspiciously like words one might apply to an artist, don't they?); Houseman alone tended to be consistently negative about him, especially about his writing abilities, and given the complexity of the relationship beyween Welles and Houseman and the bitterness of that close relationship's end, it is hardly surprising. What is surprising is the fact that Welles never attacked him back - if an old friend was telling ugly stories about me behind my back (especially if said stories were unsupported by fact) I would certainly have not been so charitable.
At any rate, the Bogdanovich book is as accurate as any of the other biographies, and far more accurate than, say, the "biography" written by David Thomson, which contains no original research and more factual errors per page than a White House press report. Thomson seems to be the last of the Kaelites: he fully understands that if you create and misrepresent spurious information about someone then you can make them look pretty bad.
As for Welles as a director.... Orson Welles was the greatest film director of the modern era (meaning that, to me at least, he was an inferior magician to Méliès, perhaps had less command of pulp fiction than Feuillade, couldn't stand up to the editing prowess of the early Eisenstein, wasn't as consistently funny as Chaplin was in his early short films, and was not as inventive a stager of Shakespeare as Percy Stow). This is a personal opinion, of course, but a little illumination can easily defeat your argument - or it would if you had an argument.
While you are correct to attack the ironically named "geniusboy" for dismissing some of the most interesting Hollywood directors as generic (the idea that Ford's films are anything less than one of a kind, uncomplex, or "mere entertainments" is nothing less than laughable), your seeming inability to spot what is so magnificently interesting and engaging about Welles's directorial work is more ludicrous. I can only assume that either you have not actually seen the films you attack but only read about them, or at the very least that you have put no effort into such viewing. Anyone who has seen a Hawks film should recognize that Welles had a similar conception of staging and dialogue, and that both were "overlapping" in nature, perhaps theatrical but no more so than anyone else. Many of Welles's films feature multiple characters speaking at once, much as in Hawks's classic His Girl Friday and elsewhere, although Hawks was proficient more at giving the illusion that everyone spoke at once while Welles seemed happy to let them actually do it. One of the reasons that a film like Touch of Evil or Mr. Arkadin can be "tough to follow" (although to me they've never made anything other than sense - perhaps something as simple as paying attention is rewarding after all, n'est-ce pas?) is that so much happens at once. Some, rather than naming this baffling, would call it "rich." Those are the people who care about movies.
Welles's staging is less stagey than Hawks's, though: Hawks gains reality by presenting the figures and the set in a theatrical way, keeping the camera a respectful distance from the action and adhering more or less to one angle during a scene, with appropriate cut-ins for effect (as per a standard Hollywood editing style), thus allowing the performers to cover as much ground character-wise as possible. Welles, to some extent, began by using a style not dissimilar, although his actual compositional style is derived from Soviet and German cinema of the 1930s (not just in Kane, although very much so there), although the important thing to remember is that such style was not in wide use at the time in Hollywood, except by Gregg Toland, which is most certainly why Welles requested him to begin with (I know, I know - you are shocked to think that Welles may have requested him because that would imply that Welles had some kind of vision of the film before it went into production that looked not unlike what eventually appeared on-screen - you seem to have read Robert Carringer's book but skipped every other word). Anyway, his early style is Hawksian in the sense that he preferred the master shot (as did Ford), but he went a step further in often deciding to use only the master shot (as did Mizoguchi, as would Antonioni and almost every European director of the sixties and seventies), which, combined with the wondrousness of deep focus photography provides the scenes with a realism (at least in the Bazin sense - I think of it as heavily stylized realism) that Hawks's shots do not generally have, if not the energy. But Welles's staging didn't end with Kane. His use of space in his other films is unmatched. Characters wander about large areas, dodging around obstacles and creating a three-dimensional quality. There's a shot in Touch of Evil in which Heston chases a suspect in this matter that is great fun, providing a use of location (this is a real exterior of course) that most directors never bother with. And this scene has nothing on a similar sequence in Chimes at Midnight involving trees that is funny (Welles is amongst the funniest of all "serious" directors, and Chimes is his warmest and most genuinely funny film) and nothing short of exhilarating.
In his later films he switched from long takes to frenzied editing and got even more interesting effects: the battle sequence in Chimes at Midnight, modeled though it may be on Eisenstein's Aleksandr Nevsky, is intense, brutal, panicked, suffocating, and yet the shots of Falstaff running about are wonderful comic relief; in short, nothing less than the best battle scene ever put on film. Well, except maybe for Kurosawa's Ran, but that was done twenty years later. But the montage in a later Welles film is wonderful to look at. The flow of his editing is one of a kind and the images provided are always stimulating, even if they had by 1966 become fairly standard: high- or low-angle wide shots that emphasize the physical presence of the actors (and Welles in particular, more so as his physical presence became more, er, imposing over time) and the shadows that hang around like spiderwebs above or below them. You can guess what these shadows represent. And yet the most powerful scene in the film is a long take that features the characters standing well away from the camera, almost obscured in the distanceby the vastness of the barn-like brothel, and involves little that is showy or pretnetious. It's a simple recitation of Shakespeare. This scene is, in fact, very Hawks-like.
Generally I believe that the main function of the director is to provide the film with interesting mise en scène; his or her other functions are somewhat secondary, albeit important. Obviously there are no complaints with Welles. True his images were oft-inspired by German expressionistic films, and his use of powerful foreground objects isn't exactly out of the ordinary between the end of World War II and the rise of the New Wave, but he was doing it before most directors and there are absolutely no arguments about his prowess in it. He's not the best: Mizoguchi's brilliant choreography of human figures is something to behold, a feat beyond mortal man. But waht Welles could do was use the camera itself as an expressive device. His shadows identify states of mind (obviously) and uncertainty, his deep focus backgrounds provide a world for his films to exist in (always the sign of a great director is the reverence for settings and peripheral characters; Ford's "cavalry trilogy" is great for this), and his shots are always pictorially interesting. Freeze a frame and use it on your computer desktop.
He experimented with sound too, and was one of the best users of sound in all cinema (listen to Citizen Kane with the image turned off sometime). Obviously a background in radio is quite a useful thing. Your comment on Macbeth is the kind of thing that causes my eyes to roll all the way back into my head, like two golf balls drowned in quicksand, but I guess I can't blame you: you sound like the kind of person who thinks that anything out of the ordinary is automatically a bad idea, and that experimenting with anything, is wasteful because it's already been done another way. Bravery is but waste, and cowards should rule the day.
Perhaps the most impressive about Welles is how ahead of the curve he was. Othello, Mr. Arkadin, even Touch of Evil predict the idiosyncratic editing style of the initial New Wave fairly well (no coincidence that it was instantly canonized by French critics when it came out). I always thought that Truffaut's Shoot the Piano Player seemed like an attempt at Arkadin. And Godard worshipped Welles, even if Welles thought little of him. Godard , much as he would have loved to, could never have directed a Welles film. And yet Welles's F for Fake could be a Godard film easily, or maybe a Rivette film. And F for Fake is still experimental by today's standards (so, for that matter, is Citizen Kane) - film is still behind Welles, trying desperately to catch up.
Not that Welles is strictly a "technical filmmaker" as that guy in Annie Hall might say. He manages to draw great performances from his performers. Of course, he had good taste in actors: many of the Mercury players used in Kane went on to do great character work in Hollywood, especially Agnes Moorehead, who garnered several Oscar nods and deserved countless others, and Akim Tamiroff is an impossibly wonderful and watchable performer, even when he is appeared in grandiose Hollywood glitzbombs like Sam Wood's For Whom the Bell Tolls. But he manages to do wonders with the cast of The Magnificent Ambersons too. I would argue that even Tim Holt does a good job. Snide losers will always chant "Charlton Heston isn't a Mexican dammit!" as though that wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, and as though that has something to do with Welles as the director (Heston was placed in the part by the studio - that's what happens when you work for a Hollywood studio), but Heston's performance in Touch of Evil is actually quite good (for Heston). And it's not like this irony was not lost on Welles - one of the funniest lines (in a movie packed to the brim with them) is the knowing: "You don't talk like one. A Mexican I mean." A bit of advice on criticism: it's not a good idea to complain about something that the artist anticipated and addressed well before you did. Dietrich, by the way, is neither corny nor a hooker, but as I don't think you've seen the movie I'm sure the idea is lost on you. The exaggerated artifice in any Welles movie is palpable, but Touch of Evil probably has more than most. Anthony Perkins is quite excellent in The Trial. His paranoia is strident, his sense of vulnerability so powerful that he might as well have performed the role naked. It's not up to his role in Psycho, but what is? And Welles himself was a fine actor, if an old-fashioned and theatrical one. It's interesting, conisdering his disdain for Method acting later in life, that he all but pioneered it in the room-trashing scene in Citizen Kane. His performance in Touch of Evil is terrifically sleazy. No great makeup artist, though: his makeup as Arkadin is ridiculous. You can see an inch of the webbing on his wig! Welles the actor is the major flaw in Arkadin, oddly enough.
Chimes at Midnight is Welles's best film. Sure, it was made cheap and looks it, and the sound is really pretty terrible, with most of the actors overdubbed by Welles himself, but it is his most human film and his most emotional. It contains his best performance. It is the best version of Shakespeare ever put up on screen and, yes, that includes Kurosawa's Throne of Blood and Ran, if just barely. The fact of its cheapness is, in fact, the only argument I've ever seen leveled against it. Perhaps not an illegitimate complaint if one's only conception of greatness in film involves Hollywood megamovies, but it does betray a prejudice against something else that Welles represents: independence. Hollywood seems to have fostered an idea that it alone matters and it alone should decide what should be taken seriously, both in this country and elsewhere. So a truly indpendent artist like Welles, or Cassavetes after him, is ignored as best can be. Hollywood loves it when people think the way they do, and loves to make believe that those they oppose are failures.
So, anyway, your hatred of Welles is unfounded, lazy, heartless, brainless, pathetic, the ramblings of an unfocused, boring mind.
And what does this have to do with Journey Into Fear? It was directed by Norman Foster, and I know this because Orson Welles (and a lot of other people) said so.
http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/directors/03/welles.html
"Tis a coward I am - but I will hold your coat."
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