An Orson Welles Independent Film Tribute
by Paulette Reynolds
June 15, 2013
There's always an inherent danger in reviewing an actor's body of work, especially if they happen to fall in the category of Film Icon. Movie reviewers and fans may find it hard to be objective when faced with an Oliver, Davis, Burton or Crawford. The bond is so intensely personal that we tend to overlook the staged bits of artifice connected to someone like Orson Welles. I find that relating to Welles as though he were a beloved artistically-flawed relative helps me keep my perspective, well - less subjective.
There is a relentless drive on the part of any artistic soul to exert complete control over their work. Like his spirit's counterpoint, John Cassavetes, the independent film maker will play in the truly great and the horribly awful films just to earn the funds for yet another personal visionary statement. Welles was a bit different in that he played in films but also did a lot of radio and public service work in order to finance his projects, usually working on several projects simutaneously, which impacted each project, for better or worse.
Yet differences between a studio and independently-produced film demand a shift in our appreciation of an artist's work.
After all, the former is a studio vision with the reins firmly in the hands of the Front Office, whose sole purpose is to create another money-maker. The latter is an artist's voice alone, created out of sheer joy. Those of us who love independent films will gladly overlook choppy editing, uneven pacing, and even a poor script, just to see what their favorite auteur is currently creating.
And while a Cassavetes production is strong with solid dialogue and painfully-etched performances, a Welles feature is - well, all about Welles! I sometimes have trouble remembering this fact, but what brings me down to earth is the realization that there is a stark difference between Orson Welles' studio-controlled movies and his free-wheeling independent films.
I will go on record in favor of his studio-produced masterpieces - Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, The Third Man, The Stranger, Touch of Evil, even his minor works such as The Long, Hot Summer and Jane Eyre. His more flamboyant idiosyncrasies are reeled in and toned down, allowing the full brilliance of his cinematic power to flow forth. The independent Welles productions are always entertaining, but often his genius is drowned out by poor costuming and subjective editing choices. More often than not we are fascinated by the Welles performance at the expense of his cast and even story. Yet getting lost in the world that is Orson Welles can be a convoluted conundrum devoutly to be wished.
TCM recently saluted Orson Welles by featuring his Shakespearean collection of MacBeth, Othello, Chimes at Midnight and his quirky Mr. Arkadin. Now one troubling feature of the Film Icon is that their trademark mannerisms can overshadow even the most brilliant of performances - and nowhere is this more true than with the late and great Orson Welles. His mesmerizing voice, the crafted facial acrobatics and sheer physical presence often divert us from the glaring mixed bag that is his film portfolio. Othello (1952) opens with a stunning funerary prelude, set against an almost white sky. Welles' Othello is a compelling performance, but poor continuity in his makeup and strange use of crowns can be annoying. The weakest link in Shakespeare's duel between good and evil is the choice of Iago in Michael MackLiammour, who labors under a silly wig, never rising to the dramatic level that is required of a man who lives by a personal code of revenge.
MacBeth (1948) for me has always suffered from a choppy beginning, that has the title character winning the king's favor and then immediately plotting against him. (There is speculation by scholars that key opening scenes were lost, which explains the jarring shift in MacBeth's character.) Sparks of true brilliance fire forth, only to fizzle out in uneven pacing, a hammy set of Weird Sisters, the cast laboring under Scottish accents, and the weak interplay between MacBeth and his his co-conspirator Lady, played by Jeanette Nolan, in her first film appearance. Chimes at Midnight (1965) is a more thoughtfully crafted tragicomedy, perhaps because Welles finally gained more experience in the production end of filmmaking. Yet his false nose, frenetic pacing, and the inclusion of Jeanne Moreau in an otherwise superb cast can wear down even the most devoted viewer.
Mr. Arkadin (1955) is added here simply because it appears on television so rarely - I loved his dialogue and the film's premise captivated me - about a man with such a sordid past that even he was running from it. But half-way through the unnecessary odd bits and the addition of his wife Paola Mori - a poor man's Gina Lollobrigida at best - threatened to put me to sleep. Yet I grimly held onto my remote until the amazing conclusion.
It can be said that I am more of a fan than this review may indicate, but for me, watching an Orson Welles independent production is a little like watching a home movie: The wistful sentimentality for the players involved is paired with a 20-20 sense of vision. But the actor is first, foremost, and always, “some kind of man.”
by Paulette Reynolds
June 15, 2013
There's always an inherent danger in reviewing an actor's body of work, especially if they happen to fall in the category of Film Icon. Movie reviewers and fans may find it hard to be objective when faced with an Oliver, Davis, Burton or Crawford. The bond is so intensely personal that we tend to overlook the staged bits of artifice connected to someone like Orson Welles. I find that relating to Welles as though he were a beloved artistically-flawed relative helps me keep my perspective, well - less subjective.
There is a relentless drive on the part of any artistic soul to exert complete control over their work. Like his spirit's counterpoint, John Cassavetes, the independent film maker will play in the truly great and the horribly awful films just to earn the funds for yet another personal visionary statement. Welles was a bit different in that he played in films but also did a lot of radio and public service work in order to finance his projects, usually working on several projects simutaneously, which impacted each project, for better or worse.
Yet differences between a studio and independently-produced film demand a shift in our appreciation of an artist's work.
After all, the former is a studio vision with the reins firmly in the hands of the Front Office, whose sole purpose is to create another money-maker. The latter is an artist's voice alone, created out of sheer joy. Those of us who love independent films will gladly overlook choppy editing, uneven pacing, and even a poor script, just to see what their favorite auteur is currently creating.
And while a Cassavetes production is strong with solid dialogue and painfully-etched performances, a Welles feature is - well, all about Welles! I sometimes have trouble remembering this fact, but what brings me down to earth is the realization that there is a stark difference between Orson Welles' studio-controlled movies and his free-wheeling independent films.
I will go on record in favor of his studio-produced masterpieces - Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, The Third Man, The Stranger, Touch of Evil, even his minor works such as The Long, Hot Summer and Jane Eyre. His more flamboyant idiosyncrasies are reeled in and toned down, allowing the full brilliance of his cinematic power to flow forth. The independent Welles productions are always entertaining, but often his genius is drowned out by poor costuming and subjective editing choices. More often than not we are fascinated by the Welles performance at the expense of his cast and even story. Yet getting lost in the world that is Orson Welles can be a convoluted conundrum devoutly to be wished.
TCM recently saluted Orson Welles by featuring his Shakespearean collection of MacBeth, Othello, Chimes at Midnight and his quirky Mr. Arkadin. Now one troubling feature of the Film Icon is that their trademark mannerisms can overshadow even the most brilliant of performances - and nowhere is this more true than with the late and great Orson Welles. His mesmerizing voice, the crafted facial acrobatics and sheer physical presence often divert us from the glaring mixed bag that is his film portfolio. Othello (1952) opens with a stunning funerary prelude, set against an almost white sky. Welles' Othello is a compelling performance, but poor continuity in his makeup and strange use of crowns can be annoying. The weakest link in Shakespeare's duel between good and evil is the choice of Iago in Michael MackLiammour, who labors under a silly wig, never rising to the dramatic level that is required of a man who lives by a personal code of revenge.
MacBeth (1948) for me has always suffered from a choppy beginning, that has the title character winning the king's favor and then immediately plotting against him. (There is speculation by scholars that key opening scenes were lost, which explains the jarring shift in MacBeth's character.) Sparks of true brilliance fire forth, only to fizzle out in uneven pacing, a hammy set of Weird Sisters, the cast laboring under Scottish accents, and the weak interplay between MacBeth and his his co-conspirator Lady, played by Jeanette Nolan, in her first film appearance. Chimes at Midnight (1965) is a more thoughtfully crafted tragicomedy, perhaps because Welles finally gained more experience in the production end of filmmaking. Yet his false nose, frenetic pacing, and the inclusion of Jeanne Moreau in an otherwise superb cast can wear down even the most devoted viewer.
Mr. Arkadin (1955) is added here simply because it appears on television so rarely - I loved his dialogue and the film's premise captivated me - about a man with such a sordid past that even he was running from it. But half-way through the unnecessary odd bits and the addition of his wife Paola Mori - a poor man's Gina Lollobrigida at best - threatened to put me to sleep. Yet I grimly held onto my remote until the amazing conclusion.
It can be said that I am more of a fan than this review may indicate, but for me, watching an Orson Welles independent production is a little like watching a home movie: The wistful sentimentality for the players involved is paired with a 20-20 sense of vision. But the actor is first, foremost, and always, “some kind of man.”
COPYRIGHT 2012/2016. Paulette Reynolds. All CineMata Movie Madness blog articles, reviews, faux interviews, commentary, and the Cine Mata character are under the sole ownership of Paulette Reynolds. All intellectual and creative rights reserved.
