The Magnificent Welles: Rarities in Switzerland
Part II -- The Workshops
By Leslie Weisman, DC Film Society Member
If you missed Part I of this story, see last month's Storyboard.
WORKSHOPS
If the retrospective had comprised nothing but workshops, Wellesians would have gotten their money's worth. In addition to hearing, observing, and taking part in live discussions with renowned scholars and legendary performers known to us only through their writings or performances, participants found their experience incalculably enriched by films, videotapes, home movies, slides, and radio programs illustrating the often first-person testimony. An added bonus was the presence and invaluable contributions of Welles' eldest daughter Chris, both onstage and occasionally from the audience.
Workshop: "Radio Days"
Jeff Wilson, moderator of the indispensable (for Wellesians) website "Wellesnet", gave an illuminating presentation on Welles' radio work, in the context of his sometimes concomitant achievements on stage and screen, and of other significant radio work of the period. Participants were astonished to hear that Welles' radio oeuvre comprised more than 1,000 shows, and that the masterful Dracula was put together in only two days.
Wilson's scholarly treatise was occasionally offset by droll observations. Recalling Welles' most famous (infamous?) radio production "War of the Worlds," Wilson noted that its effectiveness owed something to the fact that the audience favorite on another station, "Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy," was not on that night, adding that "the logic of having a ventriloquist on radio was somewhat bizarre." Wilson also informed us that Walt Disney's Jiminy Cricket character, who for five shows functioned explicitly as Welles' "conscience," was suddenly, and without explanation, pulled--leaving Welles from then on "to carry on ostensibly conscience-free."
Workshop: "The Magnificent Ambersons"
This panel featured renowned film critic and historian Joseph McBride, author of Orson Welles and the forthcoming What Ever Happened to Orson Welles? Portrait of a Blighted Career, and a preview of video producer Roger Ryan's ambitious "Ambersons" reconstruction effort.
McBride provided insight into the troubled history of the film, portraying Welles as the victim not only of William Randolph Hearst, who, he contends, sicced FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover on him (Hoover's investigation of Welles is well documented), but of Welles' own miscalculations, and perhaps insensitivity to the times. With hindsight, the discomfort of studio bosses (not to mention preview audiences) in the face of a film that, at the height of war, in their view implicitly undermined the value of progress (the automobile--read: tanks, airplanes, bombers, etc.) was not altogether inexplicable, or even unreasonable. He emphasized that this does not in any way lessen the magnificence of the film, or the tragedy of Welles' undoing, but may help put it in context.
McBride had some cautionary words about the accepted wisdom regarding the notorious "Pomona preview," saying that producer George Schaefer's much-cited cable about audience reaction ("Never in all my experience in the industry have I taken so much punishment...") did not square with documentary evidence McBride has unearthed. While disparaging and even mean-spirited remarks were found among the comment cards filled out by audience members, there were also many enthusiastic ones, with one even calling the film "a masterpiece." Furthermore, the film did not play to empty houses upon its release, but in fact, started out well in Los Angeles and San Francisco, only to be yanked after two weeks.
Roger Ryan's reconstruction-in-progress was a revelation, using the cutting continuity for the original 131-minute film, stills from the archive files, and 16 minutes of Bernard Herrman's original score (Herrman had insisted that his name be removed from the film's credits). Most tantalizing, it also includes such filmic phoenixes as the boarding-house scene at the end, using stills and audio excerpts, and concludes with a rumination on the "burial" of the Ambersons and what they represented.
Ryan drew our attention to the mirror images that appear throughout the film, a signature Wellesian element, noting that upon analysis, the film could be seen as comprising two parts, the second half a mirror of the first. Proceeding with the analogy, Ryan pointed out that the story itself is one of a series of reversals-- temporal "mirror images" of the once magnificent Ambersons whose fortune, in both senses of the word, tragically declines.
Ryan added that Welles held editor Robert Wise--with whom he communicated via impassioned, pages-long memoranda to accompany the cans of film he shipped from Rio--most responsible for the destruction of "Ambersons," but that Wise in subsequent interviews seemed sincere in his belief that he had no choice, and did what had to be done.
Meanwhile, the cinematic "Holy Grail" of Wellesians--the missing footage--is still being tracked in Brazil.
Workshop: "It's All True"
In what seemed a logical follow-up to his presentation of the day before, but was actually purely by chance--film historian Catherine Benamou was scheduled to conduct the workshop, but had to cancel due to illness--Joe McBride told the audience the mirror side of The Magnificent Ambersons: how Welles came to Rio at the behest of the U.S. government to make a film that would promote inter-American relations, and wound up with his career--and reputation--severely, if not irreparably, damaged. Welles, labeled a coward and other unsavory things by the still-rabid Hearst papers for not going into the service at the height of the war (he'd been declared 4F due to asthma, bad back and flat feet), felt that making the film would not just answer their taunts, but serve the nation's interests far more substantively than being just one more grunt in the Army.
It was, as we know, not to be. McBride recited the litany of catastrophes, both natural and man-made, that beset the production, from the capsizing of the raft bearing the jangadeiros as they re-enacted their historic 61-day voyage, to the studio's cutting off the flow of funds to Welles long before the agreed-upon amount was reached, leaving him with no way to pay his players.
Most interesting was McBride's discovery of a transcript of a telephone exchange between two RKO honchos that leaves no doubt as to their motivation, which included a substantial dose of racism. For Welles, as he was to do 20 years later in Spain and Italy, instead of showing the wealthy, powerful, and acceptably colorful citizens of Rio de Janeiro, showed the people who made up that fabulous city: poor as well as rich, homely as well as attractive, and with admiration and respect for their strength, resilience and vitality. McBride also found evidence that one of Welles' own assistants was a spy for the studios, sending back juicy reports of Welles' high living to feed their determination to cut him off at the knees.
Workshop: "Don Quixote"
Rarity of rarities: workprint material from the Cinémathèque Française of Welles' all-too-appropriately named Don Quixote, the Dulcinea of his films, was seen here. Welles' look at the 20th century through the eyes of the fabled knight of the 17th was filled with never-before-seen clips illuminating Welles' concept, including the Don and his squire Sancho being interviewed by a TV newsman and passing by a store window advertising "Don Quixote." Welles is often heard doing both roles, necessitated by the unavailability or death of one or both his actors. (Welles' amusement at calling the film "When Are You Going to Finish Don Quixote?" did not hide his heartache at not being able to finish it.)
Film scholar/critic Esteve Riambau gave a masterfully detailed PowerPoint presentation of the film's 17-year production history, along with a meticulous, scene-by-scene reconstruction of the film, contextualizing it within the temporal framework of Welles' other projects (Mr. Arkadin, Touch of Evil, Around the World in 80 Days) and world events. Riambau drew telling parallels between "Quixote" and Welles' other films, including a fondness for chimerical ambitions; Sancho Panza as the Spanish equivalent of Sir John Falstaff; film itself as a hall of mirrors; and Welles' love for Spain, and found that Welles had reinterpreted the Don's windmills as the cinema screen.
Ciro Giorgini showed astonishing rushes from the film, struck directly from the negative, with the caveat that they were intended to be thrown away, and should be regarded with that in mind. Clips showing the young Patty McCormick reading the book to Welles serve as the film's framework, though not all of it had sound. We also see him directing and gently correcting her. Additional clips included the matchless scene where Don Quixote, finding himself seated in a movie theater and not understanding the construct, attempts to "rescue" the "damsel in distress" before him, slashing the screen to bits, and some humorous footage showing the hapless Sancho Panza being chased by a herd of sheep.
Giorgini hypothesized that Welles never finished Don Quixote because he was never satisfied, because it ran on parallel tracks with other projects, or because he "found the film form insufficient," while Stefan Droessler suggested that by continually updating the film to reference contemporary events, Welles all but assured it would never be completed. To this, Jonathan Rosenbaum added that Welles once told him that, with Man of La Mancha due to come out, he was inclined to delay the release of his film, so that it wouldn't compete.
Roberto Perpignani, who worked on the film as editor and recalled Welles' freedom and openness, reminded the audience that Welles was continually bursting with ideas, regularly working from early morning to way past midnight, and noting that 1,000 pages of script for Don Quixote had been found among Welles' effects "in no specific order." Everything was always "prepared to be edited," said Perpignani. "Even the music."
Workshop: "Mr. Arkadin"
Given the multiple iterations of Mr. Arkadin, it seemed in a way appropriate that this workshop featured multiple panelists. Esteve Riambau and Ciro Giorgini, who appeared on the "It's All True" panel the day before, and Munich Film Museum director Stefan Droessler were joined by fellow Welles experts François Thomas and Claude Bertemes.
Droessler said he understood that a DVD with all five filmic versions of Arkadin was being considered or in process, but expressed concern that it would allow the viewer to "hop from version to version like a video game." (Still, the possibility of having access to all five versions on one or two DVDs is tempting.)
Riambau provided a précis of the 1955 film's seven iterations, from the 1951 radio play "Greek Meets Greek," to the 1953 script "Masquerade," to its five filmic incarnations, followed by a detailed outline of the convoluted production history. Interesting tidbits included the fact that the film's producer, Louis Dolivet, had a rather colorful background: editor of the journal Free World, he'd also been a member of the French resistance and the Communist party, and would also work with Welles in the stage production of Mike Todd's Around the World in 80 Days. Riambau concluded with a meticulously detailed recap of "Arkadin"'s shooting schedule, which followed Welles & co. around the world (or at least Europe)--Madrid to Paris, by way of Cannes, Barcelona, Saint Agaro, and Munich--in somewhat more than 80 days.
François Thomas took up the thread with a discussion of why there are five versions of the film, suggesting several possibilities, probably the most compelling being Welles' evolving conceptualization of the film. Changing his mind about the order of the scenes, for example, required that they be re-shot or, alternatively, that new transitions be written and shot. In addition, Welles was not only constantly recutting, but also redubbing (as with Don Quixote). The film was never copyrighted; Welles, overextended as usual, abandoned the final cut to his friend (or so he thought) Dolivet who, under intense pressure from investors to quickly bring in a finished product, was less than sympathetic to what he saw as Welles' unconscionable slowness--and took it from his control.
Saying, "I'm not trying to find the original. I realize there never was one," Giorgini introduced his fascinating documentary film, Mr. Arkadin: The Whole Truth About Gregory Arkadin. In essence, the documentary juxtaposes the version of the film known as Confidential Report (the European version) with the Cinémathèque Française workprint, whose subtitles were taken from the script "Masquerade." Recalling Roger Ryan's "Ambersons" reconstruction effort, the film employs a variety of media, excerpting radio show and script, film versions (including the little-known-to-U.S.-audiences Spanish one, which has the most gloriously outlandish hanging bats and characters with oddly different names), and out-takes.
The workshop concluded with a screening of a reconstruction-in-process of Arkadin produced by Droessler in collaboration with Claude Bertemes, director of the Cinémathèque Française in Luxembourg. In his remarks, Bertemes allowed as to how some of us might ask how they "dared" to do it. He acknowledged the chutzpah inherent in such an undertaking, but said that in their view, the fragmentation (the "permutability") of the material offered some leeway. Explaining the sequence they finally decided upon, Berthemes described a "synoptical ambition" that led them to include two essential scenes missing from the paradigmatic Corinth edition. Guiding them was a determination not to sacrifice narrative fluidity, to include as many missing shots as possible while following the story line, and to use witness testimony to help them integrate missing shots, going back to the novel and the Spanish version when in doubt.
The panelists generally agreed that the version seen on U.S. television was "complete nonsense," lacking transitions and narrative consistency, and expressed hope that the much-anticipated Criterion DVD would deliver a Confidential Report/Mr. Arkadin worthy of the time, care, and effort Welles devoted to it.
The session concluded with a screening of Confidential Report--and for the first time (I had seen every version but this one), the narrative thread was clear.
Workshop: "The Deep"
On the panel were Stefan Droessler and Croatian film critic Daniel Rafaelic, along with script girl Ljuba Gamulin. Droessler introduced his rough cut of the uncompleted film, shot by Welles in the late sixties, explaining that he had included virtually all of the footage of it held by the Munich Film Museum, not knowing what Welles would have kept and wanting to give conference attendees the chance to see everything he might have kept--including multiple retakes of the same scene. The reels, variously black-and-white or color, weren't blimped (Welles had planned on dubbing the sound afterwards), making background noise an occasional distraction. Droessler recalled the story of the film's (presumed) destruction by French Customs, adding that the still-existing reels in Paris can only be accessed by a company... that no longer exists.
In organizing the scenes, Droessler hypothesized a dream framing the story of the honeymoon couple (Oja Kodar and Michael Bryant) out on their small boat in the Mediterranean who spy a larger craft, seemingly becalmed. A man from the boat (Laurence Harvey, whose untimely death was a key reason the film was never finished) boards Kodar/Bryant's boat, saying all on his boat are dead. Two of them are, in fact, very much alive: Welles and Jeanne Moreau. The drama begins.
There are two endings in the existing footage; both were shown. A third option was to tape TV interviews with the couple by the local news media upon their return, in which they would recount their experiences on the ill-fated voyage.
In the panel discussion, Gamulin said that watching the tape again made her painfully aware of her great loss in not fully appreciating and understanding at the time who Welles was and what he was doing. On the set, where there was no common language between director and crew, her translation of Welles' "unhappy orders" he drove them "like slaves," with five minutes for lunch and much impatient shouting--earned her the nickname "Leader of the Syndicate."
Some insider gossip surprisingly came to the fore when Gamulin discussed the difficult relations between Welles and the cast and crew, specifically "naming names" in placing blame. A member of the audience who was in a position to know quietly spoke up, and the storm passed quickly.
Droessler noted that additional shooting for the film was done on Roger "Skipper" Hill's boat in 1970-71, but that he hasn't been able to locate it (although Oja Kodar told him she watched it once with Welles at Skipper's home). Welles' daughter Chris added that Hill, who had rented his boat to her father for the underwater scenes, complained to her for years about "all the cans of film he was keeping" for Welles. She guesses they were lost when his wife became ill and they had to move.
Droessler reminded the audience that this was meant to be a small film, intended to show that Welles could be a commercial director. Welles once said that the role he played in the film was one of his favorites, because it was so funny--not a very common character for Orson Welles to play.
The program concluded with slides of the filming taken by Ljuba Gamulin.
Workshop: "Moby Dick"
Before this workshop, few, if any of us were aware of the full extent, both formal and temporal, of Welles' work with, and passion for, Melville's novel. Panelists for this session were Aleksandra Jovicevic (who has written an extraordinary, unpublished dissertation on Welles' work in the theater), François Thomas, and Joseph McBride.
The screenings began with a 1969 tape of the "Dean Martin" show, with Welles making up as Captain Ahab, explaining, as the remarkable transformation took place before the audience's very eyes, the story and history of the character he slowly became. Droessler noted that Welles had been granted the rare privilege (the term is used advisedly) of being able to recite on TV for from six to eight minutes without commercial interruption. Ahab was one of his most frequently repeated roles, and one with which he graced every medium: radio, theater, television, film.
Thomas provided illuminating context for Welles' Moby Dick work, allowing that much research remains to be done to fully comprehend its scope, as significant portions of it are still missing. Droessler noted that actor Christopher Lee claims to have clips, but Droessler has not been able to verify this. There are also several cans of color 16mm film at the Film Museum labeled "Moby Dick," but the negatives cannot be developed without the aid of a specialized lab, which he is still seeking.
Discussing Welles' radio work of the forties, Thomas called the deceptively little-known but significant Isaac Woodard broadcasts "a major effort," and "Around the World in 80 Days" perhaps his best single program, notable for the way he was able to reduce the complex, multi-character plot to 30 minutes. Noting that the "Moby Dick" script was prepared for an LP, Thomas sees it as a link between Welles' radio and recording work (not to forget his Shakespeare, I would add). Citing as a major difference between the New York and L.A. productions of the musical the absence of Bernard Herrmann, Thomas called Lud Gluskin a poor substitute whom Welles soon replaced. He also opined that Welles' heart was not in the radio "Moby Dick," which others may or may not agree with.
Aleksandra Jovicevic, who wrote a much-praised, unpublished (and unfortunately, unavailable other than onsite) dissertation on Welles' theater work for New York University, gave an insightful and knowledgeable presentation. Among her observations were that Welles's troubles in Hollywood echoed those that had plagued him in the theater, the absence of an independent theater in NY forcing him to fight the powers-that-be in much the same way he later found himself forced to fight the studio machinery. On the subject of Moby Dick, she reminded us of his extraordinary accomplishment in paring down the novel's 138 chapters to create his radio and stage versions.
In developing her dissertation, Jovicevic interviewed players from Welles' stage version, "Moby Dick Rehearsed," whose timelessness is evidenced by its intermittent staging a half-century later (it had in fact a hugely successful run at American Century Theater in Arlington several months ago). Much like Ljuba Gamulin the day before, Jovicevic's subjects told her they didn't realize at the time what a rare gift it was to work with Welles; they thought all theater was as creative, stimulating and imaginative as he made it. In analyzing the play's structure, she found it to correspond to Welles' filmic structure, in which a story frames the subsequent action. In a humorous anecdote, Jovicevic recalled the intensity of Welles' involvement and his ability to draw the audience into the play by drawing the cast into the audience: At one point, he jumped into the audience, squashing a box of chocolates into a lady's lap. (Ouch! Welles was, shall we say, no lightweight.)
In his remarks, Joe McBride compared Welles researchers, with apologies, to "the blind men and the elephant," trying to describe this massive creature and only succeeding, given their limitations, in describing a part of him. McBride wryly admitted having once clocked Welles' appearances in his less successful films so that people would know when to leave and return.
McBride noted that François Truffaut had pointed out Welles' propensity for finding the weakness in powerful people--Welles "always explored paradoxes," the way you could love someone who did odious things (Harry Lime and Anna, Hank Quinlan and Tanya, George Minafer and Lucy Morgan)--and had called Welles "the most Catholic of filmmakers." McBride elaborated on "the Faustian connection" of Welles' characters, who give up their souls in exchange for worldly power. With regard to Moby Dick, McBride said it is incredible both for displaying what Welles was able to do with limited resources, and for setting the path of minimalism for future filmmakers. Welles, perhaps in the spirit of "defying the gods," loved the challenges he had to work with (until, we suspect, they ceased being challenges and became catastrophes). Chris Welles Feder commented that her mother had wanted her father to remain with the theater in New York, and not follow Hollywood's siren song. Later, he said she'd been right.
In between panelists' presentations were screened clips of Welles' Moby Dick performances, including his hauntingly beautiful recitation, shot by Gary Graver, of selections from the novel ("Old Ahab drops a tear... not the whole vast Pacific contains such wealth as that one drop"). The only thing more eloquent, more incandescent in its whispered fury, pain, and emotional intensity--the Wellesian eyes blazing as never before--was his "Shylock," a 30-minute compilation put together by the Film Museum with Welles reciting the famous speech "Hath not a Jew eyes...?"
Workshop: "The Other Side of the Wind"
Lights! Camera! Action! Perhaps appropriately, of all the Welles retro events, this was most like a Hollywood premiere: a huge crowd buzzed outside the theater, reaching all the ways down the steps into the street, with photographers in the foyer flashing like fireflies. (Those who know the American Film Institute tribute to Welles, which took place while he was making The Other Side of the Wind, when he showed clips from the film, including a similar scene, hoping to find funding for it, may see painful parallels.) Needless to say, this was by far the largest audience for a panel, and rivaled attendance for the most popular films. Droessler told the audience that it had not been an easy job to convince the responsible parties to allow the Filmmuseum to screen scenes from the film.
The panelists for this session were Joseph McBride, film critic and Welles scholar and author Jonathan Rosenbaum, Welles's closest friend and associate Oja Kodar, and Welles cameraman Gary Graver.
The Other Side of the Wind is a film that is both utterly Wellesian and utterly unlike anything he (and maybe anyone until that time) had made. A film within a film, the story envelope tells of the late Jake Hannaford, directorial enfant terrible and egomaniac par excellence who is making a highly unconventional film for which he can't get funding. Intercut with scenes of Hannaford's birthday party--after which he drove his car off a bridge--are scenes in a projection room where his latest "masterpiece" (the film of the title) is being screened by decidedly unenthusiastic studio flacks. In addition to its startlingly advanced editing style (remember, this was 33 years ago!) characterized by dizzying temporal ellipsis and dazzling cinematography, the film teems with inside jokes and under-the-table references to Welles, his films, and his career, and includes a host of his friends and associates, among them Peter Bogdanovich, Claude Chabrol, John Huston (who plays Hannaford), Henry Jaglom, Mercedes McCambridge, Lili Palmer, and Susan Strasberg. In a short clip of Welles talking to an unidentified small group, Welles said he wanted the kind of actors who were "used to being important people," who could take the premise of a story, the outline of a plot, and run with it. In the ensuing panel discussion, Joe McBride said Welles told him he'd told his cast he wanted them to play themselves, with exaggeration.
McBride set the stage with personal recollections of being on the set for 45 days
spaced over six years ("when you worked with Orson Welles, it became a lifelong job"). Playing on their mutual experience, he said, Gary Graver had called him recently and told him he needed him for some more shoots on The Other Side of the Wind. Joe: "Sure. Where, when?" Gary: "I'm KIDDING!"--putting the unparalleled experience of what it was to make the film into sharp relief for the audience.
In addition to playing a minor role, McBride felt Welles also wanted him there as a historian, and noted Welles' resentment of the "kids" from AFI who were getting "millions" to make a film, while he had to beg for every dollar. Regarding the highly charged car sex scene (which was done, Kodar later told the audience, in her rusty old rattletrap, which Welles literally sawed until it was little more than a windshield; Dominique Antoine and two French countesses held hoses to make the "rain"), McBride said Welles became "highly sexualized" in his later years, thanks to Kodar. He also passed on the tidbit that "The camera is a phallus" line spoken by Bogdanovich was something McBride had actually said to Welles. (In her presentation, Kodar noted that she not only wrote the script, but practically directed the erotic scenes--Welles was shy about that sort of thing--adding that one of the bodies in those scenes is Gary Graver's: he had the same build as the actor, Bob Random, so if Bob wasn't there, they used Gary.
In his presentation, Jonathan Rosenbaum remarked on the discrepancy between director Jake Hannaford's persona--a DeMille-type director in the classic mold--and the film-within-a-film, which is highly experimental, more like Antonioni than Hemingway. He then posited that the disconnect was intentional on Welles' part, that the public image vs. private man was, like "Kane," an intentional iteration on the impossibility of "explaining a man's life." Furthermore, Hannaford was of a pattern with those characters--Kane, Quinlan, Lime, Clay--whom Welles disliked, and developing them may have afforded him the chance to explore them--maybe even, as Mr. Clay, to give him the temporary, tangential illusion of power over them--but NOT to explain them. Jonathan faulted journalists who tend to mythologize Welles and try to define him, saying they are denying him the possibilities he granted his characters.
Summarizing the complex history of the film, Oja Kodar said it was a co-production between her company, Dominique Antoine's (Astrophore), and a Spanish producer who was less than schooled in the ways of the U.S.: after attempting to dial someone's Social Security number, he huffily pronounced it "invalid" when the "call" didn't go through. As for the elusive funding for the film, which would need a couple of million dollars for completion, Kodar spoke scathingly of famous directors, self-professed Welles admirers, who raised her hopes, only to dash them (one of them even stealing two lines from the script for his own films). She also emphatically denied that Welles left his films unfinished out of laziness, or "fear of completion," or anything other than a lack of money, and his own sense that there was nothing pressing him to finish them: they were his films, and he would finish them in his own good time. "The only reason his films are unfinished," she concluded, "is because he died." The other panel members joined in with examples of filmmakers who tried for as long as 25 years to obtain funding for a film, or who ceased work on a film because the promised source of funding dried up.
Kodar was emotional as she described the genesis of the screenplay and her work on it with Welles, whose loss she still feels deeply. (She plans to open a film school, to be named after him.) Working with Welles, there were no assigned roles; everyone did everything (including holding hoses, as seen above). While Orson "had no concept of money," he was very frugal in using it, she asserted.
Dominique Antoine was unequivocal in dashing whatever hopes for the release of The Other Side of the Wind may have been floating through the audience: "It will never be finished, for reasons I don't want to hear anymore... it's obscene that this picture cannot be seen. It's a masterpiece."
There were a few questions from the audience:
Q: What exactly is needed to complete the film?
A: Money, for final editing and music; to pay Peter Bogdanovich (he didn't want to be paid before, but now he does, and that's understandable); the Iranian co-producer wants to be paid before he'll release the film. It also needs a distributor.
Q: How is the film divided?
A: Half is the film-with-a-film, half is the story that frames it. Right now it totals about 2 hours 25 minutes (though of course in a larger sense, it's impossible to say, given Welles's passion for editing and continuing to work on a film. Ultimately, it's an unanswerable question.
One of the panelists commented that Welles' daughter Beatrice (who kept the film from being shown at Cannes) "scares people," and that this may be one reason the film cannot find funding.
Workshop: Isak Dinesen
Panelists for this workshop were critic Daniel Kothenschule, professor and author Jean-Pierre Berthom‚ author Peter Tonguette, and Stefan Droessler.
The session began with a rare tape, made by a Japanese company shortly before he died, of Welles recalling Hemingway's gallantry upon receiving the Nobel Prize in 1954--he said it should have gone to Dinesen instead--and Welles complimenting Hemingway on his graciousness. Bad move: "Papa" promptly insulted both Dinesen and Welles, roaring that she had "abandoned" a friend of Hemingway's, whom she had, he claimed, promised to marry, and how could Welles defend that [expletives deleted].
Oh, well. And now, from the ridiculous--to the sublime.
Kothenschule presented an intriguing hypothesis that Welles' unrequited adoration for Dinesen--he'd once traveled to her home, only to find himself embarrassed and tongue-tied, unable even to knock at her door--found fictional parallels in his films. Citizen Kane, and the elusive Rosebud (and the two wives who become so); The Magnificent Ambersons, and Eugene's futile pursuit of Isabel; Mr. Arkadin, and Guy's fruitless pursuit of Raina--Kothenschule said Truffaut even found an image of Dinesen in Immortal Story. He concluded his absorbing analogy with surprising parallels he had discovered between Welles' life and Dinesen's.
Berthom‚ turned to The Immortal Story; specifically, the film's practical side. The film cost around 2 million francs to make. Welles used a string of cameramen (ending with the fortuitous arrival of Willy Kurant), and Jean-Pierre Melville's editing room (ending with the studio's un-fortuitous burning down in 1968). The film received a hostile reception from French television (RTF), which hated the film so much, it not only wouldn't pay Welles the second 100,000 francs--it wanted the first 100,000 back.
Welles also had to work in color for the first time, adding to the pressure and complexity; he resisted strongly, to no avail. He also used a new lens: whereas previously he'd used a wide lens with short focal length, he now was compelled to use one with longer focal length (Berthom‚ said this was particularly evident in the close-ups of Jeanne Moreau).
Peter Tonguette's presentation on The Dreamers followed, via videotape. His superb reflections and research on this most personal of Welles' films have been captured in his July 2003 article for Senses of Cinema. Rather than try to restate what he so eloquently articulated, I will leave it here, to be read at your pleasure.
The Film Museum's 2002 restoration of the uncompleted film was then shown.
Gary Graver and Oja Kodar came onstage to discuss the making of The Dreamers, which Kodar said was her dream to finish. Kodar recounted a story in which Welles created a great deal of smoke for one of the scenes, only to be visited by the local fire department. While everyone guiltily scattered, Welles calmly pulled up a chair and sat there quietly, smoking his cigar. "Mr. Welles," said the doubtful officer, "I know you're a great magician, but don't make me believe all this smoke is coming out of your cigar!"
While Graver stressed Welles' investment in the sets and lighting, Kodar noted that Welles was always asking for the lights to be moved farther away, so that the inadequacy of the sets wouldn't be visible. There were no real sets--the only thing bought was a little piece of fence--and Welles designed all the costumes (which were stunning), as well as many of Kodar's own clothes. Stefan Droessler added that the Munich Stadtmuseum, which never takes costumes, asked to have them for its collection. Droessler added that Willy Kurant, the Immortal Story cameraman, has said he would be willing to put his considerable skills to work to improve the quality of the print when the money can be found.
Workshop: "Magic Show"
After two solid weeks of intoxicating Bordeaux and caviar, it was perhaps apropos to end with the richest and fluffiest of confections: The Magic Show. Bart Whaley and Abb Dixon, world-famous magicians and friends of Welles, showed never-before-seen clips of Welles' Magic Show, and recalled fond memories of their time with him, with Chris Welles Feder offering her unique perspective as a small child at the time, enchanted by her father's world and work.
Magicians, said Whaley, an expert in the history of magic who is working on a biography of Welles as a magician, "connect the dots": magic is "another reality, deconstructing the dots" by seeing the "third option." Whaley told the audience that Welles was highly respected by top magicians, and could have made a career of it. As for Welles, he once told Whaley that "magic is not only simple; it's ridiculously simple." Giving the attentive audience a free lesson in the art, Whaley said that every magic trick must have at least two discrepancies. Once you find them, you've learned the trick. Whaley added that for the military--where he trains intelligence officers--"discrepancies" equals "incongruities." Saying Welles was a simple man in whom people tried to find complexity that might not always exist, Whaley said he wished he could bring Welles in to teach his soldiers: He was a master magician, and a very effective teacher.
An excerpt from the 1944 film Follow the Boys came next, in which Welles is asked to bring his magic act to help entertain the troops overseas. We watch him saw Marlene Dietrich in half, among other feats ("This'll kill you," he smirks). Feder recalled seeing the Mercury Wonder Show as a child of five, and watching him catch a bullet in his teeth (another trick screened), terrified beyond measure and being held back, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!" Needless to say, she soon learned it was only a trick. She remembered Rita Hayworth (Welles' second wife) being there for only one night: producer Harry Cohn wouldn't let her perform for free. Marlene Dietrich, Welles' good friend, was more than happy to fill in. Feder said she was happy that the conference was ending with The Magic Show, because her father had such a wonderful sense of humor, and was a lot of fun to be with (though he wouldn't tell even her how his tricks worked).
Next up was Orson Welles and the Magic Castle, featuring Welles leading the viewer through the mysterious manse. As the lights came up, Abb Dixon appeared, thanking "the few bats who are left hanging in the cage out there." Indeed exhaustion had claimed many, but those of us still suspended from our perches were all eyes.
Dixon told of his arrival in DC in July 1976, where he'd been invited for a Bicentennial show. One day, he was surprised to get a phone call from Orson Welles, who had recognized Dixon's "disappearing princess" act from his 1942 Mercury Wonder Show. They subsequently collaborated in a show along with Oja Kodar, Gary Graver, and other Welles regulars. Dixon said Welles was thrilled to learn that Dixon had bought all of Welles' props from the Mercury Wonder Show; he thought they had been lost forever. And so, their relationship began.
Welles and Dixon developed a code language that had its practical applications, enabling them to leave boring parties together, said Dixon. He also occasionally posed as Welles' "attorney," facilitating Welles' refusal of a deal that he didn't want to reject openly. On other occasions, Welles would introduce him--in Asian makeup and regalia--as "my associate, Fu Ling Yu."(!) Dixon showed the audience some card tricks, assisted by Stefan Droessler, then explained how they were done (which didn't make them any less mysterious, at least not for this observer), Welles always tried to make other magicians' tricks his and Dixon's own, by giving them a special twist. Dixon said magicians "rehearse the accidents" so they'll never be surprised, and always ready with a solution if something goes wrong.
Next came the Q&A. Both Whaley and Dixon emphasized that Welles wanted to make sure that whatever they did on film could be replicated onstage: no tricks of the camera. (As a side note, Jonathan Rosenbaum recommended Whale's book highly.)
Dixon told of a time Welles succeeded in fooling him when, out of the blue, he asked Dixon to play a scene from "King Lear," with Dixon playing the Fool to Welles' Lear. Upon enacting the king's death, Welles closed his eyes and was completely still--so still, he seemed to cease breathing. Dixon was so shaken, he began to cry; whereupon Welles opened his eyes and teased his friend for his credulousness.
Asked why Welles had shot these magic tricks and shows, Dixon said they were Welles' own favorite illusions shot for his personal collection, with the option of selling them if they became viable commodities. Whaley said improvisation was the key for Welles. As in his film work, he was always trying new things, but once he had exhausted the possibilities, he was immediately ready for the next project.
Always ready for something new, never ready to give up. In fact, Welles died working, collapsed over his typewriter, working on a script for The Magic Show. No matter what the aggravations and frustrations, the treacheries and betrayals, the refusal of the "suits" to recognize his genius--or maybe their fear that it would show them up for the hacks they were--the Magnificent Welles will outlive them all. Here's to the completion of The Other Side of the Wind!
The 62nd edition of the Venice Film Festival, the Venice Film Festival (officially known as the Mostra Internazionale d’Arte Cinematografica or the “Mostra”) held this year from August 31-September 10 continues to captivate the filmlover. This is the world’s oldest film festival and one of the largest, second in prestige only to Cannes with its dazzling array of films and film stars, amidst one of the world’s most beautiful and romantic settings. Venice is spectacular and unique with its Grand Canal, a great road of water, filled with vaporetti, motorboats, and gondolas, it is spanned by bridges and includes the Lido island where all the action takes place. The Lido is a chic, bicycle-filled beachfront island resort, the scene where international journalists, film stars, and the otherwise very rich, all come to do business and to play. And the adoring public is everywhere. Hollywood pays an annual visit, not wanting to miss out on any of the fun.
Lucky individuals possessing the right connections or invitations could attend any number of private parties and receptions where the stars hold sway. “Beck’s” beer sponsored a combination bar/disco/lounge/interview room called “Beck’stage.” With projected images on screens and music blaring throughout the Festival grounds, this was the center of nightlife activity, including a huge party held by Maria Grazia Cucinotta, who produced All the Invisible Children. The Martini Lounge at the Westin Excelsior also hosted private receptions for invited guests. I managed to have some exquisite champagne there courtesy of my RAI TV friends. Some other journalist friends also discovered a promotion party at the hotel for the French movie, Les Amants Réguliers, with Philippe Garrel and Louis Garrel present. The Westin Excelsior remains the place to informally see the stars. One evening, I ran into actor Richard Roxburgh (Fragile, Mission Impossible 2) in the hotel lobby and congratulated him on his performance in the former. A day later, I was not so fortunate; I walked right past Heath Ledger, whom I was told was standing by the hotel’s main bar.