“Mr. Arkadin” (1955)
Existing in as many as six different cinematic versions (only three of which are collected in Criterion’s “The Complete Mr. Arkadin” release), as well as in the forms of book and a radio play, and described by the director as the “biggest disaster” he ever faced, “Mr. Arkadin” was Welles’ ill-fated foray into quasi-pulp territory, and while it’s still perhaps most examined for the nebulous form in which it still exists, it’s pretty damn interesting. Based loosely on episodes of a radio spin-off of “The Third Man” called “The Lives Of Harry Lime,” the story follows an American smuggler (Robert Arden) who is enlisted to investigate the past of a mysterious millionaire, the titular Arkadin (Welles), who claims to remember nothing of his life. Cahiers du Cinema called the version they’d seen one of the greatest films of all time in 1956, but they were undoubtedly overstating the case a little: in any version, including the “comprehensive” Criterion version, it’s constrained by its evident cheapness and dubbing of foreign actors and is a little too indebted to some of Welles’ finer hours as a filmmaker or as a performer ( ‘Kane’ is as much an influence here as “The Third Man.”) And yet it’s still gorgeous, characterful, entirely absorbing and contains some of the best sequences that Welles ever shot. It’s frustrating that we never got to see the film that the director fully intended, but it’s almost as fascinating to examine and unpack the pieces of what’s left over. [B]
“Touch of Evil” (1957)
Initially released as the lower half of a double feature, “Touch of Evil” underwent the familiar growing pains of a Welles production, with three versions existing today. It’s even more of an ode to the film noir genre than “The Lady From Shanghai” ever was, with Marlene Dietrich‘s Tanya and her pianola that’s “so old, it’s new” imbuing the contours of the narrative with an evocative mood of melancholy. The foundation is laid out when Mike Vargas (Charlton Heston) and his new bride Susie (Janet Leigh) get embroiled in a murder mystery and face off against corrupt police captain Hank Quinlan (Welles) and local crook Grandi (Akim Tamiroff). The plot gets tangled up with just the right number of shady characters and shadowy innuendoes from there on, but remains compelling throughout, resulting in perhaps the most narratively organic of all Welles’ films. And when you’ve got that to go along with Russell Metty‘s virtuoso lighting, Welles’ deliciously despicable portrayal of a corrupt soul, and the noirish camera angles that etch themselves as some of the finest in the genre (the hotel room scene with Wells and Akimoff is a thing of orchestrated dark beauty), well, you’re ready to forgive everything —including Charlton Heston playing a Mexican. Like its opening three-minute virtuoso tracking shot that was conceived decades before the long take even got the chance to go out of and come back in style, “Touch of Evil” is a pulpy noir that’s ahead of its time and one of the most polished and almost indecently enjoyable works in Welles’ oeuvre. [A]
“The Trial” (1962)
Finding your way through Orson Welles’ “The Trial” is a lot like waking up to find you’ve been arrested but no one will tell you what for. And in that way it’s of course the perfect adaptation of Franz Kafka‘s novel. But though studded with brilliance and jaw-dropping to look at, “The Trial” offers us much to admire but little to care for or be moved by, amounting to so much cleverness massed around a hollow core. The photography is truly outstanding, the design ultra-expressive, and the performances strong (Anthony Perkins is remarkable in the constrained central role; Jeanne Moreau, Romy Schneider and Welles himself provide great support). Yet there’s simply nothing for us to hold on to as we slide down this nightmarish rabbit hole, and that’s maybe because Welles, who was elsewhere mostly fascinated by the inner workings of “great” men, can himself find little purchase on what is essentially an everyman story. It is too much to suggest that he’s on the side of K’s accusers —indeed, the film clearly announces the parallel between the spiralling pettinesses of K’s situation and the workings of totalitarian regimes. But the director’s ironic detachment from proceedings is distancing: he’s a coolly amused researcher observing a rat in a maze. This translates to a stunning gigantism in the sets (inventive work necessitated by practicality when the production moved from Yugoslavia to a train station in Paris due to cost overruns), and to much unforgettable imagery but it comes at the cost of investment and momentum: of life. It’s a darkly comic allegory about the dehumanizing absurdity of bureaucracy, but we could wish Welles, who at one point regarded this as his best film, had established a little more humanity in the first place. [B-]
“Chimes At Midnight” (1964)
“If I wanted to get into heaven on the basis of one movie, that’s the one I would offer up,” said Welles of “Chimes At Midnight.” A personal passion project based around one of the most creative adaptations of Shakespeare ever filmed, it’s five plays coalescing into one to make up an Orson Welles original; an adaptation of a character rather than a story. Welles turns one of the Bards’ recurring supporting characters into a lead, moulding Sir John Falstaff into an inconspicuous anti-hero and rebel of high society, a balloon-shaped softie who is drunk on nostalgia and living life to the fullest. His friendship with Prince Hal (Keith Baxter) is the emotional epicenter of the story, as Hal’s primary struggle lies between the obligations he has to his father, King Henry IV (John Gielgud), and the time he spends reveling at Boar’s Head Tavern and thieving with Falstaff and his merry band of rascals. Welles portrays Falstaff with insatiable aplomb —the enormity of his guile outmeasuring the circumference of his waistline— and in his final scene with Hal delivers one of the most heartbreaking silent performances of his career. But ‘Chimes’ excels far beyond an actors’ showcase. Comedy seeps into the tiniest crevices of the production such as the way ceremonial trumpets are edited, and the dazzling action set piece of the Battle of Shrewsbury is art imitating war and one of the grandest statements in Welles’ legacy. The current condition of the film available to the public is in a disastrous state and available on YouTube, but recent news hit that Criterion and Janus will be handling the restoration and eventual Blu Ray release. Hear that? It’s the sound of every cinephile’s heart fluttering with excitement. [A-]
