Me and Orson Welles

I have to declare that while I loves me some period films, what really sparked my interest in seeing Me and Orson Welles was a David Letterman interview with it's main box-office draw, Zac Efron. I know, I know, Efron does not at all jibe with my pretentious proclivities. But there was something about him. Behind the cerulean stare and all the pretty hair, was a shockingly well-spoken and curious soul. Efron was intelligent, self-deprecating and did not once let Dave get the better of him. Admittedly, I love nothing more than when Letterman turns a guest like Richard Simmons into a simmering gay soup. But it's all the more titillating when a seeming flash in the pan displays some real gravitas.
So, off to the movies I go with Marc- my only real and true fellow critic. Other than Pauline Kael of course, but she can't hit the theaters without some serious voodoo magic. Me and Orson Welles was directed by Richard Linklater- he of Dazed and Confused indie fame. The story takes place in New York in 1937, when Orson Welles was directing Julius Caesar at the storied Mercury Theater. Efron plays the fictional Richard, a young wannabe actor who finagles his way into the stage production. Richard meets Sonja, a slightly jaded theater company manager who is played by the always real Claire Danes. Within the span of a week, Richard becomes enamored of both Sonja and the bohemian theater lifestyle. The tingly Christian McKay as Welles is exactly the bellowing blowhard we've come to expect in a portrayal of the rotund hyphenate. McKay gives more of an impression of Welles, rather than a fully realized character. That can actually be found in Liev Schreiber's Welles in the HBO film, RKO 281. But what of young Efron, you ask? I'm sorry to report that Zac Efron is not yet ready to carry a film. Clearly, casting felt the same way and chose to surround him with more experienced players like Danes and James Tupper. Efron conveys a sweetness and naivete that while perfect for this part, are traits he must work to shed if he really wants to have staying power in this business.
Welles, in my opinion, is a prickly thorn to pluck. Erudite and talented within an inch of his life, Welles was declared a prodigy at the age of twenty. His brilliant and creatively different stagings of Shakespeare rocked Broadway and eventually radio. When Welles and Herman Mankiewicz wrote Citizen Kane, it was nearly crushed by the monolith that was William Randolph Hearst. But the film was soon recognized for it's thematic intelligence and is still hailed as one of the best movies ever made. That it was made by a twenty-six-year-old first-time filmmaker is goddamned awe-inspiring to me. My Cultural Comment is about the way in which we label "genius" on the kinder, and what that does to them. The Gotham theater world and soon Hollywood fell under the spell of the raw, unspoiled talent displayed by Orson Welles. He drank it in, found it profoundly intoxicating, then became addicted to it. When it waned, Welles became the petulant enfant terrible and threatened to leave the business. Then he returned. Many times. Soon, hearing nothing but a collective yawn from the powers that be, Welles gathered up the last of his dignity and expatriated to Europe. This would be poetic and even a bit Hemingway-esque if he had stayed in the Old World. But, (cringe) Welles came home, having ballooned to nearly four hundred pounds. He also had an attitude. A European one. Unable to believe that the film world no longer would tolerate his need for complete control, Welles became a director for hire. He would continue to work until his death until 1985, but he never achieved the sheen of his early success.
Peter Bogdanovich made The Last Picture Show and cast a young Cybill Shepherd. He finished the film with Shepherd as his new lover and the critics proclaiming that his directorial debut was "the best first film since Citizen Kane". Bogdanovich waltzed around Hollywood with Shepherd on his arm and the biggest-shit eating grin anyone had ever seen. Finally, a merciful Cary Grant took Bogdanovich aside and said "Peter, no one wants to hear how fucking happy and successful you are. It only serves to remind them how unhappy and unsuccessful they are" (Please imagine Grant saying it- it probably had a less bloggy ring to it). Bogdanovich made more films, and acted quite a bit, but he never married Shepherd and he never got back the same glowing reviews as he had for Picture Show.
I felt the theme of genius running through Me and Orson Welles. Claire Danes recently said that turning thirty has dimmed some of the prodigious praise she had gotten used to as a tween starting out. Whereas then she was referred to as "precocious", she is now simply thought to be "appropriate for her age". Danes displayed a startling sureness of character while playing the angsty Angela in MTV's My So-Called Life. But with each passing year, her abilities have not been squandered. She continues to deliver textural, true portrayals in each film. It it said that Meryl Streep thinks Danes is the best young actress working today. I don't need to tell you of Streep's staying power either. Maybe it's luck. But I can't think of Brando without wanting to shed a tear. For some, it's too much- that damning label of genius at such a tender age. I wonder if Richard Linklater thought of this as he directed this movie. Unfortunately, Linklater feels like just another prodigy-turned-director-for-hire.