A fresh, provocative look at one of the most enigmatic figures in the history of film by "one of our most acute cultural critics" (Paul Fussell)
Orson Welles was a metamorphic man, a magical shape-changer who made up myths about himself and permitted others to add to their store. On different occasions, he likened himself to Christ--mankind's redeemer--and to Lucifer--the rebel angel who brought about the fall. His persona compounded the roles he played--kings, despots, generals, captains of industry, autocratic film directors--and the more or less fictitious exploits with which he regaled other people or which they attributed to him. Hailed in childhood as a genius, he remained mystified by his own promise, unable to understand or control an intellect that he came to think of as a curse; and he ended his days shilling wine and performing magic tricks on talk shows. At times, he saw the collapse of his early ambitions as a tragedy; in other moods, he viewed his life as a humbling comedy, and settled down--like another favorite character, Shakespeare's Falstaff --to eat, drink and be irresponsibly merry.
Rather than producing another conventional biography of Welles, Peter Conrad has set out to investigate the stories Welles told about his life--the myths and secret histories hidden in films both made and unmade, in the books Welles wrote and those he read. The result takes us deep into Welles' imagination, showing how he created, then ultimately destroyed himself.
"This life'll stress you like Orson Welles on the radio War after war of the world'll make all your saneness go"
(A Report to the Shareholders/Kill Your Masters, Run The Jewels)
Sí que es verdad que el propio Peter Conrad avisa en el prólogo que esto no es una biografía al uso sobre Welles, que es una trazabilidad de aquellas míticas trolas suyas que se proyectaban a pasado y futuro para intentar explicar a un personaje más grande que la vida. Y también es cierto que, al ser Conrad del ámbito de los estudios literarios, se luce cuando la cosa va de analizar sus relaciones con la obra de Shakespeare, Kafka, Cervantes y tantos otros a los que Welles adaptó, quiso adaptar o empezó a filmar dejando la cosa inacabada.
Lo que ocurre es que 400 páginas así es un empacho semejante a coincidir con el propio Welles en una cabina de tren cochecama durante un trayecto de 23 horas: pues al principio sonríes, luego te quedas con la boca abierta, ya después te cagas en tu vida por estar atrapado con ese gigantesco hombre que no para de contradecirse y hablar de proyectos y asesores fiscales y para cuando quieres echarte a dormir y Orson no te lo permite -porque va a contarte la enésima versión de algo que ya te ha contado y contradice varias versiones anteriores de ese mismo hecho- pues ya estás pensando de qué manera suicidarte para acabar con el suplicio de ese hombre de energía inagotable e infinitas anécdotas que te ha tocado de compañero de cabina.
Un libro en perfecta sintonía en su forma y extensión con lo que tuvo que ser el propio Welles. O lo que es lo mismo: idóneo para abrir al azar en un rato aburrido o al ir a plantar un pino, insoportable si hay que metérselo entre pecho y espalda entero.
PD. cagadísima que en un estudio tan minucioso (con lo que fue todo el corpus y declaraciones de Orson Welles) el autor sude por completo de mentar aunque sea de pasada su gloriosa apertura para aquel capítulo en blanco y negro de la sublime serie Luz De Luna, a la sazón su último material grabado antes de doblar el gorro.
Orson Welles, tan gigante, virtuoso, anárquico y anacrónico por las partes como insoportable e insufrible por el todo.
"The critic Eric Bentley said that Welles did not act, he simply allowed himself to be photographed. But only if he couldn't help it: he preferred the storyteller's invisibility on the radio, or the director's unseen vantage-point behind the camera. He passed this personal scruple on to Arkadin, who refuses to be photographed. If menaced by a camera, he breaks both it 'and the head of the photographer'. Arkadin does not want to be exposed by others. Neither did Welles, who hid behind his infamous kit of putty noses. In 1981, on the set of *Butterfly*, Stacy Keach watched as he prised one of these off his face. It was exactly the same shape as the real nose underneath it..."
I was interested in reading about Orson Welles, and this book gave some very interesting facts and information. It was a long and drawn out biography that I felt read worse than a textbook. The reading was dry and I had to force myself to finish it. Welles seemed to be put on a pedestal by the author, and to me it did not come off very good. I would read another book about Orson Welles, but I would not reread this book.
While it may prove true that Conrad is engaged in less-than-explicative or perhaps creative retelling/creating of these tales of Welles..I'm hoping the insightful critique into self-manifestation (persona) in a climate of myth (theater, Hollywood) deepens and sharpens.
making orson welles' life story interesting is not exactly difficult, but this is a very well organized collection of what the man was in deed and memory.
This was a really fun run-through of the Welles Myth. Conrad deftly avoids YET ANOTHER biography and goes after the true and not-so-true stories by and about Welles. What a fresh angle! And it works!