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Mis almuerzos con Orson Welles. Conversaciones entre Henry Jaglom y Orson Welles
Durante años circularon rumores sobre la existencia de unas cintas que contenían las conversaciones de Orson Welles con el joven cineasta Henry Jaglom mientras almorzaban. Las grabaciones no eran una mera leyenda, existían y se habían registrado entre 1983 y 1985, al final de la vida del legendario cineasta, pero pasaron años acumulando polvo en un garaje. Ahora ven por fin la luz editadas por Peter Biskind. Son un documento excepcional, en el que el enfant terrible de Hollywood, el genio postergado que sobrevive con lo que gana como actor, habla a calzón quitado de cine –considera a Hitchcock sobrevalorado, no soporta las películas «terapéuticas» de Woody Allen–, de literatura y de política. Welles rememora su propia carrera –la recepción de Ciudadano Kane, su participación en El tercer hombre...– y a las personalidades del viejo Hollywood a las que conoció. Y así, aparecen el ego de Laurence Olivier, la ropa interior de Dolores del Río, Bogart refunfuñando sobre Casablanca, Katharine Hepburn hablando de sexo, Charles Laughton angustiado por su homosexualidad, Charles Chaplin, Rita Hayworth, Marlene Dietrich...
365 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 9, 2013
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1984 people want to read
About the author
Peter Biskind
72 books203 followersPeter Biskind is an American cultural critic, film historian, and journalist, best known for his tenure as executive editor of Premiere magazine from 1986 to 1996. He attended Swarthmore College and authored several influential books on Hollywood, including Easy Riders, Raging Bulls and Down and Dirty Pictures, some of which became bestsellers. In 2010, he published a biography of Warren Beatty titled Star: How Warren Beatty Seduced America. Biskind is a contributing editor at Vanity Fair, with work appearing in major publications like Rolling Stone, The New York Times, and The Washington Post. He served as editor-in-chief of American Film from 1981 to 1986. His books have been translated into over thirty languages. Despite his acclaim, some critics, including Roger Ebert, have challenged the accuracy of certain anecdotes in his works.
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April 25, 2016
Oh my god. The afterglow.
I've read books that have moved me to tears, made me ecstatic, and even given me a hard-on. This book did not do any of those things, but it did do something that I have never before experienced while reading. At one point while eagerly lapping up its onrushing constant goodness I had a genuine endorphin rush, a natural high -- and it startled me.
In this book, the late Orson Welles bares his soul and takes no prisoners. He's an atomic neutron dirty bomb spewing toxic radiation that kills everything and leaves the buildings intact. He is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde wielding a menacing dagger of words. He's an inebriated, bloated, wounded Falstaff, bemoaning his fate and cursing his enemies and the darkness to anyone who will listen in a trendy Hollywood eatery that becomes his own version of the Bard's Boar's-Head Tavern. He dishes up the dirt and the truth, the half-truths, and the lies, and sometimes tells lies that are closer to the truth than the real truth.
The sessions that make up this remarkable book are transcriptions of a series of interviews/conversations that Welles conducted with friend, hanger-on, exploiter, con-man, and Hollywood outsider, Henry Jaglom, while they dined at the now defunct, once-trendy Ma Maison, a nouvelle cuisine eatery where chef Wolfgang Puck made a name for himself, and where the obese Welles mistakenly believed the fare would help him lose weight. The conversations are the last extended ones that Orson Welles ever did, taped over three years from 1983 to 1985 and all the way up to just five days prior to his death. They are, to say the least, priceless.
Like an earlier book of Welles interviews, the classic This is Orson Welles, compiled from interviews conducted a decade earlier by the director's younger peer, Peter Bogdanovich, this one with Jaglom finds Welles holding forth on practically every subject under the sun like a Renaissance Man who has stored the entire Encyclopedia Britannica in his still-sharp mind. Along with Welles' musings on art, politics, topical events and history, the legend has plenty to say about old and new Hollywood, and it is this subject that finds him at his cattiest and bitchiest, and for someone like me who has a vast interest and knowledge of the old Hollywood system and its stars and creators, this was immeasurably fascinating stuff. The juicy and often laugh-out-loud stories (Welles had a million of them) come so fast and furiously that my endorphin rush was inevitable.
Suffice it to say, once I picked this up I could not put it down. It was simply impossible.
Which is why I am confounded by some of the hateful reviews the book has generated. These seem to fall into two categories in which the reviewers apply the following odd standards:
1.) I hate Henry Jaglom, so anything he does, including this book, sucks.
2.) I love my filmic god and hero Orson Welles, and I don't want my myths about him to be shattered by anyone telling me what a prick he was, because I don't like my heroes being depicted as pricks. So, anything that does that gets a low rating.
So much for critical acumen. Now, let me offer you whiners a nice tall glass of "grow-up" juice.
I love Orson Welles as much as the next movie nut, and this book doesn't change that. What this book shows me is a bitter and broken artist at the end of his life, understandably jaded and ornery, and it's fascinating to behold. I love Orson no more or less by learning these things. I can process it in context because -- apart from being an adult -- I realize that Welles was just as much a victim as he was a victimizer with a self-destructive bent. He was, as I alluded to, like Shakespeare's Falstaff in Henry IV, Part II, a figure once favored but now spent and rejected -- corpulent, bloated, flustered, bitter, broken, dissolute, disillusioned, and as deflated inside as his outward pronouncements and physicality were inflated.
I can step back and look at Welles objectively and still not lose my subjective admiration for him. And I can value and enjoy anything that presents me with further shadings on his character. As Marlene Dietrich said in Welles' 1958 masterwork Touch of Evil: "He was some kind of a man. What does it matter what you say about people?" And that is true. We are all blind men confronting the elephant, and this book allows us to feel another appendage to try to get at the scope of the subject.
Whatever you may think about Jaglom, it is clear from these conversations that he was a well-read, well-traveled and thoughtful companion for Orson, and their conversations have a lively and often illuminating give-and-take. Jaglom does not always kowtow to Orson in these discussions, but goads, challenges and even opposes him -- especially when the impish and purposely contradictory Welles becomes ultra un-PC. Welles says a lot of cringe-worthy things here, but his frankness is refreshing. Even if some of it is a put-on, it reveals Welles' inherent sense of the absurd.
The book is a sweeping kaleidoscope in which the colors are ever-changing. The old Orson Welles was a sad figure, and in this book he seems to support those who charged him with being his own worst enemy. Even at the end of his life, barely able to pay his grocery bills, he was constantly shooting himself in the foot, finding excuses to scuttle promising projects and opportunities. In one instance, an approaching Richard Burton is told by Welles to "Fuck off!" In another, a producer from HBO is cold-shouldered by Welles, who, like a petulant little boy, capriciously refuses to tell the story idea he had requested to pitch. (Welles' close-lipped stance was predicated by a mere look by the producer, a skeptical look that he had seen for so many decades that his pride simply would not let him tolerate it again).
At this stage of his life Welles had a bitter tongue that was rollicking, raw and lowdown, and it is perhaps these interviews, coming from a man almost in a kind of suspended animation, that constitute his unintentional final legacy.
There are stories in here about Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich and Charlie Chaplin that are amazing. And his trashing, cutting remarks about rivals and/or fair-weather friends (Laurence Olivier, John Houseman, and Peter Bogdanovich) are wickedly delectable.
I bookmarked and check-marked way too many quotes and passages in this book that I could not possibly take the time to reprint here, even though I wanted to.
This review of the book by The New Yorker mostly mirrors my own positive reactions: http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-t...
The book's conversations are book-ended by an introduction by its editor, Peter Biskind, which is very good but which also contains some assessments about various Welles' movies that I disagree with, and by a final epilogue by Jaglom that is poignant and moving.
Like This is Orson Welles this is one book that will never be purged from my collection as long as I am alive.
(KevinR@Ky 2016)
I've read books that have moved me to tears, made me ecstatic, and even given me a hard-on. This book did not do any of those things, but it did do something that I have never before experienced while reading. At one point while eagerly lapping up its onrushing constant goodness I had a genuine endorphin rush, a natural high -- and it startled me.
In this book, the late Orson Welles bares his soul and takes no prisoners. He's an atomic neutron dirty bomb spewing toxic radiation that kills everything and leaves the buildings intact. He is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde wielding a menacing dagger of words. He's an inebriated, bloated, wounded Falstaff, bemoaning his fate and cursing his enemies and the darkness to anyone who will listen in a trendy Hollywood eatery that becomes his own version of the Bard's Boar's-Head Tavern. He dishes up the dirt and the truth, the half-truths, and the lies, and sometimes tells lies that are closer to the truth than the real truth.
The sessions that make up this remarkable book are transcriptions of a series of interviews/conversations that Welles conducted with friend, hanger-on, exploiter, con-man, and Hollywood outsider, Henry Jaglom, while they dined at the now defunct, once-trendy Ma Maison, a nouvelle cuisine eatery where chef Wolfgang Puck made a name for himself, and where the obese Welles mistakenly believed the fare would help him lose weight. The conversations are the last extended ones that Orson Welles ever did, taped over three years from 1983 to 1985 and all the way up to just five days prior to his death. They are, to say the least, priceless.
Like an earlier book of Welles interviews, the classic This is Orson Welles, compiled from interviews conducted a decade earlier by the director's younger peer, Peter Bogdanovich, this one with Jaglom finds Welles holding forth on practically every subject under the sun like a Renaissance Man who has stored the entire Encyclopedia Britannica in his still-sharp mind. Along with Welles' musings on art, politics, topical events and history, the legend has plenty to say about old and new Hollywood, and it is this subject that finds him at his cattiest and bitchiest, and for someone like me who has a vast interest and knowledge of the old Hollywood system and its stars and creators, this was immeasurably fascinating stuff. The juicy and often laugh-out-loud stories (Welles had a million of them) come so fast and furiously that my endorphin rush was inevitable.
Suffice it to say, once I picked this up I could not put it down. It was simply impossible.
Which is why I am confounded by some of the hateful reviews the book has generated. These seem to fall into two categories in which the reviewers apply the following odd standards:
1.) I hate Henry Jaglom, so anything he does, including this book, sucks.
2.) I love my filmic god and hero Orson Welles, and I don't want my myths about him to be shattered by anyone telling me what a prick he was, because I don't like my heroes being depicted as pricks. So, anything that does that gets a low rating.
So much for critical acumen. Now, let me offer you whiners a nice tall glass of "grow-up" juice.
I love Orson Welles as much as the next movie nut, and this book doesn't change that. What this book shows me is a bitter and broken artist at the end of his life, understandably jaded and ornery, and it's fascinating to behold. I love Orson no more or less by learning these things. I can process it in context because -- apart from being an adult -- I realize that Welles was just as much a victim as he was a victimizer with a self-destructive bent. He was, as I alluded to, like Shakespeare's Falstaff in Henry IV, Part II, a figure once favored but now spent and rejected -- corpulent, bloated, flustered, bitter, broken, dissolute, disillusioned, and as deflated inside as his outward pronouncements and physicality were inflated.
I can step back and look at Welles objectively and still not lose my subjective admiration for him. And I can value and enjoy anything that presents me with further shadings on his character. As Marlene Dietrich said in Welles' 1958 masterwork Touch of Evil: "He was some kind of a man. What does it matter what you say about people?" And that is true. We are all blind men confronting the elephant, and this book allows us to feel another appendage to try to get at the scope of the subject.
Whatever you may think about Jaglom, it is clear from these conversations that he was a well-read, well-traveled and thoughtful companion for Orson, and their conversations have a lively and often illuminating give-and-take. Jaglom does not always kowtow to Orson in these discussions, but goads, challenges and even opposes him -- especially when the impish and purposely contradictory Welles becomes ultra un-PC. Welles says a lot of cringe-worthy things here, but his frankness is refreshing. Even if some of it is a put-on, it reveals Welles' inherent sense of the absurd.
The book is a sweeping kaleidoscope in which the colors are ever-changing. The old Orson Welles was a sad figure, and in this book he seems to support those who charged him with being his own worst enemy. Even at the end of his life, barely able to pay his grocery bills, he was constantly shooting himself in the foot, finding excuses to scuttle promising projects and opportunities. In one instance, an approaching Richard Burton is told by Welles to "Fuck off!" In another, a producer from HBO is cold-shouldered by Welles, who, like a petulant little boy, capriciously refuses to tell the story idea he had requested to pitch. (Welles' close-lipped stance was predicated by a mere look by the producer, a skeptical look that he had seen for so many decades that his pride simply would not let him tolerate it again).
At this stage of his life Welles had a bitter tongue that was rollicking, raw and lowdown, and it is perhaps these interviews, coming from a man almost in a kind of suspended animation, that constitute his unintentional final legacy.
There are stories in here about Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich and Charlie Chaplin that are amazing. And his trashing, cutting remarks about rivals and/or fair-weather friends (Laurence Olivier, John Houseman, and Peter Bogdanovich) are wickedly delectable.
I bookmarked and check-marked way too many quotes and passages in this book that I could not possibly take the time to reprint here, even though I wanted to.
This review of the book by The New Yorker mostly mirrors my own positive reactions: http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-t...
The book's conversations are book-ended by an introduction by its editor, Peter Biskind, which is very good but which also contains some assessments about various Welles' movies that I disagree with, and by a final epilogue by Jaglom that is poignant and moving.
Like This is Orson Welles this is one book that will never be purged from my collection as long as I am alive.
(KevinR@Ky 2016)
December 31, 2014
Orson Welles newcomers should STAY AWAY from this book. Instead, check out Peter Bogdanovich's wonderful "This Is Orson Welles" which provides a much better career context and gives a more nuanced picture of the man and the artist.
For Welles fanatics, this compulsively readable volume is worthwhile. It's important to keep the context in mind, that Welles was performing for an audience of one and tailoring his comments accordingly, sometimes offering opinions that differed from his own merely to provoke Henry Jaglom. Since this dates from the final years of his life, it also showcases Welles at his lowest point - burnt out, desperate for work, and extremely bitchy. Though not bitchier than Peter Biskind's chapter summaries which work hard to showcase Orson in the worst possible light. And where Welles' opinions of other people's films can be ungenerous, Biskind shows his own taste lapse by putting down the visionary "F for Fake" as simply "too clever for its own good." Still, Welles knows how spin a yarn and his Hollywood stories are frequently illuminating, funny, and rude - and his perceptions remain razor sharp.
For Welles fanatics, this compulsively readable volume is worthwhile. It's important to keep the context in mind, that Welles was performing for an audience of one and tailoring his comments accordingly, sometimes offering opinions that differed from his own merely to provoke Henry Jaglom. Since this dates from the final years of his life, it also showcases Welles at his lowest point - burnt out, desperate for work, and extremely bitchy. Though not bitchier than Peter Biskind's chapter summaries which work hard to showcase Orson in the worst possible light. And where Welles' opinions of other people's films can be ungenerous, Biskind shows his own taste lapse by putting down the visionary "F for Fake" as simply "too clever for its own good." Still, Welles knows how spin a yarn and his Hollywood stories are frequently illuminating, funny, and rude - and his perceptions remain razor sharp.
May 19, 2016
Welles was a perfectly awful human being, and I don't like Jaglom much for egging him on. That said, I kept this book on my night table and dipped into it before bed with great enjoyment.
Henry Jaglom: Is Bogart as good as I think he is?
Orson Welles: No. Not nearly as good as you believe. Bogart was a second-rate actor. Really a second-rate actor. He was a fascinating personality who captured the imagination of the world, but he never gave a good performance in his life . . .
HJ: To me, he gives the perfect performance in Casablanca. And he was good in In a Lonely Place.
OW: Oh, come on, he had that little lisp. Bogart was a well-educated, upper-class American trying to be tough. You didn't believe him as a tough guy. Anybody who knew him as I did . . .
HJ: Do you always have to add "as I did"?
HJ: My mother once said, "All old people look Jewish."
OW: True, you either look Jewish or you look Irish -- you have your choice. It has nothing to do with the nose. It's an expression that happens to people when they get past sixty -- they ususally look like their Jewish or Irish other. Like Mailer, who looks exactly like his Jewish mother. He never looked Jewish before at all . . . And Lenny Bernstein is getting to look like his mother too, you know.
HJ: I just saw him in New York. He conducted --
OW: They don't look like their fathers, they look like their mothers. Lenny's really -- I mean, he's developed this flourish with the baton, that he started a couple of years ago.
HJ: His pinkie is up?
OW: Way up all the time. And he can't jump as high anymore. It's as if he's announcing to the world that he can still jump, but he doesn't really leave the floor! He used to leave the floor!
OW: You know, Jack [John Barrymore] was quite mad. His father died at forty-five, in an insane asylum. Jack would get drunk in order to be the drunk Barrymore, instead of the insane Barrymore. He would suddenly realize at the table that he didn't know where he was or how he got there. A tragic situation . . .
OW:I saw Grand Hotel again the other day. They had it on cable. It was almost the last picture he made, where he was still highly considered, was still "John Barrymore." You know what Garbo did the first day of shooting? When he came to work in the morning, she was waiting outside the stage. To say good morning to him, to escort him to the set. It is the only nice thing I know about her.
For the record, I loved Bogart in The African Queen and Casablanca (not so much in In a Lonely Place but that was largely the screenwriter's fault) and Grand Hotel is one of the best movies ever made, right up there with Renoir's Grand Illusion and Rules of the Game and von Sternberg's Shanghai Express and the Carol Reed/Graham Greene collaboration starring Welles (who was great) and Joseph Cotton, The Third Man and Godard's Breathless and Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard. Oh, and I think Citizen Kane is overrated. (To be Wellesian, it's the sort of thing that college sophomores taking their first film course think is deep -- I certainly did.)
Henry Jaglom: Is Bogart as good as I think he is?
Orson Welles: No. Not nearly as good as you believe. Bogart was a second-rate actor. Really a second-rate actor. He was a fascinating personality who captured the imagination of the world, but he never gave a good performance in his life . . .
HJ: To me, he gives the perfect performance in Casablanca. And he was good in In a Lonely Place.
OW: Oh, come on, he had that little lisp. Bogart was a well-educated, upper-class American trying to be tough. You didn't believe him as a tough guy. Anybody who knew him as I did . . .
HJ: Do you always have to add "as I did"?
HJ: My mother once said, "All old people look Jewish."
OW: True, you either look Jewish or you look Irish -- you have your choice. It has nothing to do with the nose. It's an expression that happens to people when they get past sixty -- they ususally look like their Jewish or Irish other. Like Mailer, who looks exactly like his Jewish mother. He never looked Jewish before at all . . . And Lenny Bernstein is getting to look like his mother too, you know.
HJ: I just saw him in New York. He conducted --
OW: They don't look like their fathers, they look like their mothers. Lenny's really -- I mean, he's developed this flourish with the baton, that he started a couple of years ago.
HJ: His pinkie is up?
OW: Way up all the time. And he can't jump as high anymore. It's as if he's announcing to the world that he can still jump, but he doesn't really leave the floor! He used to leave the floor!
OW: You know, Jack [John Barrymore] was quite mad. His father died at forty-five, in an insane asylum. Jack would get drunk in order to be the drunk Barrymore, instead of the insane Barrymore. He would suddenly realize at the table that he didn't know where he was or how he got there. A tragic situation . . .
OW:I saw Grand Hotel again the other day. They had it on cable. It was almost the last picture he made, where he was still highly considered, was still "John Barrymore." You know what Garbo did the first day of shooting? When he came to work in the morning, she was waiting outside the stage. To say good morning to him, to escort him to the set. It is the only nice thing I know about her.
For the record, I loved Bogart in The African Queen and Casablanca (not so much in In a Lonely Place but that was largely the screenwriter's fault) and Grand Hotel is one of the best movies ever made, right up there with Renoir's Grand Illusion and Rules of the Game and von Sternberg's Shanghai Express and the Carol Reed/Graham Greene collaboration starring Welles (who was great) and Joseph Cotton, The Third Man and Godard's Breathless and Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard. Oh, and I think Citizen Kane is overrated. (To be Wellesian, it's the sort of thing that college sophomores taking their first film course think is deep -- I certainly did.)
June 7, 2020
Assuming the ‘conversations’ in this book are accurate, it paints a very sad picture of a man fading into disillusionment unable to discern truth from fiction - unable to come to terms with his own life. He revels in anguish believing that he has never been given his rightful due.
He speaks of people, almost everyone he mentions, in a most disparaging and disingenuous manner. Very, very few are complimented.
These conversations which took place towards the end of his life where he recounts, with great authority, story after story, comes across more like misremembered memories carved out to his own taste.
It was surprising to learn the difficulty he encountered in later life being unable to find ready financing for any project of his, but then I arrived at Pg.276 where Wells says of (John) Houseman “A real mystery: why they prefer Houseman, with his petulant, arrogant, unpleasant manner. I don’t know what is the matter. It’s a very weird and terrible situation. I don’t know where to turn.” it struck me that perhaps it was Wells who had a petulant, arrogant, unpleasant manner. At least that is the feeling I am left with from reading this book.
September 10, 2023
Kupio sam ovu knjigu samo zato što sam jednom davno, u nekoj knjižari, listajuć je naišao na interesantno mišljenje kako autora knjige, tako i Orsona Velsa o Džonu Štajnbeku i njegovom spisateljskom umeću. Čitao sam knjigu i čitao i listao i čitao i preturao stranice i nigde tog odeljka. Razočaran, misleći da sam to o Štajnbeku pročitao na nekom drugom mestu, privodio sam ovu zanimljivu knjigu kraju kad me na pretposlednjoj stranici ovih razgovora dočekao i taj citat.
Ne znam zašto, ali ovu knjigu nisam prvo malo prelistao s kraja kako obično radim sa intervjuima i sličnim knjigama i zato sam priču o Štajnbeku i drugim velikanima dočekao kao iznenađenje na kraju.
"ORSON: Giganti francuske kulture odjednom više ne postoje. Niko ih nije napao, njih jednostavno nema, znaš. Vidi šta se desilo s Anatolom Fransom - nestao. Malro - nestao.
HENRI: Ali oni su mrtvi.
ORSON: Dobro, pogledaj Skotija Ficdžeralda ovde, u Americi. Nestao je još za života. Poslednjih pet godina njegovog života, nijedan od njegovih romana nije preštampavan. Nigde nisi mogao da ih kupiš. Fokner nestaje. A dominirao je čitavim svetom, ne samo u Americi, već posebno u Evropi. Bože, on postaje nevidljiv. Štajnbek, siroti čovek. Bio je veći talenat nego što mu je ikad iko priznao. Ali njegove su mane do te mere bacile senku na njegov talenat da je nestao, znaš? Bio je užasno dobar čovek..."
Uglavnom, uvek me zaprepsti naše divljenje šaci istih pisaca koji kao da su zacementirani kao zlatni standard zauvek i ova američka priča, gde za deset godina dobiju pet do deset novih vrhunskih autora, pa im stari nobelovci nekad izgledaju krajnje prevaziđeno. Sad, USA je kao kontinent za sebe i bilo bi možda i veće čudo da nemaju toliko klasika koji prekopavaju druge klasike svako malo, nego da je situacija obrnuta, ali svakako mi se taj vid živog posmatranja starih klasika dosta svideo.
Pa mi čitamo Foknera u gimnaziji, a ovi ljudi pričaju osamdesetih o tome kako je on davno zaboravljen u Americi...ludilo...
Inače, od Štajnbeka sam pročitao samo Tortilja Flet i knjiga mi se dopala, a ne spada u najbolje i najhvaljenije njegove radove.
Što se tiče same ove knjige: Na ručku sa Orsonom - ima svega, od detalja iz Orsonovog živta, naručivanja omiljene hrane, raznih tračeva i ogovaranja većine, ako ne i svih ljudi koje je Orson Vels poznavao, do njegove lektire i načina rada na filmovima.
Tužno je, ali Orson Vels, sudeći bar prema ovoj knjizi izgleda nikoga osim samog sebe nikada u životu nije ni cenio ni voleo. Možda taj njegov apetit i čuveni stomak i ukazuju na tu ljubav prema sebi i narcisoidnost koja je zapravo više nemogućnost ljubavi prema drugima i koja se manifestovala tim megalomanskim salom koje kao da je bilo osoba za sebe, jedno još malo pa drugo biće koje je Orson mogao da voli i hrani. (Da, udaram po fizičkom izgledu, jer on gotovo sve ljude vređa na toj osnovi, a naročito Al Paćina (niskog...) - Pa gde si poš'o Orsone, preorao te Paćino u glumi odavno! :D)
Ne znam zašto, ali ovu knjigu nisam prvo malo prelistao s kraja kako obično radim sa intervjuima i sličnim knjigama i zato sam priču o Štajnbeku i drugim velikanima dočekao kao iznenađenje na kraju.
"ORSON: Giganti francuske kulture odjednom više ne postoje. Niko ih nije napao, njih jednostavno nema, znaš. Vidi šta se desilo s Anatolom Fransom - nestao. Malro - nestao.
HENRI: Ali oni su mrtvi.
ORSON: Dobro, pogledaj Skotija Ficdžeralda ovde, u Americi. Nestao je još za života. Poslednjih pet godina njegovog života, nijedan od njegovih romana nije preštampavan. Nigde nisi mogao da ih kupiš. Fokner nestaje. A dominirao je čitavim svetom, ne samo u Americi, već posebno u Evropi. Bože, on postaje nevidljiv. Štajnbek, siroti čovek. Bio je veći talenat nego što mu je ikad iko priznao. Ali njegove su mane do te mere bacile senku na njegov talenat da je nestao, znaš? Bio je užasno dobar čovek..."
Uglavnom, uvek me zaprepsti naše divljenje šaci istih pisaca koji kao da su zacementirani kao zlatni standard zauvek i ova američka priča, gde za deset godina dobiju pet do deset novih vrhunskih autora, pa im stari nobelovci nekad izgledaju krajnje prevaziđeno. Sad, USA je kao kontinent za sebe i bilo bi možda i veće čudo da nemaju toliko klasika koji prekopavaju druge klasike svako malo, nego da je situacija obrnuta, ali svakako mi se taj vid živog posmatranja starih klasika dosta svideo.
Pa mi čitamo Foknera u gimnaziji, a ovi ljudi pričaju osamdesetih o tome kako je on davno zaboravljen u Americi...ludilo...
Inače, od Štajnbeka sam pročitao samo Tortilja Flet i knjiga mi se dopala, a ne spada u najbolje i najhvaljenije njegove radove.
Što se tiče same ove knjige: Na ručku sa Orsonom - ima svega, od detalja iz Orsonovog živta, naručivanja omiljene hrane, raznih tračeva i ogovaranja većine, ako ne i svih ljudi koje je Orson Vels poznavao, do njegove lektire i načina rada na filmovima.
Tužno je, ali Orson Vels, sudeći bar prema ovoj knjizi izgleda nikoga osim samog sebe nikada u životu nije ni cenio ni voleo. Možda taj njegov apetit i čuveni stomak i ukazuju na tu ljubav prema sebi i narcisoidnost koja je zapravo više nemogućnost ljubavi prema drugima i koja se manifestovala tim megalomanskim salom koje kao da je bilo osoba za sebe, jedno još malo pa drugo biće koje je Orson mogao da voli i hrani. (Da, udaram po fizičkom izgledu, jer on gotovo sve ljude vređa na toj osnovi, a naročito Al Paćina (niskog...) - Pa gde si poš'o Orsone, preorao te Paćino u glumi odavno! :D)
November 5, 2015
The two reasons I've resisted this long:
1) The presence of Henry Jaglom on this planet taxes me.
2) Still scraping the remnants of My Dinner with Andre from the cognitive footlocker.
But it's Orson. It's Hollywood's premiere l'enfant terrible. It's the Emperor of Dish, parked with his poodle at Ma Maison, digesting soft-shelled crab as he opines on the entirety of the known artistic universe. It's stories in that basso profundo voice that may or may not be true, but always serve to make his point - even if it's just that he's completely apathetic to what you think you know about him, about Kane, about film in general, or whether capers should have come on that salad.
Who's going to resist this forever? Not me.
Welles is on the skids at this juncture, desperate for work (and friendship?), and has bonded for reasons that are beyond my comprehension with fellow filmmaker Henry Jaglom - who's acting, rather bizarrely, as his agent as well as his occasional luncheon companion. Jaglom, known for leeching the life force out of every human being he's ever met, has managed to talk Welles into permitting him to record their conversations so long as the recorder remains hidden throughout the process. It does. They do. Three years of cultured bonhomie pass. Welles dies and Jaglom, of course, does nothing with the material. Doesn't even get it transcribed. Along comes Peter Biskind (author of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls), who succeeds in talking Jaglom into allowing him to edit it all into a book, and voila.
The content is shocking, naturally. Absorbing, intuitive, petulant, grandiose. He's filled with bias, bluster and a surprising amount of self-awareness. Just what one expects from a sybarite at sunset; the ruminative breath taken between sins. I enjoyed this immensely, and that's saying something considering his rebuff of Richard Burton, his scoff of Robert Wagner and his denouncement of Pauline Kael - all of whom I hold in esteem.
But it's Orson. Orson Welles. Hard not to forgive him just about anything.
Including Henry Jaglom.
1) The presence of Henry Jaglom on this planet taxes me.
2) Still scraping the remnants of My Dinner with Andre from the cognitive footlocker.
But it's Orson. It's Hollywood's premiere l'enfant terrible. It's the Emperor of Dish, parked with his poodle at Ma Maison, digesting soft-shelled crab as he opines on the entirety of the known artistic universe. It's stories in that basso profundo voice that may or may not be true, but always serve to make his point - even if it's just that he's completely apathetic to what you think you know about him, about Kane, about film in general, or whether capers should have come on that salad.
Who's going to resist this forever? Not me.
Welles is on the skids at this juncture, desperate for work (and friendship?), and has bonded for reasons that are beyond my comprehension with fellow filmmaker Henry Jaglom - who's acting, rather bizarrely, as his agent as well as his occasional luncheon companion. Jaglom, known for leeching the life force out of every human being he's ever met, has managed to talk Welles into permitting him to record their conversations so long as the recorder remains hidden throughout the process. It does. They do. Three years of cultured bonhomie pass. Welles dies and Jaglom, of course, does nothing with the material. Doesn't even get it transcribed. Along comes Peter Biskind (author of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls), who succeeds in talking Jaglom into allowing him to edit it all into a book, and voila.
The content is shocking, naturally. Absorbing, intuitive, petulant, grandiose. He's filled with bias, bluster and a surprising amount of self-awareness. Just what one expects from a sybarite at sunset; the ruminative breath taken between sins. I enjoyed this immensely, and that's saying something considering his rebuff of Richard Burton, his scoff of Robert Wagner and his denouncement of Pauline Kael - all of whom I hold in esteem.
But it's Orson. Orson Welles. Hard not to forgive him just about anything.
Including Henry Jaglom.
July 24, 2024
Years ago I was meeting a friend in the bar at Brown's Hotel, London. Noodged by a whisky who said, "The Fat Man is here," I saw Orson. Holding forth, he was spinning stories in his honey-baked ham voice. A little group of fleas clustered. Nothing he said was true. Flea Jaglom continues the F for Fake. A gaseous and toxic belch.
November 15, 2016
Is the art of conversation dead? Or is it just that great conversationalists have lost their place to social media? You might think about such things while reading "My Lunches with Orson". While Orson Welles is still a divisive figure (people either love or hate him) no one can say that he didn't know how to spark reactions that led to discussions ranging from witty banter to deep talk about a wide range of subjects. Henry Jaglom lets us in on the conversation by transcribing many recorded luncheon talks with his friend and client during the late 1970s and early 1980s.
This should be required reading for aspiring film makers. Among the gossip, recollections and musings on art and literature there is a running thread about what it takes to finance and make a movie. Just being Orson Welles presented its own set of hurdles but we slowly realize why so many previously great directors get pushed into corners where they are no longer allowed to express themselves freely. In Welles' case he refused to create a "commercial" film which meant being in commercials in order to pay the bills. In one particularly tragicomic bit he considers doing an episode of the Love Boat. While Jaglom can be accused of pushing some of Welles' hot buttons in order to get a reaction, Welles doesn't seem to mind.
Many of the stories covered in this book are told by others in the various biographies of Orson Welles. Hearing it straight from the source makes it fresh.
This should be required reading for aspiring film makers. Among the gossip, recollections and musings on art and literature there is a running thread about what it takes to finance and make a movie. Just being Orson Welles presented its own set of hurdles but we slowly realize why so many previously great directors get pushed into corners where they are no longer allowed to express themselves freely. In Welles' case he refused to create a "commercial" film which meant being in commercials in order to pay the bills. In one particularly tragicomic bit he considers doing an episode of the Love Boat. While Jaglom can be accused of pushing some of Welles' hot buttons in order to get a reaction, Welles doesn't seem to mind.
Many of the stories covered in this book are told by others in the various biographies of Orson Welles. Hearing it straight from the source makes it fresh.
June 11, 2015
This isn't a formal rundown of of Orson Welles' career, but a great part of this book's appeal is how gloriously informal it is. This is Welles at his most relaxed and unguarded, free-associating across the years with Henry Jaglom over lunch, touching on both his most famous works and the ones that never got made at all. It's not an altogether flattering portrait of the man, but it's a very human one, capturing a period of quiet desperation during the last few years of his life when he was still hustling to get projects made even as his health began to fail him. And then out of nowhere Jack Lemmon or someone else will show up and sit in on the conversation, and you remember that this is all taking place in public, in a restaurant.
I don't know if I can entirely trust every story Welles tells here (anyone who's seen F for Fake would know that he positively revels in being an unreliable narrator), but just seeing how he chooses to frame his own story---especially in a context where he has little opportunity to prepare or self-edit---reveals a lot about him. Plus there's a ton of juicy old-Hollywood gossip, which never fails to keep things lively. This is a book I could easily imagine going back to again and again, noticing new details each time.
I don't know if I can entirely trust every story Welles tells here (anyone who's seen F for Fake would know that he positively revels in being an unreliable narrator), but just seeing how he chooses to frame his own story---especially in a context where he has little opportunity to prepare or self-edit---reveals a lot about him. Plus there's a ton of juicy old-Hollywood gossip, which never fails to keep things lively. This is a book I could easily imagine going back to again and again, noticing new details each time.
July 28, 2013
Awesome. I don't understand why anyone would care in the least about the truth content of the stories contained in this book. The entire thing is entertaining. For those looking for a series of truthful, dry, Hollywood stories from the mouth of Orson Welles, look elsewhere during your lengthy reality check.
October 16, 2020
A few nights ago, a Tweet popped up in my feed with a passage from this book. The passage has Orson talking about how he wants John Landis killed for giving him bad script advice (and also the Twilight Zone thing). I instantly know I had to order this book and it arrived today. It was everything I hoped it would be.
April 29, 2024
High, unavoidable 4. It would be silly to cut conversations any further than they no doubt were for brevity. At some point you have to pick a point between what was said and what's entertaining, and I think the editor picked a good point... but of course, that means it's not nonstop entertainment, and the final bits felt unfortunately dry. Nevertheless, all of it gives a great feel for the intelligent, uncompromising Welles.
Oh! And it presents the most amazing way of dodging giving praise for a work you don't like:
Q: What did you think of my movie?
A: [big grin] You've done it again.
Recommended review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Oh! And it presents the most amazing way of dodging giving praise for a work you don't like:
Q: What did you think of my movie?
A: [big grin] You've done it again.
Recommended review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
May 12, 2019
If you find Orson Welles at all interesting this will be a breezy read. Henry Jaglom just shoots him random questions and Orson has a ready-made opinion. Orson didn't mind if he taped these conversations as long as he didn't see the recorder.
In between the free associations Jaglom is helping Orson get one of his many projects off the ground. The Dreamers, King Lear, and The Brass Ring are being shopped without success. The restaurant atmosphere means guys like Jack Lemmon will drop by the table to chat, but the conversation often goes no where with these interlopers.
Wolfgang Puck was the original chef here but Orson hates him because Puck had the audacity to sit at the table without being asked. Orson didn't like Spencer Tracy. Hated Irving Thalberg and Louis Mayer and David O Selznick. He dislikes Ronald Reagan. He thinks Keaton and Harold Lloyd are superior to Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin stole his script for Monsieur Verdoux without giving him proper credit. He hates The Searchers and Rear Window and Vertigo. Then he surprises you by loving John Wayne.
At some point he gets the money for The Brass Ring if he can only get a big male star. Eastwood thinks it's too leftwing. Burt Reynolds says no. Jack Nicholson wants Jack Nicholson money. They eventually made the script with William Hurt years after Orson's death. France will give Orson the money for King Lear but they won't give him the necessary control as a producer to make it in a way he is comfortable with.
The book gives you the overall feeling that Orson Welles wants to be liked, but his ability to incisively ridicule his friends and colleagues makes him a tough person to know. He had that quality Truman Capote had of alienating most of the people he once called friends. I found the book quite enjoyable and would have been happy with 300 more pages of musings.
It occurred me to writing this review that I had grown up seeing Orson do wine commercials and cameo with the Muppets. I had even seen his appearance on I Love Lucy. I might have been 20 years old before I realized he directed movies. I was aware of him at the very time of these recordings, but he was a personality rather than a film maker and thus his frustrations.
In between the free associations Jaglom is helping Orson get one of his many projects off the ground. The Dreamers, King Lear, and The Brass Ring are being shopped without success. The restaurant atmosphere means guys like Jack Lemmon will drop by the table to chat, but the conversation often goes no where with these interlopers.
Wolfgang Puck was the original chef here but Orson hates him because Puck had the audacity to sit at the table without being asked. Orson didn't like Spencer Tracy. Hated Irving Thalberg and Louis Mayer and David O Selznick. He dislikes Ronald Reagan. He thinks Keaton and Harold Lloyd are superior to Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin stole his script for Monsieur Verdoux without giving him proper credit. He hates The Searchers and Rear Window and Vertigo. Then he surprises you by loving John Wayne.
At some point he gets the money for The Brass Ring if he can only get a big male star. Eastwood thinks it's too leftwing. Burt Reynolds says no. Jack Nicholson wants Jack Nicholson money. They eventually made the script with William Hurt years after Orson's death. France will give Orson the money for King Lear but they won't give him the necessary control as a producer to make it in a way he is comfortable with.
The book gives you the overall feeling that Orson Welles wants to be liked, but his ability to incisively ridicule his friends and colleagues makes him a tough person to know. He had that quality Truman Capote had of alienating most of the people he once called friends. I found the book quite enjoyable and would have been happy with 300 more pages of musings.
It occurred me to writing this review that I had grown up seeing Orson do wine commercials and cameo with the Muppets. I had even seen his appearance on I Love Lucy. I might have been 20 years old before I realized he directed movies. I was aware of him at the very time of these recordings, but he was a personality rather than a film maker and thus his frustrations.
May 3, 2013
Tapes recorded over the course of wide ranging lunch conversations between Orson Welles and director Henry Jaglom in the early 80s reveal Welles as a brilliant, iconoclastic raconteur in merrily uncensored fashion. You don't need to agree with or be a fan of Welles to find this wildly entertaining. The substantial introduction by Peter Biskind, author of "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" is worth the price of the book on its own. For sheer pleasure, the best non-fiction book I've read so far this year. Absolutely essential for film fans and those interested in the movie business, Hollywood, or Welles.
September 5, 2013
So many of the conversations transcribed in this book struck me as trivial rather than interesting. Welles comes of as bitchy, more than anything else...
May 23, 2016
Oh, Orson. Even at the end, even when talking to someone as annoying as Jaglom, even when the line between 'truth' and 'fiction' was more than usually blurred, you shone.
August 25, 2025
Henry Jaglom and Orson Welles's My Lunches with Orson consist of a series of tape recordings made by Henry Jaglom with Orson Welles at Ma Maison Restaurant in Los Angeles during the last three years of Welles's life. At the time, Orson was frantically trying to get a number of projects going here and abroad and getting turned down by producers, or more accurately, non-producers.
Both Welles and Jaglom were film directors, so there is a lot of discussion on the problems of getting a project off the ground. In addition, there is a lot of chatter about film directors (Welles didn't care much for Hitchcock, but loved John Ford), gossip columnists, actors, and producers. At these lunches, Welles usually brought along his little dog Kiki.
I loved the films of Welles (though not those of Jaglom), but I didn't agree with all his opinions about directors and stars. But that's okay, we all have different opinions. And Welles always expressed himself well.
Both Welles and Jaglom were film directors, so there is a lot of discussion on the problems of getting a project off the ground. In addition, there is a lot of chatter about film directors (Welles didn't care much for Hitchcock, but loved John Ford), gossip columnists, actors, and producers. At these lunches, Welles usually brought along his little dog Kiki.
I loved the films of Welles (though not those of Jaglom), but I didn't agree with all his opinions about directors and stars. But that's okay, we all have different opinions. And Welles always expressed himself well.
April 6, 2020
Orson Welles had a legendary career in theater, radio, and film. His friend Henry Jaglom was also (and I believe still is) a filmmaker, as well as Welles's friend and agent. In the 1980's he recorded a number of conversations between the two where they discuss the movie business, Welles's relationships with Rita Hayworth and Lena Horne, why Welles disliked Woody Allen, Welles's friendships with people like Joseph Cotten and Carol Lombard, Hungarians, Shakespeare, and the making of films like Citizen Kane and The Third Man. Jaglom recorded it all, and this book is a transcription of those recordings.
Welles is about what you would expect, funny, opinionated, smart, and someone who clearly enjoys saying things just to shock his friend (examples: he doesn't think Bogart was a good actor, he hates Irish Americans, and he won't hug his friend because he's afraid he'll get aids [this was in the early days of the aids epidemic]). I enjoyed being a fly on the wall for these conversations, although, by the end I'd had slightly more than my fill of OW.
Welles is about what you would expect, funny, opinionated, smart, and someone who clearly enjoys saying things just to shock his friend (examples: he doesn't think Bogart was a good actor, he hates Irish Americans, and he won't hug his friend because he's afraid he'll get aids [this was in the early days of the aids epidemic]). I enjoyed being a fly on the wall for these conversations, although, by the end I'd had slightly more than my fill of OW.
March 23, 2025
I mean...if voyeurism is your thing, then you'll like these transcripts. Orson knew his friend was recording these lunches (that were near the end of Orson's life) but they aren't what one might call profound. But should they? They're having lunch and he's desperate for a deal, any deal. Every once in a while, there is a nugget of wisdom or old Hollywood gossip gold, but mostly it's an aging perfectionist who doesn't understand why things don't go his way.
November 4, 2021
I could have read 600 more pages of this. Really fascinating look at one of the most important artists of the 20th century with a nice mix of Hollywood gossip.
February 16, 2023
orson one of the greatest haters to ever do it
December 22, 2015
My Lunches with Orson documented a series of taped interviews at a West Hollywood restaurant with Orson Welles and Henry Joglom at the last stage of Welles’s life. At first, I was appalled by Welles, an artist of stature, who resorted to gossip and put-downs of Hollywood stars to puff himself up. My opinion switched to that he had a sarcastic, wicked sense of humor. The magnitude of his talent and genius gave himself permission to think that he was superior. A turn-around occurred midway through the conversations. A bolt of insight jolted me out of an old stupor of formulated opinions of what I thought about the Golden Age of Hollywood. Welles the magician, filmmaker, actor and stage director either pulled a magic trick out of a hat or devised a kind of a heist that unwittingly obliterated the common consensus regarding the popularity of Hollywood, a dream machine of manufactured illusions. Welles’s caustic opinions provided the impression that it’s best to slash the silver screen of the past and step into a new realm regarding inventive storytelling, acting and directing. The conversations, impishly entertaining and ripsnorting shed Welles as dark as some of his best film noir.
July 15, 2013
At one point in these conversations with the film director Henry Jaglom, Orson Welles recalls a Newsweek review of “Citizen Kane” in which the novelist John O’Hara wrote, “This is not only the best picture that has ever been made, it is the best picture that will ever be made.”
“What do you do after that?” Jaglom asks.
“Nothing,” Welles replies. “I should’ve retired.”
Considering the 44 years of his life that followed the release of “Kane,” Welles may have spoken the truth.
Read the review: http://wapo.st/17gjaE1
“What do you do after that?” Jaglom asks.
“Nothing,” Welles replies. “I should’ve retired.”
Considering the 44 years of his life that followed the release of “Kane,” Welles may have spoken the truth.
Read the review: http://wapo.st/17gjaE1
December 24, 2015
This book consists of transcripts of tape recordings made by Jaglom of conversations he had with Orson Welles while they were dining in a restaurant. Younger, Jaglom obsequiously primes and pumps the Great Man so it's not just talk about food and the weather, and while Welles has a lot to say, most of it is gossip, Hollywood gossip. I suppose if I were older and more invested in the films and theatre of the forties, fifties and sixties--or in knowing about the sex lives of the stars of that period--this book would have impressed me more. It is a quick read though.
December 31, 2021
تفريغ لتسجيلات صوتية لمجموعة مقابلات على الغداء بين المخرج الأسطوري العظيم أورسون ويلز ومحاوره وصديقه المخرج هنري جاجلوم. ما يميز الكتاب هو ابتعاده عن الطبيعة الصحفية الحوارية وكونه مجرد دردشة بين صديقين، مليئة بنميمة عن العصر الذهبي لهوليوود، والآراء الصادمة تجاه زملاء أورسون وتجاه نفسه، ولكن ما لفت نظري وأحزنني في الكتاب هو الحال التي وصل لها مخرج كبير بهذا التاريخ، يجد نفسه جالساً بلا عمل، يحاول العثور على تمويل لفيلم جديد من هنا وهناك، يحاسب نفسه على السنوات والأموال التي أهدرها والمشاريع التي لم يكملها. محبي أورسون ويلز سيقرأون الكتاب بصوته.
March 16, 2017
much more fun, and much more revealing, than bogdanovich's prior book of interviews with welles (which was much more work-focused). welles here is like a living, breathing thinkpiece, and you're left w/ the sense that a single conversation w/ him was worth dozens of films and novels by other people. is it possible to be a tremendous waste of talent in spite of an extraordinary body of work? absolutely; here's proof (and he knew it, too).
August 13, 2013
One of the most entertaining books I have read. The book is based on the conversations between Henry Jaglom and Orson Welles during long lunches between 1983 and 1985. It felt like I was right there with them. It was fascinating, shocking, sad, funny and informative. Recommended for lovers of Hollywood and Orson Welles.
October 19, 2013
Transcripts of lunch table chitchat that may or may not have been taped with Orson Welles' consent. Gossip writer Peter Biskind adds a forward which leaves one with the impression that he may or may not have seen a Welles film after "Citizen Kane."
Read Peter Bogdanovich's book length "This is Orson Welles" instead.
Read Peter Bogdanovich's book length "This is Orson Welles" instead.
June 28, 2016
I've always wondered what Orson Welles was like and after reading this book I have to say be careful what you wish for.
May 25, 2023
The best thing about this book, besides the revelation of “Orson Welles, Argumentative Troll,” is getting a true picture of his last days. He knew the end was coming and was still raging into that good light. A master storyteller, a creative giant and a legend who has 27 great ideas and no time to get them done.
But… it is a slog, as one must get through Jaglom’s insertions of himself to get to the next great story from Welles. For Orson Welles completists only.
But… it is a slog, as one must get through Jaglom’s insertions of himself to get to the next great story from Welles. For Orson Welles completists only.
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