The Film Geek’s Guide to The Other Side of the Wind

OK, I’m going to start this off by warning you that if you’re a whiny type of person, then there might be spoilers here.  But I don’t think it’s possible to spoil this film, because it’s really a character study more than anything else.  And we know the ending from the first shot, because it’s given away.  The point is not plot surprises, but rather where the characters go.

I personally think that this is the kind of thing you might want to read before you see the film, so you get some of the references, but your mileage may vary.

The Other Side of the Wind is an experimental film.  That shouldn’t surprise you, because pretty much every Orson Welles film is an experimental film.  That’s part of his appeal to me, which is that you’re never quite sure what you’re going to get when you watch one of his pictures.  I’m a sucker for something different, and that’s what this is.

It’s ostensibly a spoof of reality-style documentary pictures that were very popular in the late 60s and early 70s, and it goes out of its way to make it incredible (as in not credible) and over the top.  There are scenes in this that no documentary filmmaker would ever have taken, but we go with it, because, well, it’s fun, and it’s a dramatic device.

A lot of people are saying that the protagonist here, Jake Hannaford (John Huston), is a semi-autobiographical Orson Welles.  He isn’t.  He’s a semi-biographical John Ford.  Welles was a huge fan of Ford’s, and Peter Bogdanovich interviewed Ford extensively about this time (and a little earlier).  Ford became a huge pain in the butt because he stopped cooperating with people and just gave stupid answers to interview questions.

Further, there’s a recurring theme about whether Hannaford is gay or bisexual and deeply closeted.  This was the case in real life with John Ford, according to many people who knew him.  Maureen O’Hara spoke about it in her autobiography (not that she was exactly unbiased).

There’s another deep parallel that a lot of people will miss.  FW Murnau is brought up early on and then dropped.  But if we know Murnau, he was also a gay (or maybe bisexual) director who was killed in a car accident eerily like the one in The Other Side of the Wind.  

The parallels go further… they keep saying that Jake Hannaford had made silent films, and so did Murnau.  Murnau was always on a quest to make films with few or no intertitles, a purely visual experience.  The film-within-a-film in The Other Side of the Wind isn’t really a John Ford film.  It’s a MURNAU film.  Symbolic, lyrical, slow-moving, and silent.

It’s also a fun contrast to see the documentary-style footage of Hannaford in cut-cut-cut in-your-face editing style while the film-within-a-film is slow, with few cuts and deliberately paced.

It’s a little bit of cinematic bravura that reminds me a bit of Mozart’s A Musical Joke.  By listening to Mozart dissect what doesn’t work in a composition, we learn just how intimately he did know what worked.  Welles is the same with directing.  He knows how all the styles work, how the different approaches are handled, what silent films are, etc, and he can seamlessly play with them.

The Stranger is less a film noir than it is a German Expressionist film.  Too Much Johnson is a silent picture shot just the way those were shot, often in open air with bright sunlight and poor reflection, even in the “indoor” sets.  Welles gets this; he always gets the feel right.

If the cut-cut-cut style of The Other Side of the Wind is annoying, then it’s supposed to be.  It’s pretty clear that Welles found it annoying, too, and that’s the point of it.  Dialogue is given in little snatches and bits of background.  If you aren’t paying close attention, it will just wash over you like so much tidewater.  There’s a lot in it, and attention is rewarded.

Ultimately, the film is really about directors being crazy and in a crazy world, with incredible stresses and conflicting artistic demands.  Hannaford wants to be artistic but can’t afford to finance his own work, which we all know is not really commercial (at one point, the projectionist running the film is told the film is out of order, and he asks, “Does it really matter?”)

What’s missed a lot here is just how intensely Welles is talking about directors.  Most of the cast is filled with directors.  Norman Foster (as Billy Boyle) was not just an actor, but a director for many years, only returning to acting for this part.  He was a long-time friend of Welles’ and almost walks off with the picture.  Peter Bogdanovich is another co-star, another director just coming into his own when the film was shot.  Henry Jaglom, director.  Dennis Hopper, actor-director.  Curtis Harrington, director.  Claude Chabrol, director.  The cast is littered with directors, and not always playing themselves.

Much has been said about the ethics of finishing this movie without Welles, knowing fully that there was a lot of it that was shot that didn’t make it into the final cut.  Look, I’m a stickler for doing things right.  This feels like a Welles film.  They did it right.  Is it perfect?  I’m sure not, but Welles left behind 45 minutes of the film that he’d cut and extensive notes.  This isn’t the first time a film was resurrected from raw footage.  I remember Sherlock Holmes (1922) and Oliver Twist (also 1922) were brought back this way.  With collaboration from so many people who worked on this and knew Welles, I’m inclined to give this a pass.

There’s also some controversy about Oja Kodar.  People say that she’s the equivalent of Susan Alexander, the talentless singer raised to stardom in Citizen Kane.  I don’t think that, given her performance in this film, we can settle that question. It’s clear that given the way Welles shot her, very carefully, that he loved her.  Her reactions are on the money, but is that Kodar or Welles?  It’s hard to say.  I noticed that facially she reminded me of Agnes Moorehead on more than one occasion, just in the way she reacted to things.  That may be coincidence or direction!  There’s a lot of Oja seen here, much of it unclothed, but she has no dialogue.  Welles regarded her as a collaborator, so I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

One bit of autobiography and wish-fulfillment does creep in to The Other Side of the Wind.  John Huston decks Susan Strasberg, who is playing a mock Pauline Kael. Kael had written some scathing things about Welles (you can look it up; I won’t go into it here), and I’m sure Welles relished the thought of getting back at her, at least cinematically.

Too bad it had to wait until they were both dead!

The Fame of Kane

I get a little tired of people telling me that Citizen Kane is the greatest film ever made.  Don’t get me wrong; I love the film, but calling it the “greatest ever” seems a little hard to swallow.  I’ve seen a lot of Welles films, but certainly not all of them… I have to tell you that I don’t even think Kane is the best Orson Welles film.  I tend to like Touch of Evil better.  It seems a much more relaxed and confident film to me.

(For the record, I’m frequently interviewed by people who ask me variations on this… “What is your favorite film?”  “What’s the greatest film ever made?”  I don’t have an answer for this.  The greatest film ever made, and my favorite, is moldering in a can somewhere, waiting for me to find it.  I have a real weakness for auteurish films by obscure people like Max Davidson, Warren William, or Charley Bowers.)

Citizen Kane could hardly have been a bad movie if it tried.  Welles was a first-time director, but he was given a great cinematographer (Gregg Toland), a great composer (Bernard Herrmann), a great editor (Robert Wise), a great co-screenwriter (Herman Mankiewicz) and a great cast.  He was protected from studio interference by contract and they adhered to it.

RKO in the early 40s was a really great place to make a movie.  I often cite William Dieterle’s The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941) as another film done at the same studio at about the same time, that is also a great film.  Both Welles and Dieterle were influenced by German expressionism, with the editor, composer, and studio brass the same for both films. (I would be remiss not to point out the scene at 47:05 when we first see Simone Simon.  I will only say that I’d have worked on this film for free.)

Some of these same people went on to do other great pictures at RKO.  Kane’s editor, Robert Wise, moved up to the director’s chair, and worked for producer Val Lewton.  Lewton headed up a B-unit there that made twelve amazing pictures, largely free of studio interference, between 1942 and 1946.  Lewton was allowed to make pretty much anything he wanted so long as he used the studio’s title, which led him to make a film like Curse of the Cat People (1944)–basically a sentimental Christmas story with a ghost in it.

I realize that I’m painting an overly rosy picture of RKO as a studio that left artists alone.  I do remember what happened to The Magnificent Ambersons, but that was an unfortunate anomaly that was not typical of RKO’s behavior at the time.  In fact, Robert Wise, who was responsible for the studio-backed recutting of Ambersons, was embarrassed and defensive about it even as late 1995 when he was grilled about it at Cinecon.

But as I get back to Kane, I see a film with Welles being extra ambitious to make an artsy film that would get people talking.  He succeeded, but as a result, Kane is not exactly subtle.  The direction calls attention to itself at nearly every opportunity.  Flashy editing, flashy photography, dramatic lighting… it’s all there.  This doesn’t make Kane a bad film–far from it–but I find that Welles matured as a director and did more confident, more cinematic work later in his career.

The legend around Citizen Kane is that Welles did his very best work for his first film, and that everything he did afterward was a step down.

I don’t believe that.  Welles was highly idiosyncratic, and he had a reputation of being “difficult.”  He tended to offend studio people and they tended not to hire him for a second picture.  This meant that it became progressively more difficult for him to get work as a director, and he had to resort to using technical people who were less than the stellar crowd he got on Kane.

That’s easy to say, because the crew for Kane is among the best ever assembled for a movie.  Almost any other crew would be a step down.

Welles was unable to make great films from lousy budgets, but he managed to do good, solid work with much smaller budgets.  The Lady from Shanghai (1947), made for skin-flint Harry Cohn, still has a lush Wellesian feel, especially when we compare it to other films made at Columbia during this period.

When I watch Citizen Kane, I note that Welles seems to be relying heavily on advice from his cinematographer, Gregg Toland.  Kane is very much a photographer’s film, and that’s fine by Welles, who loved heavy Expressionist lighting.  But there comes a point at which I feel Welles is using Toland almost as a crutch.

Toland was tinkering with special lenses that let distant objects and closer objects stay in simultaneous focus.  Normally directors use different lenses, focus on the character speaking, and then rely on the editor to combine disparate shots of actors in the cutting room.  This practice is rough on inexperienced actors, because they are frequently not talking to another person, but rather to a bank of lights and a camera lens.

Watch this scene from Citizen Kane.

This is all one continuous shot, with no edits, which is pretty amazing.  The actors are all in focus at once, so that they can speak and react to each other.  It’s great from an acting standpoint, and we have nothing but respect for Toland at being able to set up shots like this.

Ultimately, though, Welles has used technical bravura to forward his thinking, and it’s stage-bound.  The scene plays like a well-lit, well-acted stage scene, which is basically what it is.  There isn’t much that is terribly cinematic about it.

Compare this to the opening shot of Welles’ Touch of Evil (1958)

This is also a continuous shot with no edits, but notice that Welles is thinking differently.  Characters come in and out of frame, cars move, lighting shifts.  It’s not a stage scene; it could never be a stage scene.  Welles still doesn’t like the cut-cut-cut editing mentality, but he’s made a quantum leap forward in how to implement it successfully in a movie.

It is fair to say that Welles never made another movie as slick as Citizen Kane is. I think Welles is judged unfairly by film fans.  I doubt that anyone in the history of film ever had a deal as sweet as the one he got for Kane.  That his later films can’t live up to that isn’t his fault.  I think he did grow and mature as a director, but casual viewers get so lost in the flair of “Rosebud” that they miss his other accomplishments.

The “greatest film ever made” is a highly subjective thing.  It makes people angry and combative.  I find the AFI lists of greatest films consistently annoying, because they omit so many films that I love in a rush to get to the most popular ones.  If you want to say Citizen Kane is the greatest film ever made, then that’s OK for you.  I’m here to say that it probably isn’t his best work as a director.  Many people don’t like the film because it’s so flashy.  I understand that too.

I respect individual taste on what constitutes a great film—just so long as “great film” and “Adam Sandler” don’t go together.