Me and Orson Welles

 

Director Richard Linklater

Linklater on the set with Zac Efron and Richard McKay

Author Robert Kaplow

Arthur Anderson and Orson Welles in Julius Caesar, 1937

ME AND ORSON WELLES                        B+                                                                          USA  Great Britain  (114 mi)  2008  ‘Scope  d: Richard Linklater

“How the hell do I top this?”   —Orson Welles (Christian McKay)

Richard Linklater movies tend to have a modernist bent to them, where you can feel at times as if you’re lost in a minefield of existential drift.  But that is certainly not the case here in what amounts to a charming and thoroughly enjoyable piece of historical nostalgia, set in 1937 when Orson Welles was attempting to open his Mercury Theater production with a performance of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, a heavily cut, empty-staged yet daring, politically-charged stage adaptation set in Mussolini’s fascist Italy, with Welles playing the part of Brutus.  Linklater is a sincere admirer of Welles, calling him the patron saint of independent filmmakers.  With wall-to-wall jazz music and a typewriter style opening title sequence, one would swear we are about to witness a Woody Allen movie, but we are soon introduced to a strange new world, all led by the larger-than-life persona of the young 22-year old Welles who has yet to make a single movie and is full of swagger and theatrical bluster.  The brilliant performance by British actor Christian McKay, an alumnus of the Royal Shakespeare Company who was discovered when he played Welles in a one-man play, Rosebud: The Lives of Orson Welles, on a small stage in London, just nails the all-too-perfect speech intonations and sardonic facial expressions of Welles, a young genius child prodigy who has yet to take the world by storm.  Alongside Richard Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote in Bennett Miller’s CAPOTE (2005), this is one of the great biographical film performances, though completely ignored by the Academy, where Welles’ blustery self-assurance and bullying sarcastic wit are on full display, obviously a man on a mission who is just getting his first taste of his own powers, literally browbeating his cast into submission, refusing to accept anyone else’s way except his own, quickly showing them the door if they refuse, so everyone defers to his judgment.  After all, he takes credit for every idea, even Shakespeare’s, calling it an Orson Welles production of Shakespeare, where he gets top billing, deleting characters and scenes on a whim whenever the mood suits him, but also making everyone feel that despite the fact they are receiving no salary, they are just a few days away from being a part of theater history. 

Interesting that this is the very first Shakespeare performance on Broadway, ever, where Welles is like a traveling road show that rolls in and out of town, driven by the breeze of destiny, yet the “Me” of the title concerns a small bit player, a coming-of-age 17-year old New Jersey high school student Richard (teen idol Zac Efron, working outside his comfort zone), who dreams of becoming an actor, skipping school, wandering downtown, and happening by chance to see Welles on the street in front of the theater, playing up to his enormous ego, all lies and pretense, but he wins a role as the charming, lute-strumming (it’s actually a ukulele) Lucius in the modern-dress revival of the play which is opening in a week.  Adapted by a husband and wife team of Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. based upon a New York Times best-selling, meticulously researched historical novel by Robert Kaplow, a writer and New Jersey high school English teacher who was inspired by an archival photograph of a young 15-year old actor (Arthur Anderson) strumming the lute next to Welles onstage, imagining just what he must have been thinking at the time.  Linklater cleverly mixes fact and fiction in this portrait of the artist as a young man, as the film is limited to this memorable week of rehearsals, providing a window into the world of theater, showing the passionate camaraderie of those weary participants, very attentive to period detail, revealing behind-the-scenes vignettes of the principal players, but especially Welles who dominates every scene, as even when the cast sits around doing nothing, “We’re waiting for Orson,” his aura remains evident at all times.  To learn his part, Richard is referred to Sonja (Claire Danes), the all-purpose, exceedingly ambitious personal assistant who is likely already sleeping with Welles (along with pretty much every other female), who has promised her a chance to meet David O. Selznick and an opportunity to play in GONE WITH THE WIND (1939).  Discovering her last name is Jones, Richard serenades her with a line from Rodgers and Hart, Have You Met Miss Jones?, which might actually have spawned the director’s later interest in making Blue Moon (2025). Thoroughly flirtatious, leading to grownup sex, the two become fast friends, which they remain throughout the film, though she trusts Richard simply because he has no clout, so she can be open and honest with him, guiding him through the egos and everyday disasters that take place each day on the set. 

Recalling the immersive nature of Cameron Crowe’s ALMOST FAMOUS (2000), with an observant young teenage reporter surrounded by a brave new world of rock ‘n’ roll, Efron is not very good in the play, but that hardly matters, as he’s playing a young novice who’s not supposed to be very good, so he fits comfortably into the production, enthralled by the world around him, which features excellent performances all around.  In perhaps the film’s best scene, Welles whisks “the kid” into a cab with him on route to the radio studio where he observes Welles perform a skit on a live radio broadcast, but along the way Welles drops his guard and reads him a passage from Booth Tarkington’s novel The Magnificent Ambersons, where he mourns that “Ambersons is about how everything gets taken away from you,” a stunning personal admission considering the Hollywood brass did exactly that to his career just a few short years later, destroying his original ending on The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) and effectively ending his Hollywood career.  When Welles ad-libs an Ambersons passage on the radio, adding a delicious soliloquy for himself, he’s profoundly seeing his career years ahead of himself.  Outside of Welles, James Tupper is absolutely brilliant as the suave and ever cordial James Cotton, the man behind the scenes of so many of Welles’ successes, Ben Chaplin plays an anxiety-ridden leading man George Coulouris, quickly whisking his mistress offstage when his wife arrives, Eddie Marsan plays the constantly perplexed theater manager and old friend, John Houseman, while Zoe Kazan (Elia Kazan’s granddaughter) plays Gretta, an aspiring young writer Richard befriends, helping her get published in The New Yorker.   While Richard is quickly informed by Sonja of his status, “You’re not getting anything except the opportunity to be sprayed by Orson’s spit,” Orson has a habit of initially bolstering each actor’s confidence with flowery praise, such as seeing “images of magnificence” in their eyes before bringing them back down to earth with his rapid fire rounds of terse criticism.  Thankfully, Linklater does show various scenes from the theatrical premiere, all of which feel like a special treat, so the audience is rewarded and never for a moment feels cheated in this film.   

While the film was a box office bomb, premiering in Toronto after select footage was screened at the 2008 Cannes Film Festival, and not released in the U.S. until a year later, this is something completely different for Linklater, yet it’s essential filmmaking, upbeat and thoroughly enjoyable, like a light at the end of the tunnel following the dark times of the Depression, beautifully extolling the glories and virtues of still being young, filled with idealistic hope and promise, with the film suggesting, “it’s all ahead of us.”  Offering an ambitious, behind-the-scenes glimpse of a theater production in the making, this spirited film always feels balanced, intelligent and amusing, filled with an unbridled wit and humor, along with a select few poor souls who unfortunately feel the ignominious wrath of an undeterred mad hatter in charge, yet the focus doesn’t always swirl around Orson Welles, the man who commands the salacious interest in every scene, where it’s hard to take your eyes off such a brilliant rendering of his overwhelming personality.  Instead, the week’s events are seen and filtered through the somewhat bland eyes (think Tab Hunter) of the young thespian who’s still taking classes in high school (actually found sleeping in class, due to his late night carousing), an idealistic, wide-eyed everyman character, just a few years younger than Welles himself, who instantly falls in love with Sonja, and whose life is forever altered by this experience.  Beautifully shot in London, New York, and the Isle of Man by Mike Leigh’s superb cinematographer Dick Pope, the film benefits from some plot twists, capturing the essence of Welles as a rising star and the beginning of the Welles legend, exhaustively researched, with a very beautiful reconstruction of the post-depression era of the 1930’s, a period where art and culture merged together.  Perhaps not up to the caliber of Cassavetes’ brilliant Opening Night (1977), or Chaplin’s LIMELIGHT (1952), both the ultimate masterworks in revealing the wrenching behind-the-scenes activities of a stage production, or even Desplechin’s delightfully offbeat ESTHER KAHN (2000), this film is nonetheless fueled by the supercharged performance of a young, unheralded actor who perfectly captures the indomitable spirit of Orson Welles, a legendary, larger-than-life figure who is one of America’s greatest and most controversial artists.   

Happy-Go-Lucky

Sally Hawkins and director Mike Leigh on the set of Happy-Go-Lucky  

 

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY        B              

Great Britain  (118 mi)  2008  ‘Scope  d:  Mike Leigh

Are you happy?

This question is asked several times throughout the film, almost as a throwaway line, as it can easily get lost in the continuous babble of the lead character known as Poppy (Sally Hawkins).  While she asks it of others, the question is more appropriately asked of her.  For the opening thirty minutes or more, it is impossible to wipe that smile off her face, as if it is artificially attached.  Whether good or bad circumstances, she simply exudes a dizzying good humor that feels more like a reflex action than the real thing, as if all the nervous chatter coming out of her mouth is covering up something that lies beneath.  She lives with a more grounded roommate Zoe, Alexis Zegerman, her best friend in the world, as they traveled through Australia and Southeast Asia together and now both teach inner city elementary school children in London, but the storyline implies there is perhaps more to their relationship.  Poppy, however, is also interested in men, as if bisexual curiosity offers a means to explore her own sense of unfulfilled identity, which at age thirty is still an open question.  It is as a teacher that Poppy finally gets serious, as her tendency to overreact to everything in general is in perfect synch to the world of first graders, as rather than berate an obviously troubled child who is starting to hit other children, she befriends him with the hopes of earning his trust.  Her affection is in earnest, but the audience wonders what troubled past of her own remains concealed.  This is exacerbated further in a somewhat surreal scene where she inexplicably puts herself in harm’s way and visits an obviously crazed homeless man (Stanley Townsend) and tries to connect with him, as if attempting to bring him some degree of warmth or happiness.  Some give their pocket change, Poppy gives her smile and good cheer.  But upon returning home, she conceals where she’s been, as if she can’t really explain it even to herself.

Leigh is known by his connection to theater and his rigorous improvisational rehearsals not only prior to shooting but prior to developing his story.  Unfortunately, much of this film feels like an attempt to string together several of these worked out sequences, never really creating a cohesive whole.  As a result, the story becomes a contrast in moods told in different segments, a visit to a book store, girls night out at the disco, Poppy’s stolen bicycle and her subsequent decision to take driving lessons from an irascible, pathologically uptight misanthrope (Eddie Marsan) who is the living personification of road rage, flamenco dance classes from an infinitely charming (“This is My Space!!!”) Spanish instructor from Seville (Karina Fernandez, who it turns out is not even Spanish), who encourages women to seek their flamboyant side, a gentleman caller, visits to her discordant family members, as well as scenes from school.  What these scenes all have in common is that they are revealed from the singular perspective of Poppy’s character, which becomes clearer and of greater interest over time.  Despite this development, Poppy continues to remain a mystery, as she obviously wants to please the world around her but the magical unanswered question is why?  What motivates her?  Behind the smiles and the giggles and the sarcastic, smart aleck comments, one wonders if she’s truly happy or simply pretending to be.

Throughout the film we wait for the other shoe to fall, for Poppy’s relentlessly cheerful disposition to be put to the test, but strangely, it never is, not seriously anyways, which is something of a disappointment, as it leaves us in limbo with the glass half empty and half full.  What are we to make of this?  While the look of the film is filled with bright cheerful colors, red and yellow cars and Poppy’s own psychedelically charged bohemian outfits, with a different pair of knee-length boots for every day of the week, there’s an overly strident string quartet from Gary Yershon’s  score heard throughout the film that has a carnival air about it, as if we are caught on a merry-go-round, whose somewhat pompous notes on occasion offer a sneer of disapproval, like the intrusion of gray clouds, perhaps the voice of the director or some smug I-told-you-so narration.  The constant theme of chamber music reminds us this is a chamber drama which offers a window into the typically intensely realistic Mike Leigh rendering of the human condition, dressed up here with bright sunshine and good cheer, but the picture of happiness on display here nonetheless borders on the artificially realized and the surreal, remaining equally elusive, hard to find, and arguably out of reach.    

Tyrannosaur

TYRANNOSAUR                   B

Great Britain  (91 mi)  2011  ‘Scope  d:  Paddy Considine

This is another punishing film where it may take some time to recover afterwards, written and directed by English actor Paddy Considine in his first feature, starring Peter Mullan in another one of his dramatically heavy, wounded soul roles, playing Joseph, a tragically damaged loner subject to excessive drink and violent mood swings, where in the opening few moments we already think of him as one of the most despicable characters we’ve seen onscreen for awhile.  His profanity-laden invectives hurled at anyone happening to be in the vicinity are his norm, where he’s apt to call anyone he doesn’t like a “cunt,” and there’s barely anyone, including himself, that he likes, so the man is at it all the time.  In his rough and tumble neighborhood, occasionally people strike back, blindsiding him, threatening him, hitting him harder than any man can bear, but he grins and bears it, refusing anyone’s help.  In this film, however, he meets his match in Hannah (Olivia Colman, a revelation), a Christian woman working in a used clothing shop, a complete stranger who offers to pray for Joseph, and then gets down on her knees to pray, which is like being tapped on the shoulder by the Angel Gabriel and reminded of the coming apocalypse, as there’s no place else he’s heading.  Joseph finds her naively pathetic and rails against her wealthy upbringing, the kind with all the advantages leaving the rest of the poor sots to deal with the real troubles in the world—another typical Joseph rant filled with cruelty and more profanity.  But after another wretched night that leaves him battered and bloodied, he wakes up on her doorstep the next morning, but by now she’s heard enough of his ravings and is not in the mood for more. 

Unraveling much like a play, the unique lives of these two couldn’t be more radically different, where Joseph wears his troubles on his sleeve like a badge of honor while her equally pathetic world is hidden from everyone except her abusive husband James (Eddie Marsan), the one inflicting the blows, an unsightly picture of a hateful man that her family thinks is perfect, all happening inside the comfortable confines of their perfectly manicured middle class home.  When a black eye arouses suspicions, Joseph is the only one who notices, but he’s not the kind of guy to get involved in other’s affairs as he has enough battles to contend with, including a hot-headed neighbor with a vicious pit bull that he keeps threatening to let loose on him.  Joseph sees enough abuse right across the street when his mother’s boyfriend allows his prized pit bull to continually terrorize her son Samuel, Samuel Bottomley, a young kid who spends his entire life outdoors playing on the curb as a result, where he couldn’t be more pleasant and communicative with all the neighbors, hating it each time he’s called into his home to face that monster of a dog.  So all Joseph can do is offer Hannah a drink, where inside an empty bar on some quaint afternoon, she looks around and views “his world,” not much to look at, but filled with plenty of unexpected surprises when a friend or two of Joseph drop in, all using the exact same expletive riddled profanity that is barely understandable to anyone else but makes perfect sense to them.  So while Hannah gets a glimpse of Joseph’s world, where it appears he’s not such a bad sort, her troubles behind closed doors only escalate into the most vicious kind of human savagery that defies knowledge and human understanding, where she’s done nothing to provoke this kind of madness, the man is simply a beast.

While Mullan and Colman are putting on a masterclass of acting, where the theme of rage and helplessness appear to be intertwined, Joseph is also paying visits to his terminally ill father who is on his death bed, another brutal man who regularly beat Joseph’s sister Marie (Sally Carman), something she never lets her brother forget as he never came to her rescue.  His wake is the high point of the film, as everyone lets loose, where there is singing and dancing along with endless rounds of drink, where all the disturbances of the world seem to be a distant memory, at least for that one wonderful moment, until they have to walk out that door and face the world all over again.  Joseph knows he’s too far gone to be of any use for anyone, "No one's safe around me," and Hannah is just too far gone, where the intensity of their human dysfunction is resounding, where the turbulence of her supposedly sheltered world only escalates, as does the frenzied violence right outside his front door.  This is a film that examines the wreckage of human devastation, where every act is a response to violence or the threat of violence, an endless series of catastrophes that seem to define human existence as a kind of barbaric and prehistoric world, as we have barely evolved since the days dinosaurs walked the face of the earth, still roaring and thundering as we go, filled with a silent rage at the endless futility of it all, as if God stopped listening or caring, something we all have to face in our seemingly pathetic lifetimes.  This may be more than some can bear, as it’s a kind of gloomy endurance test, but it’s also a reminder that just when you think you’ve got it bad, someone else has got it far worse.