Anything about Welles I am attracted to, perversely so. His treatment at the clammy hands of the boors and philistines of his time continues to this day. The twin morons of his time, Hedda Hopper and especially Louella Parsons, gossip columnists, went after him —often at the behest of Hearst and his caged canary, Marion Davies –and savaged Welles. Their malign influence went on for decades. What I find perverse in me is the satisfaction knowing full well how this culture goes after its artists, how we always fear and dread intelligence of a high order. It has been so for centuries; it is in the fabric of Homo sapiens. Watching “Me and Orson” brought back all the movie trivia and mental memorabilia I have about Welles. Interestingly, the movie is based on a fiction by a New Jersey English teacher, “Me and Orson.” I imagine it to be a delightful conceit.
One scene that touched me was Welles reading Tarkington’s “The Magnificent Ambersons” while riding in a New York cab. Reading passages that touched him, for Welles lost both his father and mother before he was sixteen, foreshadowed the movie that was to be made. What is little known was that Welles read two books a day, or so the legend says; wrote theater reviews in England by age 16 and was proclaimed a genius very early on, his alcoholic father and artistic mother not imposing reasonable parental controls on him. In an interview he once said that he was so used to being adulated as a genius while growing up that it was normal for him to assume so. In the movie his petulance and arrogance is brought out all the while we esteem his genius, an interesting dilemma for any individuals in relationship with him. In a memoir by his daughter Christopher Welles, just released, she mentions that he decided to call her Christopher because he liked the name; she describes his frequent absences which she resented but when he appeared he charmed her socks off and what a charmer he was. On a long ago TV show talk show he told the exceedingly overweight Oliver Reed words to the effect that as an actor he filled space in film, meant as a compliment. It depends on how you take that. Outlandish and endearing in the same moment, I have a sweet tooth for the man. I firmly believe he had the purest integrity as an artist and for that I admire him. After all, how many times do you need to write “Hamlet”? His achievements continued long after his early masterpiece. I run to his defense. I need not.
I went to Google and discovered his daughter’s recent book, and I came across a real fascinating fact. He had an older brother, Richard, diagnosed as a schizophrenic and institutionalized; Welles sent him a stipend for as long as he lived. Ten years older than Orson, he was released years later and seemed to get his life in order. So here is the Welles family, one son a genius and one diagnosed as schizophrenic, a mother who was a pianist with artistic leanings and a father who was an inventor and alcoholic. The conundrum of two sons so vastly different must have been not only puzzling but demoralizing for the parents and one wonders if the “other” played a subliminal part in Welles’ cinematic and theatrical productions. I wonder what it might be like to write about Orson from the point of view of Richard — Welles would put him to work at the back of the theater at times. What are brothers except our other selves in different semblances, our doppelgangers. It is the same womb. I wonder if he had the same deep voice as Orson. I am now wondering a lot about Richard.
The movie reveals fictionally the manipulative and cunning Welles, a prick, exactly, but it also captures that which is redeemable and majestic about the man. Part enfant terrible, genius, how is one to deal with that? How do we all deal with geniuses or the exquisiitely gifted in this culture? I am pondering that as I write. I believe we tear them down for they represent on many levels what we have not allowed ourselves to become or what we resent for not having — or just human envy and spite. Teachers do this regularly in schools; religious “leaders” shut down the dissenters like stepping on a biblical snake’s head. I really do feel that it goes beyond the artistic to something deeper which is only an intuitive conviction based on no known empirical facts and consequently I believe it to be true — human beings are fearful of the light, preferring the dark and shadows; human beings are threatened by that which is gifted or exquisitely intelligent for it creates an unwanted awe. Rather than sheltering one self beneath the overhead leaves of the tree next to an annointed one, we dread to sidle up to genius and we flee instead. I have sidled up to one or two great minds in my life and I found the human ambrosia wonderful — I actually grew as a person. Adopt an artist and bathe in the juices.
“Me and Orson,” A Homage to the Great Welles
Anything about Welles I am attracted to, perversely so. His treatment at the clammy hands of the boors and philistines of his time continues to this day. The twin morons of his time, Hedda Hopper and especially Louella Parsons, gossip columnists, went after him —often at the behest of Hearst and his caged canary, Marion Davies –and savaged Welles. Their malign influence went on for decades. What I find perverse in me is the satisfaction knowing full well how this culture goes after its artists, how we always fear and dread intelligence of a high order. It has been so for centuries; it is in the fabric of Homo sapiens. Watching “Me and Orson” brought back all the movie trivia and mental memorabilia I have about Welles. Interestingly, the movie is based on a fiction by a New Jersey English teacher, “Me and Orson.” I imagine it to be a delightful conceit.
One scene that touched me was Welles reading Tarkington’s “The Magnificent Ambersons” while riding in a New York cab. Reading passages that touched him, for Welles lost both his father and mother before he was sixteen, foreshadowed the movie that was to be made. What is little known was that Welles read two books a day, or so the legend says; wrote theater reviews in England by age 16 and was proclaimed a genius very early on, his alcoholic father and artistic mother not imposing reasonable parental controls on him. In an interview he once said that he was so used to being adulated as a genius while growing up that it was normal for him to assume so. In the movie his petulance and arrogance is brought out all the while we esteem his genius, an interesting dilemma for any individuals in relationship with him. In a memoir by his daughter Christopher Welles, just released, she mentions that he decided to call her Christopher because he liked the name; she describes his frequent absences which she resented but when he appeared he charmed her socks off and what a charmer he was. On a long ago TV show talk show he told the exceedingly overweight Oliver Reed words to the effect that as an actor he filled space in film, meant as a compliment. It depends on how you take that. Outlandish and endearing in the same moment, I have a sweet tooth for the man. I firmly believe he had the purest integrity as an artist and for that I admire him. After all, how many times do you need to write “Hamlet”? His achievements continued long after his early masterpiece. I run to his defense. I need not.
I went to Google and discovered his daughter’s recent book, and I came across a real fascinating fact. He had an older brother, Richard, diagnosed as a schizophrenic and institutionalized; Welles sent him a stipend for as long as he lived. Ten years older than Orson, he was released years later and seemed to get his life in order. So here is the Welles family, one son a genius and one diagnosed as schizophrenic, a mother who was a pianist with artistic leanings and a father who was an inventor and alcoholic. The conundrum of two sons so vastly different must have been not only puzzling but demoralizing for the parents and one wonders if the “other” played a subliminal part in Welles’ cinematic and theatrical productions. I wonder what it might be like to write about Orson from the point of view of Richard — Welles would put him to work at the back of the theater at times. What are brothers except our other selves in different semblances, our doppelgangers. It is the same womb. I wonder if he had the same deep voice as Orson. I am now wondering a lot about Richard.
The movie reveals fictionally the manipulative and cunning Welles, a prick, exactly, but it also captures that which is redeemable and majestic about the man. Part enfant terrible, genius, how is one to deal with that? How do we all deal with geniuses or the exquisiitely gifted in this culture? I am pondering that as I write. I believe we tear them down for they represent on many levels what we have not allowed ourselves to become or what we resent for not having — or just human envy and spite. Teachers do this regularly in schools; religious “leaders” shut down the dissenters like stepping on a biblical snake’s head. I really do feel that it goes beyond the artistic to something deeper which is only an intuitive conviction based on no known empirical facts and consequently I believe it to be true — human beings are fearful of the light, preferring the dark and shadows; human beings are threatened by that which is gifted or exquisitely intelligent for it creates an unwanted awe. Rather than sheltering one self beneath the overhead leaves of the tree next to an annointed one, we dread to sidle up to genius and we flee instead. I have sidled up to one or two great minds in my life and I found the human ambrosia wonderful — I actually grew as a person. Adopt an artist and bathe in the juices.
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Posted in Commentary, Culture, Reminiscence
Tagged Me and Orson Welles, Orson Welles