The last time I saw Citizen Kane might have been about sixty-five years after its release. With a fuzzy memory I recall seeing it in a dark room at the far corner of the miniscule college campus I attended at the time. The Art of Film, probably one of the best classes I had ever taken.
There, us pupils were subjected to such cinematic pieces as Blue Velvet, Laurel & Hardy’s The Music Box, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Citizen Kane.
It’s also no secret that any self-styled movie critic could hardly call themselves such without watching this, so I’m fully aware that there are a thousand and one reviews, impressions, and otherwise “why this movie is good/bad” articles to be found out there. I’m not going to waste your time telling you what the movie is about, because if you haven’t seen it it means you need to; not simply as a consumer, but as an aspiring writer, film-maker, story-teller; whatever you choose to call yourself.
I was prompted to rewatch this movie when a friend showed me clips of a movie known as The Room, by Tommy Wiseau. Entertainment Weekly has called it “The Citizen Kane of bad movies.”
These days, The Room is something of a cult classic, a title the likes of which I had heard whispers and – despite the pleading of a trusted associate whose opinion I trust – have no intention of seeing. CinemaSins, one of my favorite YouTube channels, does a good job at tearing it part – in eight minutes or less.
Watching Citizen Kane again, I couldn’t help but recall only fragments of the plot; sure there’s significance to name “Rosebud,” and before firing up the movie I remembered a few bits Spinning Newspaper-styled montage. But I found myself re-enjoying what I suspected to possibly be an overrated movie.
It’s not secret that Citizen Kane is considered a great piece of film in most circles, but as I found myself describing to a friend with whom I shared it, it’s not just about consuming the media. For me, it’s about learning the language to describe why it’s good, to appreciate the more subtle aspects of filming, such as the cinematography. The story of Citizen Kane is masterfully told in part because it transitions between a multitude of perspectives – not one of them being Kane himself – instead from those of various important people in his life.
And the cinematic transitions between the scenes shows a higher degree of planning and artfulness than I tend to see in movies these days, whose primary concern is – without argument or shame – focused on special effects over substance and story.
I’ve been toying with this very concept; to write a novel (series) following a character whose perspective is almost never written. What s/he does and says is conveyed entirely through the eyes of close friends, family, co-workers, whatever. If pulled off well, this is tremendous storytelling because it leaves the true feelings and thoughts of the central character-in-question up to interpretation – leaving more than a few things up for debate and discussion.
A successful story is not one that simply entertains, but leaves you thinking after the book is closed, after the screen fades to black, after the game credits begin to roll. Double plus good if you can share these experiences with other people.
Watching this also prompted me to refresh my memory on the central actor, Mr. Orson Welles himself. He is perhaps most remembered from rolls such as The Godfather, and the radio drama of War of the Worlds.
But what I feel like not enough people know is that is final role in film was the voice of Unicron, a planet-eating robot from Transformers: The Movie (1986).
Long live the legacy of an actor that has left more than a huge impression on the film industry, that I fear not nearly enough people know about. Do yourself a favor and learn more about Orson Welles.