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Q.T.
had dropped dime on Double Indemnity (1944), the first film noir to coin the
“flashback” as a storytelling motif—opening with a confession from a dying man and moving
back in time to flesh out the story before joining narrative in the present. Tarantino
tired of linear tale-telling and twisted temporal lines in a theft that the art world
would dub homage. His neo-noir revitalization with Pulp Fiction (1994) was
scrambled with a purpose, tumbling timeline and traditional theme alike—noir embodied
generally dismal, pessimistic, cynical perceptions while “the Fiction” usurped
this disposition with dark comedy and tales of redemption. If the film had moved in a
straight path, the episodic impact of each redemption story would have been
diminished.
It was another auteur, no stranger to noir cinema himself,
whose time tinkering would even pre-date Indemnity with a multi-textured mystery
that was at once a political commentary, a psychological dissection, and a philosophical
meditation. This film would pave the trail for the use of time tinkering as metaphor
itself rather than mere technique. A full three years before Indemnity, his
story’s temporal toying rivaled that of H.G. Wells, even inadvertently involving a
pterodactyl. I suppose the latter may have been caused by a wormhole of some sort—as if
this case wasn’t weird enough when it just involved contract killers, samurai femme
fatales, and cynical anti-heroes.
Actually, it had been a Welles by
another name that had used the deconstructed construct for his cinematic masterpiece
Citizen Kane. The pterodactyl-producing wormhole is featured in the opening
newsreel depiction of Kane’s San Simeon style castle Xanadu on the fictitious desert
coast of Florida (hint: there is no desert coast of Florida), which was shown by re-using
footage from an RKO prehistoric adventure that featured the dinosaur. Unlike the
symbolically political content of the noir genre, Orson Welles’ target was very real—his
comment critical and the controversy that followed almost overwhelming. Citizen
Kane was a scathing indictment not only of media mogul William Randolph Hearst, the
Rupert Murdoch / Ted Turner of his day but also of competitor Henry Luce and the
exploitative, sensationalist world of journalism at the time. If only Welles had lived to
see the OJ debacle, Inside Edition, and the concentration of media outlets into
seven corporate conglomerates—imagine what he might have produced (not to mention
Jurassic Park).
The newsreels that open the film are a blow at
Luce, a parody of the March of Time reels that were popular in the day. The
always-concealed interviewing journalist Thompson (William Alland) acts as a comment on
Luce’s faceless, anonymous group journalism—a phenomenon that is credited with the
decline of modern investigative reporting. It was Hearst, however, who was the primary
aim for Kane. A man who once ironically commented on why his amassed empire did
not extend to film—”you can crush a man with journalism”—spent over a decade trying to
blackmail, buy, bribe, bury, and smear a movie from existence (even initiating FBI
investigations at one point). Today, Murdoch and the rest of the seven dwarves recognize
the significance of cinema.
In addition to its role as parody, the opening
reel acts as a blueprint of the events. The film skips through tracing the memories of
those closest to Kane (Orson Welles) in search of the significance of his last words,
“Rosebud.” Citizen Kane reconstructs its protagonist’s life through the
recollection of those around him, demonstrating through its story variations and
characterizations the complexities of Kane. It reveals a multi-layered psychology of its
subject through the perceptions of those who knew him best. Jed Leland as Joseph Cotten,
the hero’s best friend; Susan Alexander (Dorothy Comingore) the aspiring, yet
talent-less opera singer who Kane is driven to make a star; Mr. Bernstein (Everett
Sloane), Kane’s business manager—each recollect different facets of the man. From each
of the emotionally tainted memories, perceptions, and legendary visions the film
constructs a complete image of the man.
As the film attests, the personal
story of the man is also a story of the historical period—from penny press to radio’s
birth to the rise of celebrity journalism (think, Walter Winchell); from Hearst’s
alleged “you provide the pictures, I’ll provide the war” involvement in the
Spanish-American conflict to the rise of fascism. Its final symbolism actually creates a
circular comment on Welles’ social criticisms. “Rosebud” is revealed as significant not
only to the individual—an iconic image of
his personal childhood and lost
innocence—but also to society: the power and wealth of his empire has come at the expense
of his humanity.
Citizen Kane also touches on the philosophical
notions of memory and time—the construct of the narrative is not only to frame the
metaphor, but also to act as a metaphor itself. For Kane, this metaphor reflects
how, in death, we are nothing but the recollections of others. In a manner, the film
deals with phenomenological time—memory as connected by emotional experience rather than
linear structure.
Temporally twisted tale telling took twin trails toward
modern times. The “flashback” used in Double Indemnity became a standard noir
motif, later evolving into unique neo-noir storytelling techniques; Citizen Kane,
on the other hand, set precedent for using a disordered sequence to act as a metaphor
itself.
Be sure to check out parts one and two of this
series—and come back on August 25 for Josh’s final installment.
