Lisa Marie Reviews An Oscar Winner: Citizen Kane (dir by Orson Welles)

Posted on May 6, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

For some reason, certain people seem to feel the need to try to reduce what Orson Welles accomplished with 1941’s Citizen Kane.

In 1971, the famous film critic Pauline Kael published an essay called Raising Kane, in which she argued that screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz deserved the majority of the credit for Citizen Kane. This was Kael’s shot at rival Andrew Sarris and his embrace of the auteur theory. (1971 was the same year that Kael described Dirty Harry as being a “fascist work of art” so I guess even the best film critics can have a bad year.) David Fincher’s father, after reading Kael’s essay, wrote the screenplay for Mank, which not only made the case that Mankiewicz deserved the credit but which portrayed Orson Welles in such a negative fashion that you really did have to wonder if maybe Orson had owed old Jack Fincher money or something. Herman J. Mankiewicz himself always claimed that he deserved the majority of the credit for Citizen Kane but then he would, wouldn’t he?

The truth of the matter is that Mankiewicz did write the screenplay for Citizen Kane and he did base the character of Charles Foster Kane on William Randolph Hearst and the character of Kane’s second wife on Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies. There’s some debate over how much of the film’s narrative structure belongs to Mankiewicz and how much of it was a result of Welles rewriting the script. Mankiewicz played his part in the making of Citizen Kane but he played that part largely because Orson Welles allowed him to. Like all great directors, Welles surrounded himself with people who could help to bring his vision to life. (That’s something that would think David Fincher, of all people, would understand. Aaron Sorkin may have written The Social Network but the reason why the film touched so many is because it was a David Fincher film.)

Make no mistake about it. Citizen Kane is Orson Welles’s vision and Welles is the one who deserves the majority of the credit for the film. The themes of Citizen Kane are ones to which Welles would frequently return and the cast, all of whom bring their characters to vivid life, is made up of largely of the members of Welles’s Mercury Theatre. The tracking camera shots, the dark cinematography, and the satiric moments are all pure Welles. As the Fincher film argues, Mankiewicz may have very well meant to use the film to attack Hearst for his personal hypocrisy and for opposing the political ambitions of Upton Sinclair. If so, let us be thankful that Orson Welles, as a director, was smart enough to realize that such didacticism is often deadly dull.

And there’s nothing dull about Citizen Kane. It’s a great film but it’s also an undeniably fun film, full of unforgettable imagery and scenes that play like their coming to us in a dream. It’s a film that grabs your interest and proves itself to be worthy of every minute that it takes to watch it. I was lucky enough to first see Citizen Kane at a repertory theater and on the big screen and really, that’s the best way to watch it. It’s a big film that’s full of bigger-than-life characters who are ultimately revealed to be full of the same human longings and regrets as all of us. As a young man, the fabulously wealthy Charles Foster Kane thinks that it would be “fun” to run a newspaper. Later, he thinks that he’s found love by marrying the niece of the President. He runs for governor of New York and, watching Welles in these scenes, you can see why FDR tried to recruit him to run for the Senate. Welles has the charisma of a born politician. When Welles first meets Susan Alexander (Dorothy Comingore) it’s easy to laugh. The great man has just been splashed by a taxi. Susan laughs but then winces in pain due to a tooth ache. Later, Kane insists on trying to turn her into an opera star. He runs a negative review written by his friend (Joseph Cotten) and then he promptly fires him. As in all of Welles’s films, it’s all about personal loyalty. Kane may betray his wife and the voters but he’s ultimately just as betrayed by those around him. In the end, you get the feeling that Kane was desperately trying to not be alone and yet, that’s how he ended up.

There are so many stand-out moments in Citizen Kane that it’s hard to list them all. The opening — MIGHTY XANADU! — comes to mind. The satirically overdramatic newsreel is another. (Citizen Kane can be a very funny film.) Joseph Cotten’s performance continues to charm. Orson Welles’s performance continues to amaze. Who can forget Agnes Moorehead as Kane’s mother or Everett Sloane as Mr. Bernstein, haunted by that one woman he once saw on a street corner? Myself, I’ve always liked the performances of Ray Collins (as the sleazy but strangely reasonable Boss Gettys), Paul Stewart (as the subtly menacing butler), and Ruth Warrick (as Kane’s first wife). Mankiewicz may have put the characters on paper but Welles is the one who selected the amazing cast that brought them to life.

Citizen Kane was nominated for nine Oscars and it won one, for the screenplay written by Welles and Mankiewicz. Best Picture went to How Green Was My Valley. When was the last time anyone debated who should be given credit for that movie?

This Was Burlesque: THE SULTAN’S DAUGHTER (Monogram 1943)

Posted on April 30, 2016 by gary loggins

cracked rear viewer

Monogram Pictures is mostly remembered today as the home of Bela Lugosi chillers that weren’t too chilling, Charlie Chan mysteries that weren’t so mysterious, and the Bowery Boys peculiar brand of buffoonery. The Poverty Row studio seemed to throw virtually anything at the wall hoping it would stick in order to compete with the major studios of the 1940’s (MGM, 20th Century-Fox, etc). They signed burlesque stripper Ann Corio to a contract, fresh off her appearance in 1941’s SWAMP WOMAN (released by PRC, a studio even more poverty-stricken than Monogram) and concocted a farce titled THE SULTAN’S DAUGHTER, which in spite of itself manages to entertain because of the talented comic actors in the cast.

The opening says it all, as we gaze upon a book titled “Phony Phables”. The Sultan of Araban (Charles Butterworth ) has a daughter named Patra (Miss Corio), who owns all the country’s oil fields. Nazi agents…

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Cleaning Out The DVR #11: Going My Way (dir by Leo McCarey)

Posted on March 11, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Last night, continuing my effort to watch 38 movies in 10 days (and, for the record, I have 7 days left as of today), I watched the 1944 musical-comedy-drama Going My Way.

Going My Way tells the episodic story of Father Chuck O’Malley (Bing Crosby), a priest from St. Louis who is assigned to take charge of a struggling parish in New York City. O’Malley is meant to replace Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald), a stubbornly old-fashioned priest who is struggling to keep up with a changing world. Though O’Malley is to take charge of the parish’s affairs, Fitzgibbon is to remain the pastor. However, the compassionate O’Malley doesn’t tell Fitzgibbon about the arrangement and allows Fitzgibbon to believe that O’Malley is only meant to be his assistant.

It’s obvious from the start that Fitzgibbon and O’Malley have differing approaches. Fitzgibbon is a traditionalist. O’Malley, on the other hand, is a priest who sings. He’s a priest who understands that the best way to prevent the local teens from forming a street gang is to convince them to start a choir instead. When it appears that 18 year-old Carol (Jean Heather) is “living in sin,” it is the nonjudgmental O’Malley who convinces her to marry her boyfriend.

And, slowly but surely, Fitzgibbon and O’Malley start to appreciate each other. O’Malley is even able to convince Fitzgibbon to play a round of golf with him, while Fitzgibbon tells O’Malley about his love for his mother in Ireland.

What’s interesting is that we learn very little about O’Malley’s past. In many ways, he’s like a 1940s super hero or maybe a less violent and far more ethical version of one of Clint Eastwood’s western heroes. He shows up suddenly, he fixes things, and then he moves on. Instead of a cape or a poncho, he wears a collar.

(And, of course, he doesn’t kill anyone. Actually, that’s probably a lousy analogy but I decided I’d give it a try anyway…)

At one point, O’Malley does run into an opera singer named Genevieve Linden (Rise Stevens). He and Genevieve (whose real name is Jenny) talk briefly about their past and it becomes obvious that they once had a romantic relationship. We don’t learn the exact details but it does bring some unexpected melancholy to an otherwise cheerful film. It reminds us of what O’Malley gave up to become a priest.

Fortunately, Genevieve is more than happy to help out with O’Malley’s choir, even arranging for them to meet with a record executive (William Frawley). The executive doesn’t have much interest in religious music but then he hears ~~Bing~~ O’Malley sing Swinging On A Star.

It’s a bit strange to watch Going My Way today because it is a film that has not a hint of cynicism. There’s no way that a contemporary, mainstream film would ever portray a priest as positively as Father O’Malley is portrayed in this film. Indeed, it says something about the world that we live in that I instinctively cringed a little whenever O’Malley was working with the choir, largely because films like Doubt and Spotlight have encouraged me to view any film scene featuring a priest and an pre-teen boy with suspicion. O’Malley is the ideal priest, the type of priest that those of us who were raised Catholic wish that we could have known when we were young and impressionable. Bing Crosby does a pretty good job of playing him, too. Watching Going My Way felt like stepping into a time machine and going to a simpler and more innocent time.

In the end, Going My Way is a slight but watchable film. It doesn’t add up too much but, at the same time, it’s always likable. Though the film may be about a priest, the emphasis is less on religion and more on kindness, charity, and community. Going My Way was a huge success at the box office and even won the Oscar for best picture.

Personally, I would have given the Oscar to Double Indemnity but Going My Way is still a likable movie.

Speaking of likable, the Academy was so impressed with Barry Fitzgerald’s performance that they actually nominated it twice! He got so many votes in both categories that Fitzgerald ended up nominated for both Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor. Subsequently, the Academy changed the rules and decreed that a performance could only be nominated in one category. As for Fitzgerald, he won the Oscar for best supporting actor. He later broke the Oscar while practicing his golf swing.

Barry and Oscar

(Don’t worry. The Academy sent him a replacement.)

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #16: Double Indemnity (dir by Billy Wilder)

Posted on April 10, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The 1944 best picture nominee Double Indemnity is probably one of the most imitated films ever made. While it may not be the first film noir, it is one of the most influential and its plot has been duplicated in countless films. In fact, it’s such an influential film that all one has to do is say, “Indemnity” and you automatically know that they’re talking about murder.

Most people assume that the film is the story of Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), an insurance agent who thinks that he’s smarter and smoother than he actually is. When Phyllis Deitrich (Barbara Stanwyck) approaches him with questions about how much her husband’s life insurance would pay off if his death was accidental, Walter immediately figures out that she’s talking about murder. At first, Walter tells her that he’s not interested but actually he’s very interested. Soon, he and Phyllis are lovers (though Walter, from the start, seems to know that Phyllis is just using him) and he’s plotting out her husband’s murder. After he does kill Phyllis’s husband, Walter makes it look as if he fell from a train. At first, the death is ruled a suicide but, just as Walter hoped, his best friend and fellow insurance agent, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), announces that it wouldn’t make any sense for a suicidal man to jump from a slow-moving train. Instead, Keyes successfully argues that the death should be ruled an accident and, as a result, the life insurance pays out for double of its value.

However, the money makes Walter paranoid. He starts to worry that Phyllis will betray him. Even worse, he’s approached by the dead man’s daughter, Lola (Jean Heather). Lola tells Walter that she believes that Phyllis not only killed her father but her mother as well. Soon, Walter is involved with both Lola and Phyllis. Walter claims that he feels guilty and protective of Lola but MacMurray’s wonderfully ambiguous performance leaves us wondering just how much we should trust anything that he has to say.

Now, as I said before, the film may be narrated by Walter Neff and it may be set into motion by his affair with Phyllis but ultimately, the film is not about his relationship with Phyllis. Instead, it’s about Walter’s friendship with Barton Keyes. When we first see Walter, he’s recording a confession specifically for Keyes to hear and the film ends not with Walter and Phyllis but instead with Walter and Keyes.

In many ways, Keyes is the opposite of Walter. Whereas Walter is slick and amoral, Keyes is rather nerdy and ethical to a fault. Walter respects Keyes for his brilliant mind and, to a large extent, he does what he does because he wants to prove that he’s just as smart as Keyes. Keyes is the type of man that Walter aspires to be while Walter is the dark side of Keyes’s own obsession with mystery. It’s only appropriate that the film ends with Walter and Keyes because, ultimately, their friendship is the heart of the film.

Double Indemnity is a classic. Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray set the standard by which all future illicit couples would be judged. But really, the film is stolen by Edward G. Robinson. Over the course of his long and remarkable career, Robinson was never once nominated for an Oscar. Watching Double Indemnity, you can’t help but wonder how such an injustice could have happened.