The Lady from Shanghai (Orson Welles, 1947)

"Maybe I'll live so long that I'll forget her. Maybe I'll die trying." 

Introduction

Two years after Citizen Kane, the genius Orson Welles married Rita Hayworth. This was her second marriage lasting three years before they separated – but not before a brief rekindling of their romance on the set of The Lady from Shanghai. It didn't last long and they divorced in 1948. In that regard, Hayworth and Welles relationship is an important factor to consider when analysing this strange mess of a film. Detailed by James Steffen and Rob Nixon on Turner Classic Movies, a rough cut of the film was 155 minutes long and was chopped down by editor Viola Lawrence to a mere 87 minutes - David Benedict, introducing the film at the BFI Retrospective, was under no illusion about the distorted and clunky "short" film we were yet to watch. This is not Orson Welles at 100% - indeed, he is barely at 50% - but amongst the awkward accents, cold (but dull) characters and gossip-fuelled production there lies something brutal and beautiful about filmmaking and art - and the mysterious question raised as to whether Art reveals the Artist; whether intentional or not...

Scene Hopping Story

Orson Welles is Michael O'Hara - or "Black Irish" to his fellow shipmates - a seaman who assists on-board a yacht owned by sneaky lawyer Arthur Bannister (Everett Sloane) and his wife Elsa (Rita Hayworth). Elsa falls for Black Irish, but Arthur doesn't intervene highlighting the dangerous game the two are playing - we wonder whether foul-play is at hand. The two lovers slowly realise an opportunity to escape together, but all is not what it seems as friends of the Bannisters become deceitful - whilst even Elsa and O'Hara become distrusting of each other. Can they ever live a life together? Or are they simply not meant to be?

The characterisation is immediately unbalanced, as you try and find your grasp of the narrative out at sea. Orson Welles is putting on an Irish accent as he attempts to woo this upper-class rich woman - a woman who, opposed to the ravishing red-head Rita Hayworth defines, is a short-cut, platinum-blonde. The latter was a choice Welles made without consulting Harry Cohn and consequently added another reason for studios to despise him. The story sporadically jumps from a yacht (owned by Errol Flynn) to a courtroom, before leaping to an empty fairground making you dizzy as you desperately reach for some sort of solid foundation that The Lady from Shanghai simply doesn't have. As if recalling a dream, you question what happened - were we within a Chinese Theatre? Or were we within San Francisco? (We were within both)

The finale is a shoot-out in a room of mirrors and, though the characters look desperately to see what is a mirror and what is not, we realise that the confusing and surrealist edge that is successfully shown here does not reflect the film as a whole - and simply reminds us how confusing the story is. Both holding mirror shoot-out final sequences and Chinese themes, Guy Hamilton's The Man with the Golden Gun clearly realised how effective the finale was by using mirrors and guns within the opening action-sequence too or the maligned 007 adventure. In the repeated-reflections of the mirrored-maze, Welles even nods to The Great Train Robbery as Rita Hayworth shoots to camera.

Controlled Chiaroscuro

Kim Newman writes how The Lady from Shanghai is a "broken mirror of a film, with shards of genius that can never be put together into anything that makes sense", and the mirror truly is shattered into small pieces. Orson Welles frames so many shots in a manner that echoes his incredible film-noir framing in Touch of Evil. A clear use of background and foreground; defined silhouettes of the couple within an aquarium (that has surely inspired every couple-meet-in-aquarium scene ever since); a birds-eye-view shot above the yacht looking down on Hayworth as she sunbathes is geometric in its framing, except for her feminine figure.

But the story itself remains a convoluted confusion. The Irish narration draws our attention to the strange accent Welles is using and, in many instances, voids the entire purpose of narration completely. In the hope that a character explaining the story illuminates elements we're not privy to, instead "Black Irish" seems to ramble on when describing, multiple times, how he won't join the Bannister's on the yacht ... only to be convinced easily enough when he is offered money and Rita Hayworth says she'll "make it worth his while". Why did we even listen to his thoughts in the first instance?

But, there is a reason Woody Allen references The Lady from Shanghai at the end of Manhattan Murder Mystery. A murder within the story and a relationship whereby we are not sure who is playing who. It begs the question between Rita Hayworth and Orson Welles, two stars at the top of their game in 1943 (though Hayworth's Gilda was a couple of years away...), and who may have chosen to be with each other for more financially-motivated purposes. It is a strange beast, but it is unforgettable - and Orson Welles clearly struggling to effectively adapt a novel (Sherwood King's If I Die Before I Wake) is something worth watching unto itself. But this is a Rita Hayworth film - and her refusal to become the cliché vixen that Gilda had sold as her image is fascinating. So calculating and cold, with her wide-eyes become tight and sly, proves how versatile she was. For this, The Lady from Shanghai is a crucial Golden-Age Hollywood viewing necessity.

Originally written for Flickering Myth on 30th June 2013

Monsieur Verdoux (Charlie Chaplin, 1947)

"What follows is History..."

Introduction

As a Chaplin film, it is interesting to note that within the first minute of Monsieur Verdoux the screen tells you that the film is "based on an idea by Orson Welles". Who would have thought!Charlie Chaplin and Orson Welles together! It seems fleeting at best, because it is very-much a Chaplin-film with some technicial 'hints' of Welles. Like The Great Dictator and Modern Times, this film is socially-aware and politically-challenging. Which might be why it got such mixed reviews on its initial release. But then again, so did Citizen Kane. Another 'idea' from Orson Welles.

The Depression As An Excuse

Monsieur Verdoux (Charles Chaplin) worked within a bank as a teller for 30 years before he was made redundant during the depression. He decides to go into the 'business' of becoming a 'bluebeard' - whereby he marries wealthy women and takes all their money. Due to the censors, any scenes which implied characters were sharing any beds or involved in prostitution were taken out, whilst the clear motives for murder and, indeed, setting up the murder was kept in. Sex is bad. Murder is okay! We almost sympathise with the character as he justifies how his small business-motive of murder may be deserving of the death penalty but, hypocritically, senior politicians send soldiers to their death and are not held accountable.

In a similar manner to The Silence of the Lambs, whereby the murderer was based upon Ed Gein, Monsiur Verdoux is influenced on an actual serial killer in France, Henri Désiré Landru. Both Monsieur Verdoux and Landru killed multiple women - 14 for Verdoux, 11 for Landru - and both were sentenced to the guillotine after conviction.

But this is not a film which is rooted in horror or thriller characteristics. Instead, Chaplin manages to portray Verdoux as a character who is likeable. Often, we feel the same desire to kill - desperately waiting for Verdoux to kill off the annoying wives he has 'collected'. The lottery-winner Annabella Bonheur (Martha Raye) whose shrill voice and whiney attitude is set-up to be despised by the audience. Lydia Floray (Margaret Hoffman), the dull and depressed wife who moans about her lonely existence. The social-surroundings of the depression and, towards the final act, World War II, ensures an engaging context. Monsieur Verdoux plays on the women's fear of the depression as an excuse to worry and panic - and trust Verdoux. It brings to mind the recent recession the UK has fallen into again ... and how this inevitably will bring in its own share of cuts and increases: "Well, we are in a recession, so we need the money" says David Cameron. Like the women Verdoux marries, we feel there is no choice - and we must put up with the 'cost' of the political climate.

Hitchcock, Welles and Alec Guinness

As a film, it brings together the strong skills of Hitchcock, Welles and, to some extent, Powell and Pressberger. The story regarding Verdoux and the balance between comedy and thriller feels as if it is from the stories directed by Hitchcock. Consider Suspicion, in 1941, whereby Cary Grant is set-up throughout the film as attempting to kill his own wife, only in the final act to appear as innocent (Not Hitchcock's original intention but the studios claimed that Cary Grant can never portray a murderer!). In a similar manner to Suspicion, there is an ambiguity for a considerable amount of the film whereby you question whether he is murdering these women. Compare the evening meal Monsieur Verdoux has with 'The Girl' (Marilyn Nash), as he contemplates trying to kill her with a poisoned challice of wine  -and Cary Grant, walking up the stairs with a glass of milk in Suspicion. In comparison, I think I would prefer Chaplin's Verdoux offering me red-wine to Cary Grants 'Johnnie' offering me a glass of milk.

Kind Hearts and Coronets, two years after Monsieur Verdoux, cast Alec Guinness in multiple roles of an affluent family. In the opening credits, Chaplin is due to "play"four characters - and I hoped it would be Chaplin in different characters - but alas, he is the same character, going under a different name. The film highlights the 'multiple' characters of Verdoux, and this intrigues the viewer - could Robert Hamer have thought the same thing and took it one step further? Casting Alec Guinness in physically different roles, portraying different characters?

Of course, Orson Welles' connection to the film is not exclusively linked to the story. I would argue the nature of the opening shot of Monsieur Verdoux, whereby we see his grave whilst he narrates on the soundtrack how he 'became a bluebeard' seems to raise lots of questions regarding the film from the very-first shot - who killed him? how did he die? etc. Now consider the opening of Citizen Kane, and the first shot opens: No Trespassing. Again, from the very first shot, we are asking questions. Effectively, by starting the film with his grave, the narrative is also non-linear - much like Citizen Kane happily darting from one perspective to another throughout. And finally, both Kane and Verdoux feature in films that use their name in the title as they are both charismatic and carry a certain conflict with regard to their morals - Verdoux a murderer who justifies his acts in comparison to the Government, Kane as a capitalist, political figurehead who builds up and destroys his empire ... only to desperately seek his childhood. 

You Can't Escape Your Past

At no point are you expected to agree with Verdoux. I think with Kane, we could all poetntially relate to how he slowly lost his grip on humanity as he became more powerful, isolating himself from the world in the final act. Verdoux is likeable and never isolated. He constantly speaks to others - even from beyond the grave, he tells us his story.

In fact, this type of commentary is nothing new: The Immigrant is critical, and so is Modern Times. Monsieur Verdoux is very critical of the government and consequently forced the US to comment further on Chaplins communist sympathies. American critics specifially looked at Chalpin in a new way - commenting on his citizenship and his tax-affairs. The bigger picture is not commended this time and, as noted in the documentary Chaplin Today: Monsieur Verdoux, this was the "start of a very unhappy period" leading to some heavy criticism of Chaplin himself. But one crucial factor highlights his Verdouxs true character: as the film ends, he has the option to escape with 'The Girl', but chooses not to. Instead, he gives himself up and accepts his fate. Only five-years later, the US decided to refuse Chaplins return to the US. In both cases, the punishment doesn't feel like it fits the crime.

This was completely a 'talkie' (opposed to The Great Dictator and Modern Times - which used sound to complement the silent-comedy style); Chaplin comments on society and shortly after, he is silenced. The final shots even hint at the idea that Monsieur Verdoux walks to the guillotine in the same way as The Tramp wanders off at the end of his films. Maybe the happiness that The Tramp achieved in Modern Times was short-lived, wiped out by the depression and war, before The Tramp re-emerged as a bluebeard - assuming the name of  Monsieur Verdoux and foolishly deeming the murder of wives as a 'legitimate business'; taking his inspiration from the 'business' of politics and government. The joke may be here - in the contradictions and hypocrisies of authority.