Innovative Elements of “Citizen Kane”
Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane is a landmark in the history of Hollywood filmmaking. This is due in no small part to the unprecedented amount of creative control ceded to him by RKO Studios. Welles was unquestionably a genius, but his uncompromising desire for artistic integrity, coupled with filmic concepts and production methods deemed unconventional at the time, would prove to be not conducive with Hollywood’s powers-that-be. Regrettably, the degree of freedom that would foster the realization of his cinematic debut was to never reoccur with any of the enfant terrible’s subsequent films. As such, the magnum-opus that is Citizen Kane survives as a lasting testament to its auteur director’s innovations. Welles’s editing, cinematography, narration, mise en scene, sound, acting, and props are crucial elements in this regard.
Welles’s manipulation of time was crucial in maintaining Citizen Kane’s non-linear story. This was achieved, in part, through transitions consisting of dissolves and form cuts. For example, when Kane, the new owner of “The Inquirer,” asks why rival newspaper “The Chronicle” has a larger circulation, his loyal associate Bernstein (Everett Sloane) attributes it to their journalistic integrity. To clarify, he points to a photograph of “The Chronicle”’s editorial staff. The image proceeds to fade out into a slow dissolve while simultaneously transitioning into a form cut of the same staff-members in identical staging positions, except this time posing for “The Inquirer”’s photoshoot. Thus, Welles’s cinematic language wordlessly advances the story by eliminating the time needed to show Kane buying his competition’s integrity and loyalty.
The theme of being bought and sold applies to the protagonist’s childhood as well. In particular, the scene when Charlie’s parents “give” him to the banker Walter Parks Thatcher (George Colouris). In this instance, cinematographer Gregg Toland’s use of deep focus and long camera takes help tell the story. The short lens used in this example provides the large depth of field which allows us to clearly see Charlie playing outside the window in the center frame’s background. He is also the dominant in a frame within a frame, foreshadowing his imminent entrapment and loss of innocence. Additionally, the long camera takes give us time to take in information about the adult characters based on their acting. For example, the stern countenance and stoic posturing of Mrs. Kane (Agnes Moorehead) in the right foreground emphasizes her concentrated control over the details of Thatcher’s contract (which is appropriate since it involves her son’s welfare). Despite her patrician facade, Mrs. Kane wants Charles to have a better life, even if it has to be with a Wall Street executive as his guardian. Her husband, on the other hand, shambles from middle-ground to foreground, all the while babbling ineffectually like a doddering old fool. He is clearly not in control of the situation. The wide angle lens of deep focus photography allows all four characters in the shot to stay in focus regardless of which distance plane they are positioned in. Additionally, the lack of distracting edits allows for every aspect of the performances, along with the well planned mise en scene, to be taken in by the viewers on their own accord.
One way the apportioned facts about Kane are taken in by the audience is through the film’s innovative narrative devices. There are two examples which occur early in the film that help us learn about our protagonist before we actually hear him tell his own story. The first way is achieved via newsreel footage announcing his death. It begins with the booming, non-synchronous narrator’s voice announcing the death of Charles Foster Kane. Descriptions of his wealth and influence are accompanied by transitioning wipes of Xanadu (Kane’s palatial residence), his extensive art collection, and a multitude of guests enjoying their stay in the war-profiteer’s estate (an optically printed Adolf Hitler among them). The narrator also explains how the scandal of the newspaper tycoon’s extramarital affair with Susan Alexander (Dorothy Comingore) cost him his bid for politics. The second way we learn about Kane occurs in the darkened screening room when the “March of Time” newsreel ends. In his attempt to humanize Kane for a follow-up report, the newsreel director demands more background information on the deceased magnate. We are then able to parse out bits and pieces of speculation amidst the din of overlapping dialogue (a common Welles trope) that follows, including the current whereabouts of his second wife, Susan. This also provides a starting point for lead reporter Jerry Thompson (William Alland) to begin his investigation.
The starting point for the audience’s investigation begins with the establishing shot of Xanadu. This same imagery also appears at the end of the film, essentially bookending the story. Although both emphasize his wealth, each scene offers a different takeaway for the viewer. For instance, the film opens with an ascending crane shot over the wrought iron “K” atop Xanadu’s main gate. In the distance, Kane’s palace (a matte painting) looms in the misty background which, like the protagonist, is shrouded in the unknown. Although we know little about Kane at this point, the roaming camera reveals a private zoo, golf courses, and docked gondolas materializing out of the fog. Clearly, a wealthy individual lives here. However, after we learn of his death, our perspective changes. For example, at the end of the film, a bird’s-eye tracking shot (the camera mounted on an overhead cable) curates over the labyrinths of Kane’s crated artwork. Xanadu’s captured collection of empty opulence is not unlike that of the pyramids; both retaining riches of dismayed men inside their sepulchers of shattered dreams.
Occasionally, ear shattering sounds serve as signals for transitions occurring in Citizen Kane. Although the godlike newsreel introduction, “News on the March!” is a salient example, the most innovative (and bizarre) use of sound occurs in the third act to herald his wife’s flight from her gilded cage. As the shot begins, a loud screech is heard from an enormous Cockatoo optically printed on the left side of the frame. Presumably, only the audience sees and hears the Cockatoo, although it’s quite plausible the birdcall emanates from an aviary in Xanadu’s zoo. This diegetic sound effect nonetheless signifies Mrs. Kane’s cry for freedom, as well as mimicking her limited operatic vocal range. The bird’s image then cross dissolves into a full shot of Kane approaching the bedroom, inside of which Susan hastily packs her suitcases. Like the Cockatoo, Susan Kane is seen by her husband as an object of beauty that must be amassed and stored alongside the other symbols of his material wealth. Like using his newspaper as a platform for yellow journalism, and the questionable ethics employed in his vying for public office, Susan’s exit is another failure at control which leads to Kane’s disillusionment.
The believability of Welles’s character metamorphosing from a young entrepreneur into a disillusioned old recluse can be partly attributed to make up. However, the real method behind his portrayal of Kane’s age progression is due to a convincing acting style. Originally trained as a stage actor, he cut his teeth treading the boards at an early age. The magnified emotional and physical expressions needed to convey the character’s inner moments to a theater audience were perfectly suited for Kane’s boundless energy and subsequent lethargy on the big screen. The scene, for example, in which young Kane is seen cavorting with all the dancing girls in “The Inquirer” newsroom is bristling with sheer youthful exuberance. The ceiling in the room is low, making it appear as if the structure itself cannot contain his energy. As he reaches middle age, his mannerisms are replaced by less physicality and more bellicose oratory in his self aggrandizement. The shot in which he confronts Boss Jim Gettys (Ray Collins) in Susan’s apartment is an example of this. As a younger man, he would have likely resorted to violence in the face of his opponent’s blackmail threat. However, Welles’ indicates Kane’s decline with slower, more deliberate movement, such as his decision to not pursue Gettys down the apartment building’s stairwells. Instead, he resorts to blustery bravado on the upper flight (like his campaign podium), exclaiming,“I’m Charles Foster Kane!” By the end of the film, he is an aged and broken man alone in the cavernous catacombs of Xanadu. His girth, borne out of Dionysian decadence and disappointment, causes his trembling legs to shuffle along at a hesitant gate. Welles’s innate theatrical dramatics conveys a visceral decrepitude, contributing a great amount of pathos to his iconic emergence from the ruins of Susan’s bedroom. As he lethargically lumbers past his shocked domestic staff, and between two opposing mirrors, Kane’s spiritual nadir is endlessly repeated into the illusory vanishing points of the props’ myriad of images.
The prop that is most germane to the theme of Citizen Kane is the “No Trespassing” sign posted on Xanadu’s main gate. Like a hieroglyphic curse intended to thwart grave robbers, the sign decries prying into Kane’s enigmatic persona. At the outset, its mute warning goes unheeded by the advancing camera’s single-minded scrutiny, as unyielding in its movement as Kane’s headstrong temperament. Yet, despite the transgression into Xanadu’s inner sanctum in which we are privy, Kane’s only mortal self-disclosure occurs in his single-word valediction: “rosebud.” Later, through his associates’ excoriations and obsequies, we incrementally learn of the pyrrhic victories of Kane’s ego. These present conflicting images of him as a crusading journalist, yet rhetorically stooping to “Remember the Maine” artifice; a champion of the working man, yet not approving of unions; a morally righteous candidate, yet not above mudslinging caricatures of Jim Gettys as a criminal; a loving husband, yet subjecting Susan to transformative traumas in a vain attempt at opera. All these scenarios contributing to the lives wrecked in his lifelong campaign to wrest control. The “No Trespassing” sign is also Citizen Kane’s concluding image, indicating that, despite coming full circle, we still know very little about the machinations behind this man of contradictions.
Behind and in front of the camera, Orson Welles’s use of cinematography, narration, mise en scene, sound, acting, and props all culminated into his cinematic archetype. Although Welles’s utilization of these elements are commonplace in cinema today, the amount of artistic freedom he originally enjoyed is still unheard of in today’s mainstream cinema. However, his film’s failure at the box office, along with its thinly veiled indictment of William Randolph Hearst, ensured that Welles’s carte blanche in Hollywood would soon be curtailed. In his refusal to compromise artistic integrity in lieu of dividends, the Hollywood Studio System essentially sealed his fate. His next film, The Magnificent Ambersons would prove to be the beginning of the end. Unbeknownst to Welles, who was in South America at the time filming It’s All True, RKO studio editors proceeded to butcher Ambersons into what is now regarded as a masterpiece that could have been. Its low ticket sales only served to brand Welles as “difficult,” the ultimate kiss of death in Hollywood. Fittingly, writer Herman J. Mankiewicz’s original screenplay for Citizen Kane was titled, “The American.” The moniker suggests our founders’ Calvinist culture of Divine Providence. Simply put, if you are blessed with a cutthroat Capitalist instinct to compete for control of the almighty dollar, you will be successful. If you don’t, then, according to this doctrine, it is God’s will for you to be poor. It is up to the viewer to decide whether idealistic Americans Welles or Kane were successful or not.
