F for Film
A tribute to Orson Welles
N is a poet. R is a screenwriter. We watch a lot of movies. We also spend a lot of time talking about movies. But we don’t spend enough time writing about them. So we’ve created Double Shot to reflect on the latest movies we’ve seen in our respective mediums, every other Monday from now until the end of time.
This week we’re talking about Orson Welles’ F for Fake.
N: I liked F for Fake because I had no idea what was going to happen. It kept me on my toes.
R: The whole movie is a magic trick, and you can never tell if what you’re seeing is the truth or a sleight of hand designed to trick you. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
N: People watch more TV now than they do movies, and I think it’s the unpredictability that scares them away. They sorta know what will happen in a TV episode, but I had no idea what would happen in this.
R: While I am interested in seeing more of Orson Welles’ work in TV, I don’t think it can ever compare to what he accomplished with his filmmaking. He’s perhaps the greatest proof that the power of film will never die.
Something Like This
It comes to you
crouched & dripping
it calls itself a word
you haven’t earned yet
you put it in a box
because you don’t know
what else to do with it
but it tears through
the cardboard like
tissue paper
human tissue used
to be that thin but
we’ve had to grow
our skin thick
against things like
this
this, that only
comes when it’s
too quiet & sometimes
when it’s so loud
all you can make
out is your own heart
beating
it demands attention
licking your cheek
& curling up in
all your unmatched
socks
you find a bigger box
it stays,
grumbling complaints
about the lack of
air flow
you poke holes
because you are
someone who makes
compromises
now your mind doesn’t
taste like cold metal
& you take your tools
(pen, brush, camera, body)
& transfer the boxed
thing to a more
abstract definition of
box
but it doesn’t look
right & you’re not
sure if all of this
is good, bad, or worth
anybody’s time
but you know the next
time it comes knocking
you’ll do it all over again
because this transference,
this fabrication
means something to you
& when it comes to
scraping out a part
of your insides
you
are all that matters
N.
The so-called “Golden Age of Television” has set up television as the antithesis of film. A film’s 2 hour run time is now looked at as a liability, as if this time limit makes telling an engrossing story impossible. But this line of thinking forgets that moving images do more than tell stories. They create experiences beyond dialogue/character/story.
This is because film is first and foremost a medium of experimentation. Orson Welles’, its greatest practitioner, transformed the way we look at film forever. His work is unlike anything ever created in other artistic mediums, but especially television, because it allowed him to indulge every creative whim that came his way. Whether it was a massive retelling Falstaff, or the complicated mess of lies and half truths in F for Fake, all of his films exist to not only tell their own story but to change the world in some imperceptible way.
The magic of film, and of Orson Welles’ filmography in particular, is that every film exists in semi-continuity with each other. They all speak in tandem, expressing something common about the filmmaker’s voice, while simultaneously existing alone as singular works of art.
Even the most experimental television like Twin Peaks or Louie must follow a familiar routine in each episode. Whether it’s opening with a classic theme song or having each episode include a specific protagonist, there is a constant variable that limits the possibilities of experimentation by ensuring there is always one constant variable amongst the chaos. Ultimately their only measure of success is how long they can convince you to sit in front of the television. It’s a mercenary transaction, not unlike the relationship between a drug dealer and his addicted customers, which promises a steady and consistent emotional high.
This is why film’s limited running time is an asset, not a weakness. You invest less time but more energy when watching a film.
When we forget this, we also forget the artistry that comes with the splicing of negatives, the juxtaposition of images that speak in a language that transcends words. This is the language that Orson Welles’ and his disciples speak. It is the language that can mold minds and break hearts. Can you say the same thing about anything you’ve seen on TV?
R.
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