Richard Linklater's film of Robert Kaplow's novel merits a watch, if only for Christian McKay's splendid evocation of the young Orson Welles. McKay has the vocal chops, the look (in profile it's uncanny) and, most importantly, the attitude. Without apparent effort, he catches the mammoth self-confidence that made Welles one of the most intimidating screen presences in cinema. I have no idea how much time and effort this actor (in his first feature film) spent in mastering the smirk Welles gives when neophyte actor Richard Samuels (Zac Efron) talks of his "lover"; in any case the work pays off. It's like a cameo by Harry Lime.
This movie uses the Mercury Theatre's celebrated production of Julius Caesar as backdrop to its rather slight story. The screenplay tells us that Welles, whatever genius he possessed, may not have been a great guy-- and, well... are we wrong to ask how much that matters? Efron, as the young hopeful who falls into Welles's considerable gravitational pull, has a certain charm and potential talent, but looks and acts somehow utterly of his own time-- we never believe him as a 1930s construct. (Possibly he hasn't watched enough old movies.) He falls in love with Claire Danes, who plays an ambitious... something, I missed exactly what her job was. Script girl? Dramaturge? Anyway, she works on the play. Danes does a decent job as whatever she is, but she and Efron generate zero chemistry. "Why am I so interested in you?" she asks at one point. I had no guesses.
If I had to speculate, I'd say that the romantic plot did not grab the director much. He does good work casting the real-life characters. Eddie Marsan makes a credible John Houseman; Ben Chaplin registers strongly as a nerve-racked George Coulouris; and James Tupper looks, sounds, and feels right as the affable young ladies' man Joe Cotten. The backstage squabbles, trivial though they may be, draw more interest than the emotional business upfront. And Linklater truly comes awake as a director in capturing performance: whether he's staging a quick radio sequence in which Welles steals the show or very finely recreating the Mercury's legendary Caesar, you get the feeling Linklater would be happiest just sitting back and watching the show. And here the movie is at its best-- far more than Tim Robbins' earnest, turgid Cradle Will Rock, this movie, absent of politics, captures the excitement of truly revolutionary theater at a time when such a thing was still possible.
In fact, that lack of earnestness may be the key here. Caesar was a great production not because it deconstructed Hitler, but because Welles gave it a sense of importance strong enough to deconstruct anything. Welles was a great artist, and perhaps more crucially he was a great bulls--t artist. Let's put it more simply: that WAS his art. This is a film about learning to bulls--t, learning when not to say what you mean, learning when not to be honest-- and that's bracing. It reminds us that trickery, deception and narcissism can be magic, and that egotism with a will to dazzle us can be more dazzling than anything we describe as "talent" and "sincerity". It's why the movie stalls when McKay is not on screen-- he convinces us he IS Orson Welles, that he is the most important man in the world-- and in defiance of logic and perspective, we buy it. And at the end of the day, that transparent and fantastic lie-- that's art.
This movie uses the Mercury Theatre's celebrated production of Julius Caesar as backdrop to its rather slight story. The screenplay tells us that Welles, whatever genius he possessed, may not have been a great guy-- and, well... are we wrong to ask how much that matters? Efron, as the young hopeful who falls into Welles's considerable gravitational pull, has a certain charm and potential talent, but looks and acts somehow utterly of his own time-- we never believe him as a 1930s construct. (Possibly he hasn't watched enough old movies.) He falls in love with Claire Danes, who plays an ambitious... something, I missed exactly what her job was. Script girl? Dramaturge? Anyway, she works on the play. Danes does a decent job as whatever she is, but she and Efron generate zero chemistry. "Why am I so interested in you?" she asks at one point. I had no guesses.
If I had to speculate, I'd say that the romantic plot did not grab the director much. He does good work casting the real-life characters. Eddie Marsan makes a credible John Houseman; Ben Chaplin registers strongly as a nerve-racked George Coulouris; and James Tupper looks, sounds, and feels right as the affable young ladies' man Joe Cotten. The backstage squabbles, trivial though they may be, draw more interest than the emotional business upfront. And Linklater truly comes awake as a director in capturing performance: whether he's staging a quick radio sequence in which Welles steals the show or very finely recreating the Mercury's legendary Caesar, you get the feeling Linklater would be happiest just sitting back and watching the show. And here the movie is at its best-- far more than Tim Robbins' earnest, turgid Cradle Will Rock, this movie, absent of politics, captures the excitement of truly revolutionary theater at a time when such a thing was still possible.
In fact, that lack of earnestness may be the key here. Caesar was a great production not because it deconstructed Hitler, but because Welles gave it a sense of importance strong enough to deconstruct anything. Welles was a great artist, and perhaps more crucially he was a great bulls--t artist. Let's put it more simply: that WAS his art. This is a film about learning to bulls--t, learning when not to say what you mean, learning when not to be honest-- and that's bracing. It reminds us that trickery, deception and narcissism can be magic, and that egotism with a will to dazzle us can be more dazzling than anything we describe as "talent" and "sincerity". It's why the movie stalls when McKay is not on screen-- he convinces us he IS Orson Welles, that he is the most important man in the world-- and in defiance of logic and perspective, we buy it. And at the end of the day, that transparent and fantastic lie-- that's art.