Last night we screened CITIZEN KANE (1941), the debut feature by the genius Orson Welles. I've lost track of how many times I've seen this picture, but it felt like the very first time. I love this movie. I can't remember my actual first viewing of it, but I know that I was too familiar with the title from seeing it top all those "Best film ever" lists from that movie magazine that would routinely tally the results after polling critics and directors. This was the worst way to approach the movie — that "Best ever" label is too much hype for any work of art to live up to. That's why famous offerings like Leo da Vinci's "Mona Lisa" or Michelangelo's statue of David are so often made fun of by resentful postmodernists: people are too intimidated by high reputation to allow themselves to engage with the enigma of beauty. I think it's better to clear your mind of all critical noise and simply let yourself sink into the artwork's dimension: if possible, let yourself be charmed.
Well CITIZEN KANE hath me in thrall: it's among the most exuberant of movies. And, as a perversely sad bonus, its themes and subject matter are as pertinent today as they were on the film's opening night — perhaps now even more so.
But I don't want to make this essay exclusively about CITIZEN KANE; I just wanted to mention my recent viewing, record my excitement, give praise to my hero Welles, and then use a detail from the life of the film's main character as a jumping-off point for who-knows-what:
Charles Foster Kane inherits a fortune when he is young; and, as an adult, he buys many things with his riches. A couple times, the film makes reference to his collection of artworks. This is the detail that I want to explore for a moment. I have only the simplest of observations to make — it's really just a wish: I want to own countless statues, too.
The problem with Kane's statue collection is that he leaves most of the works packed in their shipping crates; or if he does bother to take them out, he just leaves them in the warehouse sector of his mansion. What I would do is distribute these statues feely to all my neighbors. Ideally, I'd like to see at least three or four (maybe even five, six, or seven, depending on how many I can manage to acquire) statues in each front yard of my neighborhood.
You see, last night was Christmas Eve, so I and my business partner decided to take a stroll around our block, after sundown. We reasoned that it would be enjoyable to behold the lighting displays that all of our neighbors had installed on their houses for the holiday season. Our plan was to walk thru all the local byways, and then come home and watch a movie. So we bundled up in our winter coats and boots; then we stepped outside. It was eerily dark; there were burglars lurking in all the shadows, and espionage agents hiding behind every bush; but we did not let this scare us off from our intention. We proceeded from house to house, enjoying the look of the Christmas decorations: there was everything from flashing multicolored bulbs to classic white bulbs.
My point is that the lights were dazzling, but we saw very few statues or sculptures. The closest we could find to plastic art were the nativity scenes; but most of these were just cardboard cutouts with human and animal figures painted on the flat surface. (Mary, Joseph, Jesus, lambs, goats, a calf or two, and sometimes magi.) I would have preferred to see the classic nudes that Mr. Kane keeps stockpiled in his mansion. As I mentioned above, seven per yard would be a satisfying amount. You could place them wherever you want. Maybe aim a highlight at them, to accentuate their splendors.
I also wish that more houses in the suburbs had water-fountains, like the kind that one finds in Respighi's Rome. I like to look at water. But I think it was a bad idea to allow the spouts of so many of the fountains that are shaped like fish or kids to discharge water from these figurine's mouths: that is disturbing; it always looks like the statues are puking.
"Yet what if a spout is built into the cherub's pelvis?" you ask. And I shrug instead of answering verbally, because I can't think of anything to say about this that would please all people equally. (My goal in life is to win everybody over.) I've seen the type of fountain-sculpture that you're talking about, where it looks like the crystal streams are the result of angels urinating. What can one say about such a sight? I guess it's natural for winged folks to eliminate liquid-waste, but why must they insist on doing it in a public fountain, all day long, forever and ever?
And what about the legendary Fountain of Youth? What should we do with this? Currently it's sitting unused beneath a tarp in Charlie Kane's warehouse. Which part of my neighborhood should we display it in? I vote that we place it in the middle of our busiest intersection, so that everyone has access to it. For its water is able to reverse the aging process; and that's something that I imagine many passersby will want to try out. Lo, if you cup your hands together, dip them in and take a sip, the result is as follows: instead of being a full moment older, you are five years younger. So if you're forty-four years of age, as I am, you can take a quick trip down to the Youth Fount and subtract a full decade from your person, by simply drinking a couple handfuls: You are now in your mid-to-late thirties.
And if you're one of those trendy female socialites who like to disrobe and bathe in public fountains for the sake of the positive press that results from such hijinks, then beware of the Fountain of Youth, for it could reduce you to a little tiny zygote: a diploid cell resulting from the fusion of two haploid gametes. In other words, you might get time-reversed back into a fertilized ovum. For that is the youngest age that anyone can attain, before becoming your own progenitors coupling. Because every human was formed by an Act of Hump; and not many desire to revisit that primal miracle. But it's actually not too horrid; your folks were bog-standard. You should honor your parents. Hop into the Youth Fount's waters and re-inhabit mom & dad. Then become THEIR parents, and their parents' parents, etc....
Soon you'll prove that you truly did contain multitudes. You are now Mister Legion.
Alright, since we've all become our own respective humankind, by bathing in this fountain together while the paparazzi snap photos of the scandal, what do you predict we shall discover are our genus's forebears? You guess that two smart apes created our type? And the science community hypothesizes that its membership resulted when two gods of near relation made a mistake? OK, then my own guess is that you and I sculpted our essence in ice, and we loved this reflection so much that we suicided ourselves into it: it melted in our warmth, causing everything to drown in oneness.
Good gracious, we all were right! This calls for a celebration. Let's spend the rest of spacetime cross-country skiing thru black holes.
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