When
War of the Worlds premiered on the radio program The Mercury
Theater On Air, America was a paranoid nation as events overseas
were fast leading to the development of WWII. Performed as a
Halloween special on October 30, 1938, the performance caused quite a
stir with the listening audience, many who tuned in and discovered
that America was under attack.
Written by English author H. G. Wells,
War of the Worlds was originally published in serialized
chapters in multiple issues of Pearson’s (UK) and Cosmopolitan
magazine in 1897. Given the science fiction theme of Worlds,
the story was highly advanced for its time and is one of the first
to deal with extraterrestrial conflicts. Even more impressive, Wells
wrote the imaginative story when the concept of flight was limited to
Zeppelin prototypes. Worlds was written in a first person
narrative, which made for an easy transition to radio. Stage
performer/ director Orson Welles directed and narrated the one hour
program. Unique for the time, the majority of the show was told
through a series of news bulletins. The Mercury Theater On Air was a
publicly funded program and the nonstop performance without
commercial interruptions gave the emergency bulletins a sense of
realism. Channel surfers who happened to stumble upon the program
were shocked by what they heard. Welles wanted to dramatize the story
in a way that would “appear to be a real event taking place at that
time, rather than a mere radio play.” Little did Welles realize
just how real the play would be perceived. What began as a little
Halloween fun eventually lead to panic across the United States.
When
the script was turned in for approval, CBS executive Davidson Taylor
requested a re-write, calling the story too believable. The original
script used actual well known buildings and locations, which Taylor
felt could potentially alarm listeners considering the story’s
invasion plot. In all, 28 changes were made to tone down the realism
and give Worlds a more fictional presentation. Welles
recruited radio conductor Bernard Herrmann and his orchestra to
perform the transition music in between the news bulletins. Welles
requested that the music be played for long stretches of times
between segments to further simulate a crisis was taking place. A
studio piano player was also recruited to perform pieces of classical
music, often repeating the piece immediately after finishing, giving
the listeners the illusion of an unprepared news team struggling to
gather information. With a talented group of sound effect engineers,
the cast brought to life falling meteorites, the assembly of troops,
and a nationwide battle against an alien invasion, all in the course
of 57 minutes.
The
police received so many complaints during the Worlds
broadcast
that officers were sent to the studio to stop the performance, but by
the time they arrived, the show was wrapping up. After signing off, the studio phone lines began ringing with complaints from angry
listeners. Shortly after, the press showed up and Welles was
bombarded by dozens of reporters, each inquiring about a variety of
outrageous events his performance had caused.There were multiple reports of drivers wrecking their cars as they searched the night skies for evidence of the martian invasion. Other reports claimed mobs of people were gathering in the streets to help protect themselves from alien intruders. More serious accusations involved fatal stampedes, riots, and mass suicides. As comical as it is to look back at how a radio show duped listeners into believing America was under attack from alien invaders, it’s equally ridiculous how quickly reporters were able to gather such an array of information. Welles managed to escape by sneaking out the back entrance of the CBS building, successfully avoiding a large gathering of reporters who were waiting outside the front entrance. He was accustomed to the sensationalism of the press, yet he didn’t realize the severity of public panic until later that night when he read the news “Orson Welles Causes Panic” on the lighted bulletin marquee that circled the New York Times building in Time Square. The following day Welles appeared at a press conference arranged by CBS to diffuse the “press fueled” angry public.
Today, the legacy of the War of the Worlds broadcast and the
fabricated tales of its aftermath have given way to folklore. The
press spent weeks criticizing the notorious radio adaptation, calling
Welles irresponsible with his performance, and trying to hoax the
public. Ultimately the mass exposure propelled Welles’ fame as an
actor. He managed to conduct a radio performance with such conviction
it fooled many listeners into believing the play was a factual event.
It wasn’t long before he began receiving offers to appear on
screen.
In 1939, Welles signed an unprecedented two picture contract with RKO Pictures. Taking a gamble on an untried film director, Welles was given the green light to develop his own story, hire his own cast and crew, and the freedom of deciding the final cut of his film. Along with producing, directing, starring, and writing, Welles would have complete artistic control over any project of his choosing. The press had a field day with the legendary contract, mocking both Welles and RKO. The contract also stated RKO executives were only allowed to see footage Welles chose to show them and all potential cuts would need Welles’s approval, meaning any changes to the film outside his vision could only be suggested. The control RKO gave Welles was unheard of in Hollywood. The contract insinuated a lot of jealousy and resentment in the film community. There was a certain amount of sinister glee when rumors began circulating that Welles was struggling to impress executives with ideas to adapt previously written works. In December of 1939 he began brainstorming ideas with Mercury Radio script writer Herman J. Mankiewski. After crafting an outline loosely based on the life of news tycoon William Randolph Hearst, each man wrote their own separate script. Welles later combined the two, cutting, adding, and rearranging the story however he saw fit. With a script complete, Welles stepped from behind the microphone to behind (and in front of) the camera.
Citizen
Kane
Considered
the greatest film of all time by many film critics, Citizen Kane
is a marvel full of quirky production tales and controversy that
only add to its legend. Welles recruited many of his colleagues at
the Mercury Theater for his first feature film. In all, 10 radio actors would make their screen
debut in Kane. Although they had never been in a motion
picture, the public was familiar with many of the actors from their
radio and stage performances. Welles cast Dorthy Comingore as Susan
Alexander Kane after a recommendation from comedy legend Charlie
Chaplin. Although she too had never appeared on screen before, Welles
offered Comingore the role immediately after meeting her at a party
in LA. Welles also hired CBS radio composer and Worlds colleague
Bernard Herrmann to provide the music for Kane, the first film
score for the soon to be influential conductor.
The
first day Welles stepped onto a film set was also his first as a film
director. Already a stage veteran, he adjusted the lighting as he
would for a play and requested the cast rehearse their roles and
scenes on set, which was an unheard of practice in Hollywood.
Welles was familiar with his duties as a director, but film added a new dimension to story telling. He approached film making with a “learn as you go” mentality. He began filming Kane on a Saturday, when most RKO executives would be gone for the weekend. He didn't announce he was filming, nor had he been given approval. When RKO officials inquired about his weekend activities, he told them he was working on several camera tests. To avoid further suspicion, the footage and paperwork were labeled "Orson Welles Tests." At the time, the studio was trying to persuade Welles to direct a film called "Men from Mars," hoping to capitalize on the success of the War of the Worlds radio broadcast. Welles expressed interest to appease the studio, but confessed he prefer to make a different film first. When RKO finally approved Kane, Welles had already been filming for nearly 2 months. While RKO president George Schaefer was a fan of Welles, there were many executives in the company who did not share Schaefer’s enthusiasm. Most did not like the idea of a film being made on their lot without any knowledge or input. The veil of secrecy in which Kane was being made annoyed studio heads, and it wasn't long before spies were assigned to gather details from the film’s production. Welles quickly caught on to the spies, and would instruct the cast and crew to play softball whenever he noticed them nearby.
Welles was familiar with his duties as a director, but film added a new dimension to story telling. He approached film making with a “learn as you go” mentality. He began filming Kane on a Saturday, when most RKO executives would be gone for the weekend. He didn't announce he was filming, nor had he been given approval. When RKO officials inquired about his weekend activities, he told them he was working on several camera tests. To avoid further suspicion, the footage and paperwork were labeled "Orson Welles Tests." At the time, the studio was trying to persuade Welles to direct a film called "Men from Mars," hoping to capitalize on the success of the War of the Worlds radio broadcast. Welles expressed interest to appease the studio, but confessed he prefer to make a different film first. When RKO finally approved Kane, Welles had already been filming for nearly 2 months. While RKO president George Schaefer was a fan of Welles, there were many executives in the company who did not share Schaefer’s enthusiasm. Most did not like the idea of a film being made on their lot without any knowledge or input. The veil of secrecy in which Kane was being made annoyed studio heads, and it wasn't long before spies were assigned to gather details from the film’s production. Welles quickly caught on to the spies, and would instruct the cast and crew to play softball whenever he noticed them nearby.
To
better learn the process of film making, Welles watched the John Ford film
Stagecoach (1939) over 40 times, often inviting film
technicians to watch with him. During viewing he would ask how
certain scenes were filmed, and how the technical elements were
achieved. Production adviser Miriam Geiger made Welles a “How To”
book highlighting various production techniques. Welles was
floored when respected cinematographer Gregg Toland asked Welles to
use him in his film. The fact that Welles had never made a movie
before was appealing to the cameraman. Welles was known for his
imaginative stage productions, and Toland seen the opportunity to
break away from standard camera techniques and try something new.
Toland also acted as a mentor to Welles during production, silently
advising him on camera positioning and scene lighting. Filming took 5
months, and had its share of mishaps. Welles fell 10 feet down a
flight of stairs while filming one scene, chipping two bones in his
ankle. The injury disabled him for two weeks. During that time,
Welles directed from a wheelchair. Afterwords he needed the
assistance of a steel brace to help get on his feet and resume his
acting duties. Welles also accidentally cut one of his wrists while
shooting a scene where Kane breaks apart bedroom furniture. Welles
only took one or two takes for most scenes, but the film’s final
shot proved to be difficult. A working furnace was built on the set,
and several takes (and sleds) were needed to capture Citizen
Kane’s famous ending. During the 9th take,
the furnace got so hot that the flue caught fire, which resulted in a
visit from the fire department. With the difficult shoot over, Welles
soon discovered his troubles were just beginning.
A
rough cut of Citizen
Kane was
screened for the press on Jan 3rd, 1941. Almost immediately, review
columnists pointed out the comparisons between Charles Kane and news
tycoon William Randolph Hearst. When Hearst found out about Kane
he
was furious and began an assault against the film. Hearst employee
and film columnist Louella Parsons demanded a private screening and
hinted at serious consequences if the studio refused to comply.
Parsons was granted a screening a week later, and arrived with two of
Hearst’s lawyers. She walked out in the middle of the screening and
threatened RKO with a lawsuit if they released the film. Afterwords
she contacted the management at Radio City Music Hall and demanded
they boycott the film. To prevent any further exposure, Hearst
enforced a ban on all RKO produced movie in his papers. When Schaefer
refused to shelf Kane,
Parsons resorted to bully tactics and began calling other studios,
threatening to expose the dark secrets of the Hollywood elite if RKO
refused to comply with Hearst’s demands. With all the major studios
in Hollywood now involved in a potential smear campaign, Schaefer was
feeling the pressure. Parsons took it a step further and threatened
to expose Welles’s relationship with Mexican actress Dolores del
Rio. At the time del Rio was still legally married, and had begun a
relationship with Welles while waiting for her divorce to be
finalized. In hopes to appease the situation, Welles released a
statement, publicly denying the film was inspired by Hearst.
Unsatisfied by Welles’ statement, Hearst publications began
drafting a series of articles revealing Hollywood’s practice of
hiring immigrants rather than American citizens. When information
began to leak out about the articles it turned the industry on its
head. Shortly after, a joint offer of $805,000 was presented to RKO
on behalf of several studios to destroy all prints of Citizen
Kane and
its negatives. RKO’s legal team assured Schaefer that Hearst had no
legal ground to stand on in regards to a lawsuit. RKO turned down the
payoff settlement to destroy Kane,
and announced they planned to release the film as scheduled. A
private screening was held in New York for the other studio heads to
calm their concerns. Afterward Wells agreed to cut 3 minutes from the
film to soften its tone and satisfy the corporate lawyers.
Despite
the cuts, RKO officials still had their concerns about Kane,
and the film’s premiere was delayed. Welles, who had had enough of
Hearst and RKO executives, threatened to sue the studio’s board of
governors if they didn’t release the film. Schaefer stood by Welles
during the difficult ordeal. Citizen Kane finally premiered on
May 1st, 1941 at RKO Palace Theater in New York after
Radio City Music Hall refused to debut the film. Upon hearing
Citizen Kane was to be released, Hearst banned any mention of
the film in his papers. He was still a very powerful individual, and
he convinced several theaters to boycott the film. Distribution
became a struggle and RKO began including Kane as a package
deal with their other new releases. Many theaters took the deal, but
few choose to show Welles’ film. While the movie was praised by
most critics, Kane failed to break even at the box office. RKO
executives were quick to voice their disappointment with the film’s
performance. In the end, Hearst was a great factor in the movie’s
initial lack of success. Despite its poor financial showing, Kane
was nominated for 9 Academy Awards, yet only managed to take home
one Oscar for Best Writing (Original Screenplay). The snubs came as
no surprise to Welles. In true Charles Foster Kane fashion, Hearst’s
attacks against Welles stretched beyond Hollywood. After the release
of Kane, Welles directed the play Native Son on
Broadway. The play received positive reviews from critics, but Hearst
owned papers trashed the performance and accused Welles of being a
communist. While on a speaking lecture for Kane, a police
detective quietly approached Welles and warned him not to go back to
his room. The detective explained that a 14 year old girl had been
hidden in his hotel closet and that two photographers were reportedly
waiting outside for him to return. Realizing the severity of even a
false statutory rape accusation, Welles left on the first train out
of town.
The
making of Citizen Kane, and the aftermath that followed was a
trying experience for Orson Welles. Under the advisement of his
business manager and attorney, a new contract was drawn up by RKO
that took away most of the luxuries of the original contract. Welles
reluctantly sign the modified contract, and became an employee of
RKO. He would only direct one more film for the studio, The
Magnificent Andersons. After its completion, RKO dramatically
re-cut the film and shot a new ending despite Welles’s protests.
They also heavily edited Bernard Herrmann’s score. When Herrmann
discovered RKO editors had removed half the music he had written for
the film, he demanded his name be removed from the credits and
threatened the studio with legal action if they failed to do so. Like
Kane, The Magnificent Andersons lost money at the
box office. Shortly after the film’s release, Schaefer resigned as
head of RKO and his successor quickly terminated Welles’s
contract.
 |
| Toland and Welles on the set of Citizen Kane |
Considering
all the hurdles and adversity Welles encountered during Kane,
he could have easily thrown in the towel. His entrance into Hollywood
may have had a fairy tale beginning, but the golden age of cinema was
quick to reveal its infamous past. Yet Welles’ resilience and
stubborn dedication may have been fueled by the same machine that
enabled such a lucrative opportunity in the first place. The media.
Hearst aside, the sensationalism of War of the World placed a
spotlight on Welles, one that attracted the eyes of Hollywood. It was
the same press fueled spotlight that criticized Welles once he signed
with RKO. Many in the collective journalism beast were licking their
lips at the possibility of reporting Welles’ career ending
failure. Needless to say, such actions can provoke a man to
astonishing new levels he never knew capable. In the end, Welles
responded to the ridicule with the greatest of comebacks, a
metaphoric mirror entitled Citizen Kane.
-Lee
L. Lind