Thanks to Christina’s post for professor Carole Garmon’s Approaches to Video Art course I just saw a short, experimental film by Orson Welles titled The Hearts of Age (1934). I had never even heard of this bit of Bunuel-inspired craziness before, but it is absolutely wild. I mean what do we make of the old woman gyrating on the bell so suggestively that is being pulled by an actor in blackface, a plot line which develops in crazy ways. And Welles, once again, proves himself to be as genius as ever when it comes to acting, even in this silent. Which reminds me that the soundtrack on this version was composed and performed well after-the-fact by Larry Marotta, and it fits quite nicely.
It’s as if he was working with an intravenous feed of crack mixed with Edgar Allen Poe.
Exactly, precisely. it is just so far out it makes me love Welles that much more. And I had a healthy respect for him to begin with.
Welles was a genius. This is indeed a trippy film.
Ever read the book of interviews Peter Bogdanovich did with Welles. Amazing stuff. The moment where PB watches Welles watching The Magnificent Ambersons in a Paris Hotel room is worth the price of the book all by itself. PB assumes Welles’ tears come from his frustration over the way the studio massacred the ending. Welles says it isn’t that. He says he’s crying because “it’s all in the past,” or words to that effect.
Welles was a genius. Also a lout, and lots of other bad things. And also, if reports are true, one of the truest friends one could have.
Welles was a genius.
Welles killed the Black Dahlia.