a comeuppance
by Douglas Messerli
Orson Welles (screenplay, based on
the fiction by Booth Tarkington; and director) The Magnificent Ambersons / 1942
At once one the most beautifully
filmed of American movies and a terribly flawed soap opera, Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons is a
fascinating work that I have watched numerous times over the years and taught
as a graduate assistant in an English department film course.
Much has been written, moreover, about the editorial changes made without Welles’ approval. Welles, shooting a film for the government in Brazil, was not allowed to share in the decisions, despite his attempt to intervene. Even composer Bernard Herrmann insisted that his name be taken from the credits when a large part of his original score was cut. Yet, many of the changes made, do, in retrospect, make sense, while other alterations, particularly the film’s ending, can easily be recognized as flaws.
Welles begins his tale by trying to tie the wealthy Ambersons with both the period (a time, which the narrator [Welles himself] describes as one in which the streetcar would stop and wait for the woman of the house, while she put on her hat and spoke to the cook about dinner) and with the community—through the everyday gossip about the family. But the early incidents which fuel the gossips, the drunken behavior of the Eugene Morgan (Joseph Cotten), Isabel Amberson’s (Dolores Costello) inability to forgive him, and her marriage, soon after, to the more stable but utterly boring Wilbur Minifer (Don Dillaway), seem such trivial events that it is difficult even to care about what might happen to the grand Ambersons and the things they represent.
As one gossip predicts, because Isabel is not truly in love with Wilbur,
she will spoil her children, giving all her love to them, turns out to be true,
except in one detail, that she has only one child George (Tim Holt). In a short
series of scenarios, we meet the young spoiled boy, decked
It is only when Eugene, somewhat inexplicably, returns to Indianapolis
that the movie actually becomes more interesting. For Eugene (through Cotten’s
excellent acting) is not only a charmer, he is now a successful businessman, a
creator of a new automobile that will drive even through snow.
The memorable ball which Isabel and Major Amberson (Richard Bennett)
throw to celebrate his return with his daughter Lucy (Anne Baxter) is a
whirling affair where—at least in the original cut—the camera lifted in crane
shots in one long flow throughout the house, moving from room to room as Lucy
and George walk through the attendees and dancers. Much of that scene was cut,
but even as it is, we recognize it as amazing moment of film, wherein, through
its fluid shifts in space, it is quickly established that Eugene is beloved by
the entire community and that his daughter has already been feted by many of
the citizens in the brief time since her arrival.
It is clear that she might have dated nearly any young man in the room,
while George seems dismissive of them all, and particularly of the man at the
center of the affair, who he does not recognize as her father—and, whom, he
soon discovers much to his horror, was the former courtier of his mother and
would-be lover of his Aunt Fanny (Agnes Moorehead).
In a real sense, “Georgie,” in that very scene has had a kind of
“comeuppance,” as the city dwellers predict; he simply does not yet recognize
it as one. And after, when his father dies and he and others of his family are
invited to dine with the Morgans, he gets his psychological revenge by brutally
dismissing the creation of his host (“automobiles are a useless nuisance, which
had no business being invented”). Eugene’s suave response—suggesting that
George may turn out to be right and recognizing that, if nothing else, the
automobile would surely alter human civilization—again represents his true
fairness and nobility as opposed to George’s simple priggishness.
The scenes where George attempts to court Lucy, where Welles walks his
characters laterally along streets, similarly reveals her ease of the way
things are, while George seems uncomfortably out of place in his own hometown.
The difficulty of Holt’s role is that, despite the unlikableness of his
character, he must nonetheless make George seem intelligent and interesting
enough to attract Lucy’s attention. In Welles’ original, his attack on Eugene
was evidently much more vicious; while the studio revisers —which included
noted director Robert Wise—I think appropriately toned it down so that might
still hold out some hope for his change.
In the famed “kitchen scene” where George and Jack tease Fanny until she
cries, Welles originally followed it by a scene where George catches a glimpse
of his grandfather’s new construction from the window and rushes into a
rainstorm shouting out in rage, which, reportedly, preview audiences derisively
heckled. Once again, it appears, some careful editing was necessary if the
character were to remain believable.
Welles brilliantly hints that these family melodramas are something
closer to madness, which temporarily heightens the grandeur of his story; but
when Isabel, choosing to placate her son as opposed to fulfilling her own
desires, finally refuses Eugene’s offer to marry, the story, even as Welles
himself recognized, has nowhere else to go.
Unable to find the deed to their house after Isabel’s death, and losing
their money in investments in a headlight company, the family quickly crumbles,
Fanny psychologically breaking down. In the original version Welles allowed her
the full force of melodramatic fury. While some claimed it was Morehead’s best scene,
preview audiences, however, found it laughable, and again the studio revised it,
demanding a more subdued performance from the actress.
The final scenes of Welles’ original cut do seem, in hindsight, far
preferable to what the studio refilmed after the director had left for Brazil.
In the original, George wanders through the city, followed by a long tracking
shot by cinematographer Stanley Cortez, presumably finally receiving his
“comeuppance”—although even the narrator notes that those who so wanted it were
no longer around to witness it.
The very final scene consisted of Eugene visiting Fanny in her boarding
house where, throughout their conversation, overheard by other residential
friends, Fanny squeakily rocks away in her chair while a corny comedy record
plays in the corner.
All of these scenes, alas, were cut, to be replaced by the quite
obviously inferior scene with which the film now ends. Even the light looks
radically different from Welles’ intense black and white images, as Eugene and
Fanny, upon visiting the injured George in the hospital, leave the place
together, suggesting a reconciliation between the two.
In short, as Wise and others have argued, the final film we see today is
perhaps no better or worse than the one Welles had shot. That such a basically
conventional fiction still resulted in such a magnificent film, is testimony
enough to Welles’ remarkable talents, even if he was not the total genius he
himself and others have declared him to be.
Los Angeles, January 27, 2017
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (January 2017).
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