In Defense of Citizen Kane...
A much-maligned term of recent memory is hype, or the inflated build-up of a film or product to more praise than it seemingly deserves. One film that has fallen victim to this phenomenon is Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, a film that has never ceased to be controversial and divisive since its original release in 1941. Much debate has been tossed around by audiences, film scholars, and political figures alike as to whether the film deserves the supposed hyperbole and acclaim surrounding it for several decades, often touted as the “greatest film ever made.” What exactly qualifies it for that title, they ask? Is it just the technical elements (acting, cinematography, etc.)? Or is the thematic and cultural relevance? The truth is, Citizen Kane is as notable, influential and acclaim worthy for the elements perhaps not immediately noticed by some, and almost certainly ignored by others.
It’s amazing now to think that even so early in America’s history, someone was able to distance themselves and accurately portray the true nature of this enigmatic nation: the quest for power. Orson Welles was more than just a daring young thespian and professional button/envelope pusher; he was a man who could see the scope of America’s past, present and future as a cyclical construct of pain and self-destruction, a snake eating its own tail. He was active in the days not much different from now: mega-corporations and larger-than-life personalities ruled the landscape like the dinosaurs of prehistory, only unlike the dinosaurs, these ferocious behemoths didn’t go extinct but rather evolved to be more insidiously monstrous. And, in 1942, few of these monsters cast a bigger shadow than William Randolph Hearst, the tyrannical media mogul and an unofficial inspiration for the titular character of Charles Foster Kane. Hearst and others like him were petty, egotistical bullies who didn’t come up against moral quandaries and suffered little consequences for their maniacal need to succeed above all others, and yet were seemingly rewarded for their machinations.
Similarly, Kane undergoes a similar transformation before confronted on his deathbed with the realization that his quest for power has only resulted in his stark displacement from humanity. He dies alone, in a vast palace of his own making, surrounded only by servants and medical staff united only by their status as Kane employees. He realizes too late that the pursuit of his own supremacy grants him a lonesome admission before the abyss: his corpse casts a larger shadow than his living body eventually did.
Of course, the tragedy of his story is that he was not always this way. The film is one the earliest examples of in media res, beginning the story at the logical end and then working backwards to reach this inevitable conclusion. The fascination around Kane by various characters after his death is the pursuit what exactly made Kane the way he was. “Who was he? What is ‘Rosebud?’” a shadowy room of reporters’ muses after the news of his passing – as if a man’s life could be summed up in just one word. Thompson, the journalist investigating Kane throughout the film, says as much at the conclusion, rejecting the notion that a single word, rosebud, could hold that much significance in a man’s life, dying words or not. But the irony is that Kane’s childhood sled of the same name becomes the ultimate symbol of his character’s dilemma, his fight with power over plainness.
Charles Foster Kane starts off as a boy from the wintry Bible Belt, raised by an average working-class family and is perfectly content to live anonymously and without responsibility beyond his own backyard. His innocence is snatched from him purely through luck: his mother’s property stumbles upon a literal gold mine and the family is thrust into wealth and power in an instant. Courted by Mr. Thatcher, a cold and unloving banker, Charles is pulled from the tranquility of his own dream: a simple life of living within one’s means, experiencing love without terms, and the gratification of modesty. Indeed, in this aspect Welles seems to be stating that the pursuit of wealth and power as a concept is antithetical to true happiness: earning the love of others.
As related by an anecdote from Kane’s ludicrously-loyal business manager, Mr. Bernstein, Charles Foster Kane once described his second wife Susan as a “cross-section of the American public.” While perhaps unkindly likening the waifish, lower-class Susan to the subhuman oafs and rubes of society, this statement more accurately describes all the film’s characters. Within the fierce allegory of the narrative they all act of symbols of some aspect of American society. Mr. Bernstein is coded as an immigrant who comes to America with a cheerful and eventually weary desire to succeed, happy to serve some and being an accessory to the oppression of others. Jed Leland, Kane’s best friend and early collaborator, represents the intellectual, with grand idealistic notions, but no drive to make any lasting difference beyond petty attempts to undermine his former friend’s empire. His drunken musings against Kane’s bitter egotism and corruption are not inaccurate, but ring hollow due to Leland’s insecurity and weakness. Political thug and rival Jim Gettys represents the end-result of institutional corruption, and Mr. Thatcher of the aloof devotion to facts and figures over human connection. Kane’s first wife, Emily Norton, is the epitome of blissfully ignorance upper-class mentality, a vain and detached woman who places higher priority on appearances rather than genuine compatibility. Kane’s second wife, modestly-talented singer Susan Alexander, is the opposite: a woman unconcerned with prestige and status, or even artistic admiration, and initially connects with Kane over their shared love of the simple things. But Charles is unhappy with both, as they are emblematic of his own duality and confusion over what it truly means to happy in America.
That Charles Foster Kane’s career is based in the media is no accident. His empire survives on misinformation, pathos-driven commentary, and vain reaffirmation of one’s insecurity. During Kane’s disastrous political campaign, his own newspaper cannot bring itself to clinically analyze reality, opting instead to claim “FRAUD AT POLLS!” to offset embarrassment to Mr. Kane. He, like many other celebrities, seems unable to accept humble defeat or shortcomings. Rather, Kane prefers to be elevated to god-like status, assuming a mythic quality that he regrets far too late.
His name is often framed as the most prominent element in any scene it appears, from the opening titles that punch his name though the blackness, to his massive portrait during his political speech, to his consistently-monogrammed clothing. During a party celebrating his acquisition of another publication’s expert staff, ice sculptures of Kane, Leland and Bernstein are shown. But while those of Leland and Bernstein are of their faces – showing their individual humanity – Kane’s sculpture is simply the letter “K,” as if he wishes to supplant the ubiquitous association of his initial with himself. Indeed, the end of the film he has accomplished this: the entire world undoubtedly knows his name, but almost nothing about the man himself, aside from what was printed in newspapers. Welles is showing us the two-faceted nature of the media: under the guise of the unfaltering “truth,” it manages to truncate human experience and splinter genuine emotions into pandering personas. The tragic irony of the story is that of a man who secretly wished for a private life but ended up with a very public, very unflattering one.
So does Citizen Kane hold up today? Does it deserve this recognition, almost as ubiquitous and indescribable as its titular protagonist? In regards to storytelling and cinematic techniques, it is undeniably influential. From the revolutionary angles and editing; the gothic and shadowy production design; the battle of idealism vs. cynicism; the snappy, overlapping dialogue that make Aaron Sorkin blush…it really is the true American epic. This modern fall-from-grace story has inspired such critically-acclaimed epics as There Will Be Blood, All The King’s Men, Giant, The Godfather trilogy, The Social Network, and countless others.
I would say that it’s almost too easy to decipher its relevance, if you know what to look for. One might say it’s all there in the title. It’s not called Emperor Kane or Lord Kane. The man had exceeding wealth, power and influence, but he was not a god: he was a man. He was a citizen. He was one of us, until he wasn’t.
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