Mr. ArkadinSome art is created through a master's total control and precision, a work which is lauded for its detail and finesse. And some art must be birthed from an act of chaos--an interpretation of the signature of the artist--the equivalent of a drunken reverie, or an indulgence in something rough and messy. Mr. Arkadin (a.k.a Confidential Report) is a work by Orson Welles which is so different from the sheen and polish of his work, it is best interpreted as a sketch of an idea, like those valued of Pablo Picasso--a representation of the artist's mind running wild through creative territory with reckless abandon.
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Mr. Arkadin is the story of a low-rung runner of tobacco and gold named Guy Van Stratten (Robert Arden), who along with his girlfriend at the time, Mily (Patricia Medina), hears a dying man speak a name with his last: Gregory Arkadin. The late Bracco (Gregoire Aslan) spoke of how finding Arkadin will lead to great wealth, a lead which Guy and Mily are willing to exploit. Their adventure brings them to Spain, where Guy attempts to seduce Arkadin's daughter, Raina (Paola Mori), in order to get closer to the reclusive millionaire, which he does at a costume party. But Gregory Arkadin--played with the characteristic flair and panache by none other than Orson Welles--attempts to shirk Guy's gigolo efforts for his daughter by showing him a "confidential report" on all the dirt about Guy. In his frustration, Guy barks back about how Arkadin would like it if someone dug up all the old dirt on him, which puts a clever idea in the head of the aloof and imposing Arkadin. Thus, Arkadin hires Guy to do just that, offering to pay him in the process, to discover his past and compile it into a report for him, a proposition which leaves Guy as perplexed as most would be, until Arkadin claims it has to do with amnesia. And from here, Guy travels across Europe, and even over the Atlantic, in order to follow a trail of bread crumbs leading back to one of the underworld's biggest rats.
Orson Welles is arguably one of cinema's most significant fixtures, from director, writer, and to actor. Among his many roles, one of his most beloved was that of Harry Lyme in Carol Reed's The Third Man. Following the success of this film, a series of radio dramas, titled "The Lives of Harry Lime", were broadcast as a sort of prequel in the early 1950s, episodic tales about the underworld rake, voiced by Orson Welles. The significance is that Mr. Arkadin was loosely influenced by a few of these episodes, and the similarities can be felt in various ways. First, Guy's journey through the chaff of Europe's unsavory characters post-World War II is reminiscent of that of Joseph Cotton's character in the prior film, with such strange and even potentially dangerous acquaintances like fences, thieves, and even potential assassins; Guy must wrangle with them all as he chases the answers to who the man he thought he knew really is. And Arkadin is like Harry Lime in that he is unscrupulous and given to charming parables--with two separate toasts as evidence to this. There is even the suggestion that Arkadin may wish to bring Guy closer to sympathizing with him by offering up this quest to him to dig up his dirty laundry, which even he persists that he doesn't remember. Arkadin even shows up fairly late into the picture, and in darkness, not unlike his smirking counterpart from Vienna. But another crucial similarity has more to do with Welles' roots in radio; Mr. Arkadin feels a lot like a radio drama brought to the silver screen. The film is filled with a great deal of speech and information, with rarely a moment of quiet or strictly cinematic flourish. Voices speak volumes in Mr. Arkadin; even Guy, who always sounds like he's shouting for some reason--projecting maybe. Even where dialogue isn't natural, it is reminiscent of the kind of heightened script which would accompany a radio drama, and elements are sometimes described that are also visible, such as when Arkadin talks of going water skiing, one of his "secretaries" (read: private spies) speaks of how he looks like Neptune, and with his curled beard--a resemblance which is not that much of a stretch from the classical interpretation.
If Mr. Arkadin feels both familiar and yet so strange as an Orson Welles picture, it can be attributed to a few different reasons. For instance, the film was notoriously plucked from Welles' control by the producer, and edited and distributed in over a half dozen varied versions. Time and the dedicated efforts of filmmaker and ally of Welles--Peter Bogdanovich--and The Criterion Collection have brought back from the brink the most complete restoration of the film. Beyond that, there is a definite feeling of Welles at play in the kind of labyrinthine plot and dramatics he no doubt found much comfort in during his radio days, as well as a few key ideas dancing throughout Mr. Arkadin like rough sketches and drafts let loose to run free in the proverbial yard. Characters like Guy are very superficial, with simple motives, pulp fiction tropes, and always saying out loud what they're thinking--devoid of subtext. They exist in a particular state of shallow reality, as though they were relics from a B-movie, as if Orson Welles were coyly satirizing his own style of filmmaking and recognizable roles like Lyme. But there is real charm in this kind of tone, this dime store paperback suspense, a sentiment which undoubtedly rings true for filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino, whose Pulp Fiction--and other works--embraces this motif. In Mr. Arkadin, Welles is given rein to experiment and a bunch of fun "toys" to put to use, including a playful sequence where Arkadin gets Mily drunk, and the camera appears fixed on Arkadin, and the whole yacht appears to be swaying back and forth instead. The opening of Mr. Arkadin should elicit a chuckle, moving quickly from a scene describing a plane with no passenger, flashing back to Guy trying to save a dying man in Munich from being murdered, and in turn flashing back from there to the beginning of our story within the span of roughly five minutes. Mr. Arkadin is a jaunty film for a thriller--and an adventurous one--willing to defy logic in favor of a particular tone and feel, like spending time with a storyteller who has had a few too many to drink, and tells a story with such intensity and enthusiasm that the entertainment value pulls you away from poking too many holes in it--an experience more than the sum of its parts.
Recommended for: Fans of Orson Welles' films, but especially one which moves with the energy and spark of creativity of an artist willing to dare something unique, and to play with the palettes of his enthusiasts.
Orson Welles is arguably one of cinema's most significant fixtures, from director, writer, and to actor. Among his many roles, one of his most beloved was that of Harry Lyme in Carol Reed's The Third Man. Following the success of this film, a series of radio dramas, titled "The Lives of Harry Lime", were broadcast as a sort of prequel in the early 1950s, episodic tales about the underworld rake, voiced by Orson Welles. The significance is that Mr. Arkadin was loosely influenced by a few of these episodes, and the similarities can be felt in various ways. First, Guy's journey through the chaff of Europe's unsavory characters post-World War II is reminiscent of that of Joseph Cotton's character in the prior film, with such strange and even potentially dangerous acquaintances like fences, thieves, and even potential assassins; Guy must wrangle with them all as he chases the answers to who the man he thought he knew really is. And Arkadin is like Harry Lime in that he is unscrupulous and given to charming parables--with two separate toasts as evidence to this. There is even the suggestion that Arkadin may wish to bring Guy closer to sympathizing with him by offering up this quest to him to dig up his dirty laundry, which even he persists that he doesn't remember. Arkadin even shows up fairly late into the picture, and in darkness, not unlike his smirking counterpart from Vienna. But another crucial similarity has more to do with Welles' roots in radio; Mr. Arkadin feels a lot like a radio drama brought to the silver screen. The film is filled with a great deal of speech and information, with rarely a moment of quiet or strictly cinematic flourish. Voices speak volumes in Mr. Arkadin; even Guy, who always sounds like he's shouting for some reason--projecting maybe. Even where dialogue isn't natural, it is reminiscent of the kind of heightened script which would accompany a radio drama, and elements are sometimes described that are also visible, such as when Arkadin talks of going water skiing, one of his "secretaries" (read: private spies) speaks of how he looks like Neptune, and with his curled beard--a resemblance which is not that much of a stretch from the classical interpretation.
If Mr. Arkadin feels both familiar and yet so strange as an Orson Welles picture, it can be attributed to a few different reasons. For instance, the film was notoriously plucked from Welles' control by the producer, and edited and distributed in over a half dozen varied versions. Time and the dedicated efforts of filmmaker and ally of Welles--Peter Bogdanovich--and The Criterion Collection have brought back from the brink the most complete restoration of the film. Beyond that, there is a definite feeling of Welles at play in the kind of labyrinthine plot and dramatics he no doubt found much comfort in during his radio days, as well as a few key ideas dancing throughout Mr. Arkadin like rough sketches and drafts let loose to run free in the proverbial yard. Characters like Guy are very superficial, with simple motives, pulp fiction tropes, and always saying out loud what they're thinking--devoid of subtext. They exist in a particular state of shallow reality, as though they were relics from a B-movie, as if Orson Welles were coyly satirizing his own style of filmmaking and recognizable roles like Lyme. But there is real charm in this kind of tone, this dime store paperback suspense, a sentiment which undoubtedly rings true for filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino, whose Pulp Fiction--and other works--embraces this motif. In Mr. Arkadin, Welles is given rein to experiment and a bunch of fun "toys" to put to use, including a playful sequence where Arkadin gets Mily drunk, and the camera appears fixed on Arkadin, and the whole yacht appears to be swaying back and forth instead. The opening of Mr. Arkadin should elicit a chuckle, moving quickly from a scene describing a plane with no passenger, flashing back to Guy trying to save a dying man in Munich from being murdered, and in turn flashing back from there to the beginning of our story within the span of roughly five minutes. Mr. Arkadin is a jaunty film for a thriller--and an adventurous one--willing to defy logic in favor of a particular tone and feel, like spending time with a storyteller who has had a few too many to drink, and tells a story with such intensity and enthusiasm that the entertainment value pulls you away from poking too many holes in it--an experience more than the sum of its parts.
Recommended for: Fans of Orson Welles' films, but especially one which moves with the energy and spark of creativity of an artist willing to dare something unique, and to play with the palettes of his enthusiasts.