Here's part of a somewhat mixed but generally positive review from the San Diego Reader that mentions the Welles connection:
In his first 3-D film, Scorsese seeks to dazzle, as Méliès so often did at the dawn of films. The result is weak in long perspective and heavy on closeups, such as Hugo’s blue eyes — so intense I felt like a hypnotized optometrist. The runaway-train scene was inspired by a famous photo of an 1895 disaster at the Gare Montparnasse. Though grand and vivid, the station never rivals the power of Orson Welles when he converted the old Gare d’Orsay into the Kafka mazes of The Trial.
Still, Scorsese recreates Méliès’s wondrous studio, streams old film clips, salutes Harold Lloyd and other giants, uses songs from classic French cinema, and channels into Hugo his soulful excitement with the heritage. This is a tribute to the past and a bequest to the young. The salute to old books (also a glimpse of James Joyce) is a mere warm-up for the cine-fanzine fireworks. In it's thrillingly designed and edited homages, Hugo takes wing, going beyond The Magic Box and A Slave of Love and Nickelodeon, coming close to the surreal poetry of Peter Delpeut’s Lyrical Nitrate.
I love the love that Scorsese has poured into this, enshrining the distant roots of his life’s passion. But 3-D, despite some fine effects, often seems a Magic Marker for the unimaginative (the vintage silent movies eclipse it), and the story is never quite up to the director’s devotion. The central problem is that Méliès was a radical antirealist, whereas candid (though expressive) realism is at the core of Scorsese’s best work. In 1942 the fantasist Georges Franju made a short, fond homage, Le Grand Méliès, but the best artist to do a Méliès tribute would probably have been a greater Scorsese hero, the British visionary Michael Powell.
Here's a brief video of Scorcese discussing Welles: