Reading anecdotes like andrej's you can't help but wonder just how bad must have been "the book" on Welles at that time - by which I mean the unwritten word on him, the clandestine and unshakeable industry label that circulated within the insider community.
Evidently it was dangerous enough to get young-ish film schooled director types and unabashed Welles admirers to treat him like he was radioactive if ever he strayed from his typecast role as raconteur/legend and veered anywhere near the topic of new projects. Might it have been something far worse than, "kiss your money goodbye" (a prospect that some of the young and affluently successful might have been willing to chance) and more like, "kiss your career goodbye"?
Brash young actors famed for their supposedly anti-establishment personas wouldn't commit to his Big Brass Ring and upstart producer/directors flush with youth, success and cash somehow had room enough only to host or be hosted by him. What was up with all that?
Al Pacino told of how he once showed insufficent respect for the Hollywood "Star Chamber" clique and found himself a near exile for a decade - an exile that only ended once he had tired of all the cr*p work (not to mention the nose candy excesses) and he actively lobbied them to give him a chance to prove that he had learned his lesson. In no time thereafter "Scent of a Woman" got taken away from someone else, was handed to Pacino who rode it all the way to the Oscars - and he was back in the game. The prodigal son returned and feasted on the fatted calf, offering high-profile confirmation of the wisdom of doing things the clique's way.
I'll venture that, if there is a Wellesian parallel to Pacino's experience, the maverick Welles' sin in the Star Chamber's eyes might have been as profound as his contrition and deference were nonexistent. Thereafter, in order for the clique to provide an iron clad object lesson on the consequences of defiance, Welles' name went and stayed on its whispered - and perenially potent - blacklist.
I realize how conspiratorial the above might seem; but what else explains how youthful admirers, virtually to a man, would go from fawningly receptive one day to virtually unreachable the next?
I realize that rampant superficiality and self-absorbtion (i.e., the Oja Koda theory) could be the simple answers that account for some of it. But I find it hard to believe that a wall made from such weaknesses could have worked so perfectly when it came to shutting Our Man out despite his persistent hunt for so much as the tiniest way in. And not just "out", but out even beyond the margins. To be successfully sentenced to that kind of a limbo, a person of Welles' character would have to be up against a rampart of almost God-like strength, the kind of imperiousness to which lesser sorts inevitably bend the knee, however much they later profess their regrets.


