I've always liked to read interviews with people from Welles' life and projects. It's fascinating to get their view of what the 'Booming Voice' and manic genius was like to be around. John Houseman, John Huston, etc have published books/biographies where they talk about him, but elsewhere there are reams and reams of discussions on Welles by his peers. So if Mr. Wilson doesn't mind (and if there's no infringement applied, otherwise I expect this to be tossed tout sweet!) I've gleaned a couple of brief snippets of interviews with those from around Welles. It'd be great, if anyone else likes this kind of stuff, if others added to the file...
PAUL STEWART AT BERNARD HERRMANN'S WEBSITE www.uib.no/herrmann/articles/smith/stewart/
I remember when we became the Campbell Playhouse, we were trying to change our theme. I can't remember if it was to Richard Strauss or Wagner. But the problem was, we couldn't find a point in the piece where the music came down and Orson could say, "Good evening...this is the Campbell Playhouse..." We fooled with it and fooled with it, and Benny finally said, "Let's go back to what we have!"
You know, I don't think I ever saw Benny happy. He always seemed very impatient, and it was his impatience and his apparent lack of humor that made him the butt of many jokes by Welles and Houseman; he was teased a lot to show this side of his personality. The orchestra did it more than anybody; they were so pleased that time when I took his baton.
There would be a frantic fight literally to the last second to get [each program] on the air every Sunday. Between Welles and Houseman and myself, there would be [script] pages crossed out - and we'd always have to cut Benny down; he'd be saying, "Why didn't ya tell me? How can I do this?!"...
Steven C. Smith: In his autobiography, Houseman says of Herrmann and Welles, "Amid the snapping of batons and the hurling of scripts and scores into the air, the two men came to understand each other perfectly."
Stewart: Welles didn't have that kind of temper; there were more people throwing things at Welles than Welles throwing things. I can't remember him every getting that angry. I remember in Leidecrantz Hall, [Welles assistant and actor] William Alland - who had an enormous temper - picked up a chair that we could hardly ever move - and threw it across the studio at Orson, missing him, thankfully! I've never heard Orson laugh so hard - and he has a pretty hearty laugh. He thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, because the cause was so unimportant.
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JEANNE MOREAU
www.salonmag.com/people/bc/2001/12/06/m ... ndex2.html
We begin by talking about her role in Joseph Losey's film. "When you play a character like Eva, does the anger stay with you? Was it ...?"
"There's no anger."
"No anger?"
"No," Moreau says. "We prepare the suitcase. Orson Welles taught me that. You prepare your suitcase -- meaning the costumes of biography. So the anger comes when it's needed. And even if on the day of the shoot, Orson would say, 'We're not shooting that scene, I don't like it anymore, I wrote another one,' I didn't mind, because being the character is like being in your own life. You know, before you go to bed, you know exactly what are your appointments for the day after ... And suddenly, someone says to you, Jeanne Moreau can't see you at 6, and you have to change gears, and come a little earlier ...
...
After Orson Welles' European relocation, Moreau fast became his favorite pinch hitter. She appeared in three complete films and one aborted project, which for a Welles collaborator must be some kind of record. First, in 1962, she had the small role of Miss Burstner in his underrated film of Kafka's "The Trial," throwing a tantrum that reduces Anthony Perkins to mush, and finally garnering one of the best close-ups in any Welles film, magnificently framed as she shrieks, "Get out of my room!" Then, in 1965, Moreau played Doll Tearsheet, in all her unexpurgated glory, cuddling with Welles' Falstaff in "Chimes at Midnight." Three years later she was cast as Virginie, wife of Welles' curmudgeonly Mr. Clay in "The Immortal Story," his first film in color; a subdued, perfect 58-minute miniature originally shot for television, but given a European theatrical release. Finally, she was Rae Ingram in his "The Deep," shot intermittently off the coast of Yugoslavia between 1968 and 1973, when the production was aborted, following the death of costar Lawrence Harvey. (Years later, "The Deep" would be made in Australia as "Dead Calm," a terse thriller early in the careers of Nicole Kidman, Sam Neill and Billy Zane).
Welles called Moreau "the greatest actress in the world" and the admiration was mutual. To this day, Welles is a topic Moreau addresses with particular warmth. When she wrote and wanted to direct her first film, "Lumiere" (1975), she consulted many of her director friends, almost all of whom were against the idea. Even Truffaut read her script and returned it with so many pages of notes and suggestions she felt he'd turned it into a Truffaut film. "[Francois] started really not to like me at all when I wanted to direct," Moreau tells me. "The only man who was behind me was Orson." After "Lumiere," Moreau went on to direct "L'Adolescent" in 1979, and a documentary on Lillian Gish for the American Film Institute in 1984.
The experience not only added to her respect for Welles, but also confirmed a broader suspicion. "Nearly all the film directors are macho," she says, flexing her own bicep. "Except Buñuel. He was a crazy man."
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