Here is Peter Bogdanovich’s reply to the interview with Charles Higham, below, that appeared in The New York Times on September 17, 1970.
Mr. Higham’s interview, it should be noted, was conducted with himself. In other words, he wrote both the questions and the answers, which is of course, why it is now so apparent as a piece of gutter journalism.
As for Higham’s facts, from the first moment when I read his fantastical report about the octopus and shark battle, I failed to believe it. So I’ve always wondered how any intelligent adult could seriously accept such a report, let alone someone who is the editor of a national news magazine. That Mr. Sokolov “swallowed” such a ridiculous “fish story” in his review of Higham’s book for Newsweek, must have been a tremendous embarrassment for him for the rest of his (thankfully) short lived career as a journalist.
It now seems obvious that his acceptance of this canard colored his reply to Bogdanovich, which also appeared in The N. Y. Times, right after Higham’s own fatuous self-interview.
Peter Bogdanovich’s reply to both Higham and Sokolov follows, with some additional comment added by me, which includes new information that makes Mr. Bogdanovich’s case against Mr. Higham even more damning.
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ORSONOOLOGY
By Raymond A. Sokolov
NEWSWEEK – August 3,1970
It is a shame that good books on film history have only recently begun to appear with any frequency. For the most part, however, the lack of good documentation about movies is a minor tragedy compared with the danger, still clear and present, that many of the old films still surviving will fade, disintegrate, explode or simply be junked. But in the case of the work of Orson Welles, a uniquely talented director, the opposite is luckily true.All of Welles’s completed films are safe and available. But so much well-publicized controversy surrounds the making of every one of them from “Citizen Kane” on, that it is impossible not to ask questions about what went on off camera too. How much of “The Magnificent Ambersons” did RKO tamper with? Did Universal mangle “Touch of Evil”? Was Welles forced to accept Tony Perkins as the lead in Kalka’s “The Trial”?
Charles Higham has not cleared up all the mysteries in his new book, “The Films of Orson Welles” (210 pages, University of California Press. $10.95). Not even Welles himself could and Higham did not get to interview him in any case. But Higham has tirelessly scrabbled away after what can be known by questioning scores of Welles’s collaborators, trying to chart the running battle between that self-destructive genius and the movie industry.
In addition, Higham provides fascinating technical information on everything from the almost operatic musical scoring of “Kane” to an agonizing trick shot in “The Lady From Shanghai,” in which the camera crew slid on their stomachs down a 125-foot zigzag slide holding the camera on a mat. There is an excellent filmography too, which reveals that Alan Ladd played bit parts in ôKaneö and that Welles was the uncredited co-director (with Norman Foster) of “Journey Into Fear.” And Higham, formerly film critic for The Sydney (Australia) Morning Herald, offers his own sensible interpretations of each film.
Far and away the book’s most spectacular feature is the chapter on “It’s All True,” the famous unfinished semi-documentary that Welles shot for RKO in Brazil in the early ’40s his first color venture and which has moldered in the vaults of several studios ever since. Higham tracked down the thousands of feet that survive in the Paramount archives and managed to screen them. “It was the moment of a lifetime for a cineaste.” He writes. And from his detailed description of what he saw, it sounds as if “It’s All True” might have been a great film if RKO had not canceled it.
In a way, though, it is hard to blame the studio entirely for the oblivion to which “It’s All True” was consigned. With typical impetuosity, Welles abandoned two films already in progress and flew down to Rio to start shooting the carnival. His lighting equipment arrived later by ship, but in the meantime he commandeered every anti-aircraft searchlight in Brazil for night scenes of samba dancers. The rushes he sent back to the States were supposedly a producer’s nightmare; so were reports that Welles had thrown his furniture out of a hotel window to protest a bill.
But the film’s final doom was beyond the control of Welles. He lost his backing when RKO changed ownership while he was in Rio. And, at the same time, a tragic accident on location caused an international incident. Welles had decided to film four fishermen who had become national heroes for sailing 1,650 miles without a compass to the Rio harbor to protest their working conditions to the President of Brazil. While Welles was filming them, an octopus and a shark rose from the water locked in combat. The fishermen stood up to watch, their raft tilted, spilling them into the sea, and one was eaten by the shark. Many people blamed Welles, who was lucky afterward to leave his hotel unmolested.
Welles had enjoyed the unalloyed confidence of a major studio for the last time. For nearly 30 years since, he has continued to carom from one precariously financed project to another, still managing to produce exciting if flawed work with surprising regularity. In fact, as Higham points out, Welles has recently completed two of his finest films: “Chimes at Midnight” and “The Immortal Story.”
But nothing has ever seemed to click completely for Orson. Higham’s theory of why is more plausible than most: “Above all I sensed a feeling… that Welles hated to see a film finished, that all his blame of others for wrecking his work is an unconscious alibi for his own genuine fear of completion.
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To the editor:
In his recent curious outburst, Peter Bogdanovich charged that Charles Higham’s ‘new book on Orson Welles and Newsweek’s favorable review of the book, have directly influenced two prospective backers to refuse Mr. Welles money for his future projects As the author of the review in question, I should like to express my amazement, not so much that Bogdanovich could concoct such piffle as the author of a forthcoming book on Mr. Welles himself, his adventure in self-advertisement is easily understood but that your newspaper, to whose, Book Reviews I have frequently contributed, would print it. Forget, that the accusation is, in itself, ridiculous. Does anyone, most especially the editors of The Times, believe that, it is the business of a critic to help eminent film directors make deals?
I yield to no one in my admiration and friendship for Orson Welles. I was one of the few critics to praise his most recent film, “The Immortal Story.” I have maintained friendly relations with him “during several lengthy interviews and meetings since 1966, in Paris and Mexico. But I do not think of myself as his press agent. In fact, however, Mr. Welles’s life story indicates that he could use a good flack. I only wish that he had found a better one than Bogdanovich. Finally, I would ask Bogdanovich, who is so quick to call other people’s evidence hearsay, why Mr. Welles himself has not spoken out against the Higham book during any one of his lengthy recent television appearances? Why is it that the man who has often said that he enjoys lying to interviewers does not for once and all set the record straight himself? Bogdanovich seems to think that he alone has been able to break through the Welleslan flimflam barrier for his new book. Such vain boasts are usually confined to paid ad copy.
Raymond A. Sokolov, General Editor, Newsweek
New York City
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Peter Bogdanovich replies:
Charles Higham’s scholarship hasn’t improved: I said several times in my article that the facts came not from Welles himself, but from letters, cables, production reports and other documentation of the tunes. Not indefensible, but a generally more reliable source for that particular kind of information than any one’s memory. I was speaking recently with Robert Wise, who has been blamed through the years for directing several poorly reshot scenes in “The Magnificent Ambersons ” and when I fold him that RKO’s daily production reports clearly list-someone else (Freddie Fleck) as their director, he was relieved: after all these years and other movies, he confessed not remembering if he’d made them or not.
Russell Metty told me his Welles story, too, and it was interesting to hear the postscript that Charles does not mention: missing that screening was not crucial since Welles met with those backers many times in New York afterward. Nothing ever came of it anyway. Stanley Cortez was not even involved in post-production work on “Ambersons,” as other cameramen had taken over for him before the picture was finished (as we now know, Cortez was fired by Welles). Mark Robson was an assistant cutter on the film and certainly not privy to what was actually happening. Scores of memos prove Robson wrong. The other three cutters Higham mentions were all company men, and Welles was fighting with their companies. (Note: They were not only company men, but probably horrified at he kind of advanced editing Welles wanted for his films in those very traditional years of Hollywood movie-making). Norman Foster was second-unit director on “My Friend .Bonito” and ‘was never “removed” his job ‘was completed; the film wasn’t because RKO aborted it and Floyd Crosby’s testimony about Welles’s methods is a little suspect, since he never worked a single day with the director. (But as we know now, reports indicate that Welles cables to Norman Foster indicate he was critical of some of Crosbyĺs photography).
But then no one’s memory is infallible even Higham’s. I myself passed on to him by phone Welles’s offer to check his manuscript, and he did refused, in rather a huff because Welles had decided against seeing him. Having read Higham’s destructive attacks on Billy Wilder and Alfred Hitchcock (both of whom Higham also claimed to admire), Welles thought it best not to personally supply the author with ammunition. Naturally, Welles was annoyed when Higham showed up without warning on his closed set. (As it turned out, Welles was right: the few minutes Higham spent there resulted in several pages of heavy-breathing prose that bears little resemblance to what was really going on).
The Jacare incident: As Higham himself writes, Richard Wilson obtained depositions from people who were there and saw the accident. I have read them. No shark or octopus is mentioned. I think these eyewitness accounts are somewhat more reliable than even The Times. (Also, I never said “The Lady from Shanghai” didn’t go over budget, but simply that the fault was Rita Hayworth’s illness).
Now, surely it is common knowledge that many artists get no pleasure from seeing their work after they are done with it because they constantly spot things they could improve. (Cezanne was notorious for retouching paintings he’d already sold). This healthy sign of dissatisfaction with past accomplishment has nothing whatever to do with “fear of completion.” Jeanne Moreau didnĺt know that “The Deep” had gone through a lengthy bureaucratic delay involving a certificate of national origin (necessary for any film made abroad) which has only been settled in the past month; again for bureaucratic reasons, the dubbing must now be done in Yugoslavia when Welles returns there. (Plus, as we now Know Jeanne Moreau was a bit upset with Welles for his using Oja Kodar in the picture).
Higham suggests Welles would find it easier to finance himself as a director from his earnings as an actor (why should he have to, anyway?) if he spent less money on high living. Well, ‘the one time Welles and I had dinner at the Bistro (since Higham thinks it’s anyone’s business) the third party, director-producer Roger Corman, then talking a deal with Welles (about playing Al Capone in the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre), picked up the tab. (So that legendary Hollywood cheapskate, Roger Corman would pay for his dinner with Welles, but billionaire Steven Spielberg, wouldnĺtů it just goes to show you who you really should respect in Hollywood). And that ($135. a night) bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel was paid for by producer Bert Schneider (who asked Welles to direct a film for Columbia, One Plus One) so he was similarly motivated. Since Higham spoke neither with Welles, Corman, Schneider nor me, I’d say this was a pretty good example of the thoroughness with which he checks out his gossip.
That Higham’s kind of “facts” and jumbled stories have over the years frightened away many a would-be Welles backer is certainly no “nonsense.” Actually, part of me is sorry for having aired this at all, since it has given Higham a chance to replay his damaging remarks in a much more influential arena. He carries on his crusade to “restore Mr. Welles’s dwindling reputation” in odd ways indeed.
For the record, Welles had been hoping to finance a new movie in Los Angeles and shot only a few photographic tests with his own money. Along with me in the cast (for these tests) was a fellow named Joseph McBrlde, who has just finished the best critical study of Welles ever written it will be published this spring by Indiana-University Press. It is objective, which, Higham points out correctly, my book will not be. Nor, in fact, was it ever so intended. I’m not a cinema scholar. I have always tried simply to share my enthusiasms, to convey them as best I can.
And I certainly agree with Raymond Sokolov that it isn’t the critic’s function to help artists stay in business. But, as I said in the article, it is one thing to express opinions about the work, and quite another to print distortions and factual errors about working habits. That distinction surely doesn’t need further explanation. Nor do I understand why Sokolov should be so defensive about innocently believing what he read in a high-priced book put out by a reputable publisher. A lot of other people will believe that stuff too which, finally, was why I wrote the piece. So they wouldn’t.