Harold and Maude

A suicidal teenager befriends an optimistic old woman who teaches him about the joys of life

Grade: A+ (97/100)

Director: Hal Ashby
Year Released: 1971

After I watched Harold and Maude, my mother asked me if I "loved it". "Absolutely I loved it," I said. She nodded. "Everybody loves Harold and Maude." I understand why she said this because it seems as though everybody who's ever seen this film (excluding some famous film critics) have really adored it. I think of this film really as the epitome of a cult classic because it's weird enough to have gone unappreciated by most prominent critics at the time of its release, but charming enough to be beloved by generations upon generations of weirdos, loners, and people with very dark senses of humor alike.

One thing I love about movies is that there are some you just know you're going to love from the second they start- sort of the effect of the Star Wars logo and "DA DUMMM", or The Godfather logo and the sad theme-music trumpet. They send shivers down your spine and make you ready and full of anticipation for the film. From the first scene of Harold, played by a dower, subtly moving Bud Cort, moving down the stairs of his mansion and hanging himself, I knew this was going to be a movie that stuck with me for a long time. One time I sat next to a little boy on a plane who was reading a book and he told me "Every time I read a book it stays with me like a memory my entire life". That's how I feel about movies as powerful as Harold and Maude- they stay with you like a memory, thick in your skull and your nerves and they don't go away.

I completely understand why people don't like Harold and Maude- it's weird, dark, constantly overstepping boundaries and taking risky moves that make viewers uncomfortable. But it's also really touching and, in its own ways, beautiful; though the lessons are cliché and the Cat Stevens score seems out of place, it's lovely and dark and sad and moving in the brand of suicidal poets like Dickinson and Plath. I will admit that the sexual relationship between the 20-year-old Harold and the 79-year-old Maude disturbed me, but in many ways it's less freaky than Harold's suicide stunts, or even his negligent mother's attitude towards his well-being. We can't decide the ways that love works, or for that matter the ways we can be inspired to change our perceptions and attitudes; Harold and Maude explores that mystery with powerful results.

There are some people who really walk the line between attractive and weird-looking to me, and I felt as though Bud Cort perfectly sums up that conflict in my eyes. I find him attractive not so much in a beautiful way, but more in the way of a moth being drawn to a light- his portrayal of Harold, a seriously troubled young man who elaborately stages what may or may not be real suicides, is fascinating and nuanced with every facet of his struggling emotional state. It's evident that his suicide attempts begin as a method of attention-seeking but have transgressed merely into banal acts of boredom, done in an effort to irritate his mother and scare people away who had any chance of getting close to him. His fascination with death and the morose is melodramatic in a way appropriate to the film, however the bits of fantasy allowed in his suicide attempts blur the black and white divide of reality and imagination- while the viewer understands that several of his attempts are fake (such as cutting off a fake hand and setting a dummy on fire in front of dates), others we cannot be so sure about, particularly the hanging, drowning, wrist slitting, gunshot wound, and, at the very end, driving the car off a cliff. When seeing these gruesome acts, which would surely end a person's life but never seem to end Harold's, it is at the same time the over-the-top emphasis on how far a child will go to seek attention from his parent, and also part of the fantastical charm that makes Harold and Maude such an absurd (but uniquely excellent) film.

Classic contrast between light and dark as a metaphor 

Obviously the histrionic, melodramatic antics of Harold's depressive acts make a sharp distinction from Ruth Gordon's happy-go-lucky Maude, a free-spirited old woman whose friendship with Harold establishes her as cult film's oldest (literally) Manic Pixie Dream Girl. But unlike those lame male protagonists of other MPDG films, Maude does not exist solely for Harold, but rather herself. Her decisions override his always; she is dominant to him and in being so teaches him about the world he is too afraid to explore. She is not an enigma but rather an open anthology of wisdom. And unlike those movies, Harold does not necessarily go at the world with a bright attitude following her death- instead he is resigned to live with her memory, possibly happier, possibly more fulfilled, but definitely more convinced at the cruelty of nature. He is ashamed at himself at the end because he has allowed his guard against the cruel world to be let down just to be hurt. There is not a happy or sad ending, just an ending, and we must accept it in the way Maude accepts her own fate.

Honestly I don't have a whole lot else to say about Harold and Maude except that it really moved me and that I definitely cried watching it, not just because I'm sensitive but also because it's a powerful movie about opening up to somebody and allowing yourself to be loved. That's not always an easy thing to do, especially for people who feel isolated and misunderstood; sometimes it can feel like there is nobody out there to love and identify with. Life is sticky and complicated and works out in ways people may reject or find unnatural or even revolting, like the concept of a young man and an old woman finding love together. But at the end of the day what we learn from Harold and Maude is not just to allow yourself to have an open mind about life's goodness, but to allow ourselves to love, be loved, and let others love in their own ways during the definite span of our short lives.

I watched Harold and Maude on Amazon Prime Video for free, but it can be rented on Amazon Instant Watch for $3.99, or even purchased for like $5 online or, I'm sure, at your local video store.

Rocky

An uneducated, impoverished boxer with a heart of gold gets a shot at the world heavyweight boxing championship

Grade: A (94/100)

Director: John G. Avildsen
Year Released: 1976

There are many characters who exist in the lovable tough guy mold, but none who embody it quite so perfectly (or so lovably) as Sylvester Stallone does in Rocky. It is a movie that is cliché from top to bottom, telling a Horatio Alger-brand story of rags to riches, but it is a feel-good movie that truly and genuinely feels good to experience. Its protagonist is its greatest asset- looking like a swollen Paul McCartney, Stallone gives a truly admirable performance as an American hero, a thirty-something guy from the wrong side of the tracks who achieves an unbelievable personal victory as a result of hard work, endurance, support, and a dash of luck. While inspirational dramas remain one of my least favorite genres, Rocky is an excellent example of everything those films do right- the ability to emotionally invest viewers in the fable-like lives of its characters while showing us the gains that can be accomplished from hard work and personal growth.

Because Rocky is a familiar story it's easy to conceptualize and become invested in it. Rocky Balboa is a secretly-sensitive boxer who loves animals and has a crush on a timid woman who lives in a pet shop; though he is unhealthy, uneducated, and unsuccessful, the viewer immediately falls in love with this gentle giant. As the submissive and very quiet Adrian, Talia Shire is impressively distinguished from her role as Connie Coreleone in The Godfather trilogies (roles in which her main job was to scream and throw dishes), delivering a subtly powerful performance as Rocky's contemporary, a woman who must learn to fight back to achieve independence from her domineering, abusive brother. It's hard to say that Carl Weathers's parody of Muhammad Ali, the theatrical Apollo Creed, is the true villain in Rocky when compared to Burt Young's Paulie, a man who is both sensitive and cruel, passive and dominating, friendly and unkind. We root for Rocky and Adrian to overcome these opponents in and out of the ring- to step out of their comfort zones and achieve greatness.

Rocky is very much a representation of the American Dream, which is why its anti-consumerism and faux-jingoism is so interesting. Apollo Creed, we are told, is a type of American idealism brought to us by materialism and a society built upon wealth and worth. It's hard nowadays, the film suggests, to find the real America lurking under the surface of the red, white, and blue celebration of greatness. Rocky Balboa is the real America according to the film- the real, fighting, blue-collar America whose heart is in the right place, who never backs down from a challenge, who can better himself, who can "go the distance". The heart of America is not in Apollo Creed, for whom boxing is a "performance"- it's in Rocky, who overcomes all the odds to achieve a shot at greatness. The fact that Creed wins the probably thrown match only emphasizes the film's critique of political and societal corruption, the aspect that turns the film from a heartwarming story into an intelligent commentary.

Opposing representations of America meet head to head

Still, there were parts of the film that made me, to be perfectly honest, uncomfortable. Rocky Balboa's character is not an intellectual, but he's a man of principles, a guy who has a pretty strong moral compass for the most part. Yet his interactions with women in the movie are troubling, from the scene in which he lectures a young girl about swearing, warning her that she'll be thought of as a "whore" by the neighborhood boys, to the scene in which he forces Adrian to stay in his apartment and kisses her despite her pleas to leave. Though his intentions are noble (for the first example anyway), Rocky is a guy who has little respect for consent and female autonomy. Though his relationship with Adrian blossoms following their encounter, the force with which he tries to unravel her from her shell is, in today's society, frankly wrong. "I'm uncomfortable being in a man's apartment alone. I don't know you well enough," she says, clearly upset, as he corners her in his room, putting his arms around her. Though his magic kiss works, allowing her to take control of herself and gain confidence, it depicts the dangerous idea that if you force affections upon a woman she will not only change her mind but change her personality, consenting to date you and to become free and fun. It's just not right and it diminished the film in my eyes.

But even despite the several glaring flaws, Rocky is a sweet movie about a kind man who overcomes all the odds to give his best shot at the world championship. It's a movie about personal growth, achievement, and hard work. It's a loud critique of cruelty, prejudice, and consumerism. It's got a legendary score and a whole bunch of famous scenes that have become commonplace in our society, from "I wanna go the distance" to punching the meat bags to, yes, running up the steps of the Philadelphia library and jumping into the air in triumph. During that scene all the viewer can do is feel her heart pound with him, a goofy grin plastered on her face, as she swells with the pride that has carried her through the film. Because ultimately, as we learn in the film's last lines, Rocky isn't a film about winning or losing- it's a film about love.

I rented Rocky on Amazon Video for something like $3.99, shortly before buying it at my local video store for two bucks.

Taxi Driver

A paranoid insomniac turns from potential assassin to vigilante anti-hero in one of the bleakest films ever made

Grade: A (95/100)

Director: Martin Scorsese
Year Released: 1976

There are some movies wherein there is very little hope, both for the characters, the overall environment, and for how the viewer perceives the tone. I can say with very firm certainty that Taxi Driver was probably the bleakest movie I've ever seen that wasn't about the Holocaust. However, this was not an issue. In fact, Martin Scorsese's modern classic about a deeply troubled Vietnam vet stewing in an unhealthy environment was so ingenious in its darkness, so perfect in its ability to suck any hope or aspiration out of the viewer. In this film Scorsese creates a pseudo-environment of the one its protagonist, Travis Bickle, inhabits every day. Travis's paranoia is so well-depicted through Scorsese's excellent direction that the viewer feels the grit, dirt, disgust, fear, queasiness, and gloom that cloud his mind and impair his proper functioning throughout the film.

Like many who have seen it before me, I cannot fully decide how I feel about Travis's character. On the one hand I find him to be very frightening in a ticking time bomb kind of way, much like I interpreted the character of Private Pyle from Full Metal Jacket; he's clearly mentally disturbed and needs some kind of professional help following the failings of the environment around him (including the aftershocks of his time in Vietnam). This side of Travis is always sort of there, from the beginning of the film where he gets his taxi driver's license and declares his record as "clean as [his] conscience"to the last shot of his agitated face in the rearview mirror of his taxicab. But his character is very well-layered, owing to Robert DeNiro's magnificent performance, Martin Scorsese's unparalleled direction, and the creative conceptive work of writer Paul Schrader. I think it's fair in assuming that I am the only 17-year-old who is even mildly delighted at sharing a birthday with Paul Schrader. But that's beside the point.

The other sides of Travis emerge within his relationship with those around him and, most troublingly, himself. Around others, particularly his other taxi-driving friends, he appears to be little more than a quiet loner who has a few low-key emotional problems. Around the woman of his obsession, Betsey (played by a somewhat bad but very pretty Cybil Shepard), he seems to be more reminiscent of a troubled man with very few social skills whose ineptitude to assimilate into proper behavior leaves both Betsey and the viewer very uncomfortable and, indeed, a little worried. While it's not one hundred percent clear that he is not concerned with hurting Betsey, his decision to try to assassinate her hero, presidential candidate Charles Palantine (whom he actually meets by chance in his cab), is both telling of an obsession that leaves him desperate to assert his frustrated power in a violent way and of the enigma of his mental state. It's hard to rationally assess Bickle's motivations as they are all so thoroughly conditioned by his very shaky conscience and mental illness; yet the viewer attempts to make a breakthrough in understanding his character, not only due to the fascination with its many intricacies, but also in an attempt to find the humanity we hope is there. This, surely, is what makes an effective and true anti-hero.

It would be enough to keep the plot centered on Travis's irrational obsessions with the woman who rejected him and the presidential candidate whom she admires, but by adding the plot of Jodie Foster's young runaway-turned-prostitute Travis is forced to go through yet another emotional metamorphosis, from a potentially dangerous attempted assassin to a vigilante hero who sets free a young girl trapped in the sort of filth and scum that disgusts Travis throughout the film. His obsession with a social, environmental, and ethical cleansing is his main motivation and perhaps a side effect of his entrapment in Vietnam, pre-gentrified New York City, poverty, and his own irrational mind. He longs to clean up the brutality and pointless crime around him, but also to cleanse himself of his troubles. This aspect of his personality is both deeply troubling (and creepy) as well as what lends him some sort of credibility as a protagonist- the fact that his violent deeds are motivated by some sort of desire to transform the world into a cleaner place.

You talkin' to him?

An interesting aspect of Taxi Driver was its reminiscence to the works of Dostoevsky, particularly Crime and Punishment. From what I understand Schrader was motivated partially by Notes from the Underground, which just makes a whole lot of sense. In many ways, Taxi Driver can be seen as a modern-day adaption of Crime and Punishment, the story of a paranoid loner who commits a crime to test himself of his own humanity, deeply disgusted and affected by the poverty and filth of his environment. While Travis Bickle can be seen accurately as a vigilante, however, Rodion Raskolnikov's motivations can only be interpreted as that of a vigilante from his own flawed point of view that positions himself as an "extraordinary man"; though to a certain extent quite different, the parallels between these (maybe) villains and their motivations are telling of a great investigation into the human conscience through literature and film.

I really loved Taxi Driver; it disturbed me and thrilled me in equal parts. Unlike other pop culture moments that become iconic to the point of dulling considerably, De Niro's fabulous "you talkin' to me?" scene remained as terrifying and fascinating as I'm sure it was to those seeing it upon its release, if not a little more due to the hype. There is so much brilliance in Taxi Driver, and so much tension, and so much uneasiness. The end of the film presented a conclusion I never would have expected- a potentially pleasant and unrealistic ending to a film you never budgeted a happy ending for. I'm inclined to believe the theory that it's all a near-death fantasy of Travis's after the shootout- the beautiful limbo state in which everything goes right for once and he can be the hero he always wanted to be- but since Schrader has disagreed with this interpretation, I suppose my own viewpoint of the end must be greatly swayed by the final shot of Travis's agitated face in the rearview mirror after smiling. Sure, he has had the rest he needed to recover slightly from the demons that plagued him, but, very much like the end of A Clockwork Orange, he is nowhere near cured.

I rented Taxi Driver for $3.99 on Amazon, but it can also be found, I'm sure, at your local video store.

Raging Bull

The cinematic transformation of a scummy pro-boxer from mildly gross to completely disgusting, told in black and white with an operatic score

Grade: A (94/100)

Director: Martin Scorsese 
Year Released: 1980

Raging Bull is a hard movie to watch, but not for the reasons one might think. While it's certainly not desirable to watch two men get the shit beaten out of them in gory, close-up details (down to the stitches opening up on their faces and blood and pus squirting out like a sprinkler), it's even harder to watch Robert De Niro's character Jake LaMotta abuse his wives, destroy his body, and complete a transformation into the full-potential of scumbag to be possibly achieved by one man. And that's basically the entire movie.

I love Robert De Niro, and as a result I will watch him in any role and appreciate it, from a young, enterprising mafia boss in Little Italy to an ex-CIA agent who shelters his daughter from Ben Stiller's affections. As real-life boxer Jake LaMotta, De Niro is beyond believable and phenomenally disgusting, delivering one of the finest performances I've seen by any actor in the many classic films I've watched for this project. I'm amazed that Jake LaMotta not only allowed this film to be made but also wrote the memoir it was based on; his exploits are so finely displayed in all their awfulness that it's amazing that LaMotta did not just hide himself away from the world forever, much less actually make public what a complete monster he was. De Niro lends humanity to the role of LaMotta, but more than anything he gives a performance that shows the many faceted layers of LaMotta's personality, emphasizing that fighting has had a profound impact on the shaping of his character. He is violent, abusive, impatient, jealous, sensitive, and, overall, deeply unhappy. In Raging Bull, both Scorsese and De Niro have created a portrait of a man who cannot decide what will fulfill him, but continuously fights (both figuratively and literally) to retain some sort of control.

As I've mentioned before, I find the best films to have extras and less-developed characters who are still believably played by great actors. Raging Bull is full of excellent performances, especially from De Niro (obviously- what can he do wrong?) and Joe Pesci, whose turn as LaMotta's brother, a man whose frontal lobe is just developed more than Jake's to be considered the responsible character, is elegantly natural and powerful. To be honest, Cathy Moriarty's performance as Vickie LaMotta is one I can't quite figure out from one viewing. She is clearly no 15-year-old as she is supposed to be, and her age remains somewhat of an enigma throughout the entire film. As De Niro obviously and loudly changes dimensions, she stays more or less the same- quiet, apathetic, absorbing Jake's abuse like he would absorb a punch in the ring, throughout most of the movie. There was no scene in which I thought she really nailed it, which was a slight disappointment to me. However, as an audience member I found 99% of my sympathy going to her, from the moment she accepts a ride from LaMotta in his car while he's still married to his first wife to the scene in which he breaks into her home to steal back his boxing belts.

Raging Bull is a movie about unhealthy relationships, both with others and with oneself. Scorsese has said that the boxing ring is a metaphor for one's life and the struggles that take place within it. For Jake LaMotta, the only way to problem solve is to fight, always physically. A backstory regarding LaMotta's childhood might have been helpful in understanding how he was created- what unhappy occurrences went into shaping his unhealthy behavior- but without one the viewer is given a sort of power to imagine and apply his early struggles to those faced by countless others. We can resonate with Raging Bull because there are so many people around us who are raging bulls- aimless, confused, angry, hurt, and ready to fight, ready to attempt to find control by any means necessary, usually at his or her own expense. Those particularly close to these types of people resonate with the abused- Vickie, Joey LaMotta, the many others who incur Jake's wrath. When their ties to Jake are finally broken the viewer feels relieved and not the least bit sorry for Jake, even when his life really falls down the drain.

The most cringeworthy scene, which is saying something

God, and how Jake LaMotta's life falls down the drain. Once a beautiful specimen, his career failings and the dissolution of his marriage and relationship with his brother, both effects of erroneous jealousy, have punishing effects on his health, and he becomes the kind of obese, cigar-chomping, heavy-drinking washed up celebrity who owns a chain of restaurants in Florida. The worst kind of people- the saddest kind, too. After being arrested for allowing underaged runaways at his club, the viewer watches in disgust as he reaches his lowest point.

Raging Bull is a sad movie in which not a lot of good happens. Purposefully, Scorsese's only color shots in the film are the happy home movies, in which a young Jake and Vickie can be seen splashing around in beautiful 1940s attire with their kids, happily kissing and enjoying some of the only scenes in which they are not actively threatening or hurting each other. Other than this brief detour into happier days, the viewer is left with the black-and-white bleakness, the fighting, the bottled up pain, the injuries, the fall from grace. But though it is a disturbing film, it cannot be appreciated enough for the sheer brilliance of Scorsese's direction, De Niro's dedication to the role, and the harrowing journey into an emotional wasteland that is perfectly chronicled within its 129 minute run-time. If you can take it, I strongly recommend you do. 

I rented Raging Bull on Amazon Prime Video for $3.99. It's also available for purchase, I'm sure, at your local video store. 

Sunset Boulevard

An aging, washed-up starlet of the silent screen takes a young screenwriter hostage in her own delusional world

Grade: A- (93/100)   
                                                        Director: Billy Wilder
                                                        Year Released: 1950

There's self-deprecation, and then there's what Gloria Swanson does to herself in the role of Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. It's no wonder to me that so many other actresses of the silent film age, notably Greta Garbo and Mary Pickford, turned down the role- to say that the character of Norma Desmond is a direct parody of many aged starlets of the silent film era is beyond obvious, as she is most certainly based on actresses such as Garbo, Pickford, Clara Bow, and even Swanson herself. I always love it when people (especially famous people) are able to make fun of themselves in good humor, especially when it means something for others. The parody of Hollywood and its stars encapsulated by Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard is that kind of important self-deprecation.

I think, overall, that Sunset Boulevard is a smart movie. The writing is fantastic and delightfully gossipy, aided greatly by the many celebrity cameos (which can go easily unnoticed by younger viewers- I myself would not have picked out Buster Keaton in Norma's sad group of aging actor friends but luckily noticed his name in the credits and put two and two together). The fact that Sunset Boulevard mingles fantasy with reality is ultimately its most crucial aspect, allowing an effective parody of Hollywood as well as better describing the delusional world of quasi-reality in which Norma lives. At the end of the day, we learn, it does not matter if you are real- it matters if you are relevant. For Norma Desmond, reality is only a roadblock to her dreams of the fountain of youth and success which form the bedrock of her will to live.

William Holden is slightly more than adequate as a struggling screenwriter-turned-boy toy; his performance thrives on his ability to be conflicted as his character so thoroughly demands. He goes through the motions of waving off the expensive gifts and attention that Norma offers him but it's evident- particularly in the scene in which the salesman encourages him to purchase the most expensive coats because he's not paying for them- that he not only enjoys his predicament to a certain extent, but also that he has fallen under Norma's spell.

Gloria Swanson's performance as Norma Desmond is legendary and admired by every dramatic actress and fabulous old woman alive, real or imaginary. Her character clearly lends inspiration to all different types of female stock characters, from the pampered rich girl faced with loss to the bitchy fashion editor à la The Devil Wears Prada to Yzma from The Emperor's New Groove. The role of Norma Desmond is every actress's dream- the ability to play a woman so over the top that she is able to dress glamorously, do ridiculous facial expressions and hand gestures, and speak with a delivery that is both far too much and uncannily appropriate. Swanson revels in Norma's delusions, but also gives humanity to the role, evoking the charm that captured the hearts of her fans, her husbands, and Holden's character, Joe Gillis. It's clear in scenes like the one in which she entertains Joe with a delightful Vaudeville act that she is not only talented but fun, and her charisma eases the melodrama enough for the audience to see her youth glint out like a sequin, just briefly as the sun hits it.

Coincidence? I think not.

Sunset Boulevard really is a movie about many things; aside from its commentary on Hollywood (which is generally, I found, sympathetic in its satire) and the effects of waning fame, so much of the film is a commentary on denial, loneliness, inner demons, and the effects of money and power. Joe Gillis is ever the optimist about the benefits of success, but his encounter with Norma (which, as we know, does not end well for him) leaves him disillusioned with the effects of money and power. The juxtaposition of Joe's relationships with the aging but very well-known Norma and the young and unknown Betty elaborates on the cliché conclusion that fame is not everything.


Norma's fall from grace starts long before she          meets Joe Gillis, but his presence in her life kickstarts a free-fall that results in the complete annihilation of any sort of remaining sanity left. It's tragic but inevitable; the film leads to its climactic conclusion, as melodramatic and tragic as Norma herself, with the viewer reveling in dramatic irony. We know that Joe Gillis will wind up dead in Norma's swimming pool; by the end of the film we know that it was the result of getting in, so to speak, over his head. From beginning to end, Sunset Boulevard retains its strength as a smart, dryly funny and yet tragic film that has irrigated pop cultural references since its release 66 years ago.

I watched Sunset Boulevard on Netflix. It's also available on Amazon Video and, I'm sure, at your local video store. 

Citizen Kane

Often considered the greatest film ever made, the rags-to-riches tale of a wildly famous, controversial newspaper tycoon and the hunt to find his buried sensitivity

Grade: A (95/100)

Director: Orson Welles
Year Released: 1941

I imagine that having seen Citizen Kane for a cinephile is like having had your first period for middle school girls. People say they have- often lying. Only the ones who really have get it. Some people are confused by it- mostly outsiders who wonder how it could possibly be so important and life-changing. I'm proud to announce that, unlike I did in middle school about periods, I am not lying when I say that I have, indeed, seen Citizen Kane and can now hereby attest to its greatness as a film. While I can't really explain why it was so groundbreaking and influential (I say this with the general understanding that its production and filmmaking style transformed the industry), I can say that Citizen Kane has a lot going for it, and remains today, 75 years after its release, as legendary as a first period- not to mention funny, thought-provoking, and generally entertaining.

My first exposure to Citizen Kane was in The Simpsons parody (obviously, as The Simpsons is what taught me about all the cultural landmarks that I am now exploring as a teenager and not just blindly referencing), in which Mr. Burns loses his beloved Bobo, a little stuffed bear. For most of the movie I was, like the investigators, trying to figure out what the hell Rosebud was, erroneously convinced that I'd missed young Charles Foster Kane drop a bear in the snow like Montgomery Burns did. After I finally gave up the stuffed animal idea, I knew it was the sled, and that really bummed me out, not just because a sled is significantly less cool of a toy than a bear, but because I can understand why someone would stay attached to a stuffed animal, whereas a sled is so hard and cold. But isn't that just fitting for a character whose sympathetic impairment fuels most of the film. Orson Welles's spectacular performance as the newspaper mogul, a conceited, haughty man whose general incapacity for sentience juxtaposes beautifully with his obsession with his lost innocence, has clearly inspired generations of actors playing similar roles. Something about his performance inspired me to think of Leonardo DiCaprio's frequent ambitious turns as characters meant to evoke Charles Foster Kane, constipated imitations that seem embarrassing when compared to the real thing. Welles originates the role and owns it to this day.

Mr. Burns and Bobo, a much cooler beloved possession than a sled

I liked so much about Citizen Kane, which greatly relieved me. How stupid would I feel if I didn't wholly enjoy what is undisputedly considered the greatest film ever made? Still, I wonder how people came to recognize its significance at that level. When did Welles's spectacular tale, a spinoff of history and a thoughtful portrait of humanity, gain that impossibly prestigious title? I believe the only justifiable reason for my curiosity in this matter is my personal situation as someone who was born in 1998 which, even to me, seems like not that long ago. People of my generation who find themselves screening Citizen Kane will, no doubt, take much of its brilliance for granted. I'm sure I did, even if I didn't want to. How would I, as a person who sees ceilings in movies and television constantly, understand the significance of Welles's revealing the ceilings in certain shots? How would I pick out the use of deep focus and incredible depth of field as a person who probably sees these techniques imitated constantly but am none the wise about it? In a way I feel cheated out of the amazement of being able to see a film like Citizen Kane at the time of its release, to understand the groundbreaking cinematic techniques that had never been precedented and would forever change the industry. The closest I've ever gotten to that privilege is when Spy Kids 4 was released to theaters in 4D, which I learned too late was just 3D with a scratch-and-sniff paper attached to the glasses. 

Apparently the most famous shot from Citizen Kane

Still, watching Citizen Kane in the year 2016 as a 17-year-old girl was a privilege akin to eating some sort of really good gourmet food that's always been an enigma. It's what I imagine trying something like caviar or quail meat would be like. All the usual suspects are there- it's tasty, you can see why rich and smart people love it, it's a more sophisticated flavor of something cheap stuff tries to imitate, but it's got a unique something-something that is really pleasant. I say this having never tasted caviar or quail meat. I'll cut the analogies now. I really loved Citizen Kane, wincing at the dramatic irony, appreciating the cinematic effects that combined film noir with satire and documentary. In a way, actually, I see Citizen Kane as the original mockumentary, a story within a story within several other stories about a famous man whose one tie to humanity seems severed forever by the very people who desperately searched for it. I marvel at the idea of a group of reporters trying to uncover a newspaper tycoon's deepest secret, using skills he taught them to exploit him after his death while also allowing them to question whether or not he was really human- whether he was Charles Foster Kane, a media mogul and citizen of a society he helped build, or a person who felt and experienced loss and joy. How deliciously ironic that a man whose entire existence was built upon publicity was an enigma with a secret life suspended in time. 

What's more, to me, is how simple and yet complex Citizen Kane is as a film and as an idea. It's taken me several weeks since first seeing it to be able to piece together my interpretation of the film, and I'm sure it will evolve the more I watch it. But I will say now that I understand, in my own little way, its significance to an industry that I'm trying to pick apart, movie by movie, until I find the core of inspiration and the real stories- all to see, not if they're true, but how they've mattered. 

I rented Citizen Kane on Amazon for $3.99, but it's also available for purchase on iTunes and, I'm sure, at your local video store.