I have always been a thoroughly hypnotized admirer of your pictures

After living in Barcelona for five years, recently we (my sister and I) moved to Valencia, Spain's third largest city, which is located about 300 km south of Barcelona. During the years we've lived in Barcelona, we were lucky enough to see about 200 classic (predominantly Hollywood) films on the big screen at the wonderful film theatre Filmoteca. Fortunately Valencia also has a Filmoteca, where currently a small retrospective is dedicated to Orson Welles. As part of the Welles programme we've watched The Lady from Shanghai (1947) and Touch of Evil (1958), the latter film for the first time, and still to come are new-to-me films The Third Man (1949) and The Trial (1962). (Unfortunately I've missed Citizen Kane (1941), which I would have liked to rewatch on the big screen.)

Welles in The Third Man (left) and in Touch of Evil with Charlton Heston

While I enjoyed the Welles films I've seen (I especially love the visual aspects), I am not a Welles fan. Someone who was —and a big one at that— was Peter Bogdanovich, director of such classics as The Last Picture Show (1971), What's Up, Doc? (1972) and Paper Moon (1973). 

The letter for this post was written by Bogdanovich to Welles in January 1962, several years before the two men would actually meet. Bogdanovich, then 22 years old, wrote Welles in connection with a monograph he had written about Welles' work. The previous year, the aspiring film director had been commissioned by the Museum of Modern Art in New York to organise a retrospective on Welles —the first one ever in the USA— and to also write the accompanying monograph. As Welles himself could not attend the event since he was living and working in Europe, a copy of the 16-page monograph (entitled The Cinema of Orson Welles) was sent to him and he reportedly liked it. Nevertheless, Bogdanovich never got an answer to his letter and didn't hear from Welles until 1968, when Welles suddenly phoned him and asked if they could finally meet. The two men immediately hit it off —they eventually became friends— and not before long started having in-depth conversations about Welles' work, which they decided to tape and assemble in a book. The book, This is Orson Welles, was not published until 1992, seven years after Welles' death.  

Source: Heritage Auctions. Don Quixote, mentioned in the letter, was one of Welles' unfinished film projects and eventually released in 1992.

(from left to right) John Huston, Orson Welles and Peter Bogdanovich during the making of The Other Side of the Wind, which Welles had begun shooting in 1970. The film was another unfinished Welles project. After Welles' death in 1985, shooting was completed and several attempts were made to reconstruct the film. Eventually in 2018, The Other Side of the Wind was released under supervision of Bogdanovich and producer Frank Marshall.

You must be told how shamelessly little I have to offer

Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten met in 1934, became good friends and ultimately worked together on a number of films, including Citizen Kane (1941), The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) and The Third Man (1949). In the summer of 1966, Welles was casting his forthcoming film The Immortal Story (1968) and, eager to work with Cotten again, asked his friend to participate. (Renowned French actress Jeanne Moreau, who had worked with Welles on The Trial (1962) and Chimes at Midnight (1965), had already agreed to star in the film.) 

Apparently Cotten wasn't very enthusiastic after reading the script, after which Welles tried to persuade him through a letter (seen below), even though he had very little to offer his friend ("If you should be tempted to comfort me by agreeing to this, you should realize that you’d be trapping yourself into ten day’s hard work for almost no money"). Cotten eventually declined and accepted a part in Norman Foster's Brighty of the Grand Canyon (1966). Welles had presumably wanted Cotten to play the role of head clerk Elishama Levinsky, a role that eventually went to Roger Coggio. In the end, Welles and Cotten never worked together again.

The Immortal Story, which runs just under an hour, is based on a short story by Karen Blixen and was first broadcast on French television, followed by a theatrical release in France and the US. It is the only colour film Welles ever made. Welles disliked colour cinematography, but he received financing for his project from the Organisation Radio-Télévision Française and part of the deal was that he would shoot the film in colour. (The colour cinematography by Belgian cinematographer Willy Kurant is, I think, one of the film's biggest assets, along with the captivating presence of Jeanne Moreau and Welles' clever use of Erik Satie's beautiful piano pieces.)

Source: Heritage Auctions

Above: Roger Coggio in the role of head clerk Elishama Levinsky (a role initially meant for Joseph Cotten), with Jeanne Moreau in the background; Welles himself played Levinsky's master, the rich merchant Mr. Clay. Below: Welles and Moreau on the set of The Immortal Story.

We have got to get away from "arty" pictures

The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) is often considered Orson Welles' second masterpiece, even if it's not the film Welles had envisioned. Welles' original film, 131 minutes long, was cut down to 88 minutes by RKO editor Robert Wise, with the original ending (Welles' favourite scene) changed and reshot. Welles was devastated and later said: "They destroyed Ambersons, and it destroyed me". (Welles was working on another project in Brazil when in his absence his film was "butchered".)

The decision to drastically change Welles' film was made by RKO after a disastrous preview screening in Pomona, California, on 17 March 1942. The Pomona audience consisted mostly of teenagers who had just seen the light-hearted musical The Fleet's In, starring Dorothy Lamour and William Holden. When served with Welles' long and somber Ambersons, the youngsters became restless, laughed in all the wrong places and turned in mostly negative comment cards after the show. During a second test screening in Pasadena a few days later, reactions were more positive, but RKO had already decided that something should be done about Welles' film.

Above: Orson Welles on the set of The Magnificent Ambersons with cinematographer Stanley Cortez. Below: Welles pictured with RKO president George Schaefer and Dolores del Rio (with whom Welles had a relationship for four years) at the premiere of Citizen Kane (1941), Welles' first masterpiece.

George Schaefer, president of RKO pictures, was in the audience at both the Pomona and Pasadena test screenings. In a letter to Orson Welles written on 21 March 1942 (as seen below), Schaefer informed Welles about the negative reactions from the audience and how he had "suffered" at the Pomona preview. Worried about his $1 million investment, Schaefer told Welles that something really had to be done ("Orson Welles has got to do something commercial. We have got to get away from "arty" pictures and get back to earth").

Apart from Schaefer's letter, also shown below are excerpts from a letter by Joseph Cotten to Orson Welles, written on 28 March 1942. In the letter, Cotten (a close friend of Welles and a leading character in The Magnificent Ambersons) not only talked about the disastrous test screening but also shared his own criticism on the film ("The emotional impact in the script seems to have lost itself somewhere in the cold visual beauty before us and at the end there is definitely a feeling of dissatisfaction"). Eventually, the "butchering" of Ambersons caused a rift in Cotten's friendship with Welles, but the two men later reconciled and also made more films together (including Carol Reed's The Third Man (1949)).

March 21, 1942        

PERSONAL-CONFIDENTIAL 

Dear Orson: 

I did not want to cable you with respect to THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS as indicated in your cable of the 18th, only because I wanted to write you under confidential cover. 

Of course, when you ask me for my reaction, I know you want it straight, and though it is difficult to write you this way, you should hear from me. 

Never in all my experience in the industry have I taken so much punishment or suffered as I did at the Pomona preview. In my 28 years in the business, I have never been present in a theater where the audience acted in such a manner. They laughed at the wrong places, talked at the picture, kidded it, and did everything that you can possibly imagine. 

I don't have to tell you how I suffered, especially in the realization that we have over $1,000,000. tied up. It was just like getting one sock in the jaw after another for over two hours. 

The picture was too slow, heavy, and topped off with somber music, never did register. It all started off well, but just went to pieces. 

I am sending you copies of all the preview cards received to date. They speak for themselves and do not tell the whole story because only a small percentage of people make out cards. I queried many of those present and they all seemed to feel that the party who made the picture was trying to be "arty," was out for camera angles, lights and shadows, and as a matter of fact, one remarked that "the man who made that picture was camera crazy." Mind you, these are not my opinions—I am giving them to you just as I received them. 

The punishment was not sufficient, and as I believed in the picture more than the people did, I hiked myself to Pasadena again last night, feeling sure that we would get a better reaction. We did, but not, of course, in its entirety. There were many spots where we got the same reaction as we did in Pomona. I think cutting will help considerably, but there is no doubt in my mind but that the people at Pasadena also thought it was slow and heavy. The somber musical score does not help. 

While, of course, the reaction at Pasadena was better than Pomona, we still have a problem. In Pomona we played to the younger element. It is the younger element who contribute the biggest part of the revenue. If you cannot satisfy that group, you just cannot bail yourself out with a $1,000,000. investment—all of which, Orson, is very disturbing to say the least. 

In all our initial discussions, you stressed low costs, making pictures at $300,000. to $500,000.  We will not make a dollar on CITIZEN KANE and present indications are that we will not break even. The final results on AMBERSONS is still to be told, but it looks "red." 

All of which reminds me of only one thing—that we must have a "heart to heart" talk. Orson Welles has got to do something commercial. We have got to get away from "arty" pictures and get back to earth. Educating the people is expensive, and your next picture must be made for the box-office. 

God knows you have all the talent and the ability for writing, producing directing—everything in CITIZEN KANE and AMBERSONS confirms that. We should apply all that talent and effort in the right direction and make a picture on which "we can get well." 

That's the story, Orson, and I feel very miserable to have to write you this. 

My very best as always, 

George Schaefer

Source: Wellesnet

March 28, 1942 

Dear Orson: 

In cases such as this great difference of opinion in the editing and cutting of AMBERSONS, people usually say "nothing personal, of course" as an excuse to say whatever they think. In my case, I have no business interest in AMBERSONS, Mercury or you; but a great personal feeling about all three, especially you, and whatever I say I know you will take in a personal way, and I want you to. 

I have often been wrong in discussing scripts and plots with you, and I agree that I'm wanting in intellectual concept and understanding of art. I do, however, have a reliable instinct, and as often as I have been wrong about actual ideas, I have been right about audience reactions. I also know by now just about what your reaction to audiences is, and I am writing this to you because I know you would have been far from happy with the feeling in the theater during the showing last week. The moment the temporary title was flashed on the screen THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, a Mercury production by Orson Welles, there was a wonderful murmur of happy anticipation, which was warming and delightful to hear and feel.  And the first sound of your voice was greeted with applause. Certainly I was fair in assuming at this point that the audience was with us. Then something happened…  it happened gradually and awfully and the feeling in that theater became disinterested, almost hostile and as cold as that ice-house they had just seen and my heart as heavy as the heart of Major Amberson who was playing wonderful scenes that nobody cared about. 

You have written doubtless the most faithful adaptation any book has ever had, and when I had finished reading it I had the same feeling I had when I read the book.  When you read it, I had that same reaction only stronger. The picture on the screen seems to mean something else. It is filled with some deep though vague psychological significance that I think you never meant it to have. Dramatically, it is like a play full of wonderful, strong second acts all coming down on the same curtain line, all proving the same tragic point.  Then suddenly someone appears on the apron and says the play is over without there having been enacted a concluding third act.  ...It is a dark sort of movie, more Chekhov than Tarkington... The emotional impact in the script seems to have lost itself somewhere in the cold visual beauty before us and at the end there is definitely a feeling of dissatisfaction… chiefly, I believe, because we have seen something that should have been no less than great. And it can be great, I'm sure of that. It's all there, in my opinion, with some transpositions, revisions and some points made clearer… points relating to human relations, I mean. 

…Our cables that fly back and forth, I know, present everything in a very unsatisfactory manner.  They often must be misinterpreted at both ends. Jack [Moss, Welles' associate at Mercury Productions], I know, is doing all he can.  He is trying his best to get Bob Wise to you.  His opinions about the cuts, right or wrong, I know are the results of sincere, thoughtful, harassed days, nights, Sundays, holidays. Nobody in the Mercury is trying in any way to take advantage of your absence.  Nobody anywhere thinks you haven't made a wonderful, beautiful, inspiring picture. Everybody in the Mercury is on your side always. I miss you horribly and will be a happier soul when you return. 

We all love you… and until then remain forever, as all of us do, 

Obediently yours, 

Jo

Source: Wellesnet

Above: Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten having a laugh. Below: Robert Wise (second from left) with Welles and others on the set of The Magnificent Ambersons. Wise had also been editor on Welles' Citizen Kane a year earlier and would later direct such classics as West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965).

I wish I may go broke wiring you

In January 1938, Vincent Price was asked by Orson Welles to join the Mercury Theatre, an independent theatre company founded by Welles and producer John Houseman. Price was thrilled to join Welles and signed a contract for five plays. At first, Price and Welles worked well together and also seemed to have a lot in common. They were both in their twenties, ambitious, had Midwestern origins, were both art lovers, and their fathers were even old college friends who once did magic shows together. But after a while, Price grew dissatisfied with Welles and his undisciplined and erratic behaviour. (Welles didn't show up for rehearsals, or he decided not to do a show at all and then not bother to tell the actors.)

In the summer of 1938, Price left the company and soon made his film debut in the screwball comedy Service de Luxe. He would never work with Welles again and later said of him: "I'm sorry I never got to know Orson Welles better, but he became a legend before his time. He could have been one of the greatest theatrical and cinema directors, but he had to act. Whether he acted or directed, a play was his show and finally, for that reason and for the fact that he ignored contracts and gave no one else any credit, the Mercury fell apart." [source]

During his days with the Mercury Theatre, Price did two plays for Welles, i.e. Thomas Dekker's The Shoemaker's Holiday and George Bernhard Shaw's Heartbreak House. The Shoemaker's Holiday was quite successful and ran for 69 performances with Price in a critically acclaimed role; Heartbreak House received good reviews too and ran for six weeks. 

Below you'll find a few telegrams Welles sent to Price in connection with the plays. With the first telegram dated 19 November 1937, Welles and his associate John "Jack" Houseman were trying to persuade Price to accept the role of Master Hammon in their upcoming play The Shoemaker's Holiday (at the time Price was still playing in The Lady Has a Heart on Broadway). The second telegram is undated and was sent to Price on the opening night of one of the two plays (I'm not sure which). And the last telegram is a short personal message from Welles to Price sent on 29 April 1938, just before the opening of their second play Heartbreak House.

Transcript:

Vincent Price

Longacre Theatre

Have you conferred with that scabrous management of yours stop

We think you are crazy if you don't play Hammon and so do you

Orson and Jack Mercury.

Scabrous. 

Transcript:

Vincent Price

Mercury Thea[tre]

I wish I could wire as well as you

I wish I could wire you firmly and fully all the things I mean and can't say

And I wish I may go broke wiring you on Mercury openings

Orson.

Transcript:

Vincent Price

Mercury Theatre

Please believe everything I told you last night and thank you

All my love

Orson.

Images of the telegrams courtesy of Heritage Auctions.

The picture is almost impossible to understand

Today would have been the 100th birthday of director/actor/writer/producer Orson Welles. Although I am not a Welles fan, there is no denying that he was a unique filmmaker. Difficult to work with and considered an 'enfant terrible' in Hollywood, Welles changed cinema with his revolutionary camera-, sound- and storytelling techniques. His Citizen Kane (1941) is still considered one of the best films ever made and also subsequent films like The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) and Touch of Evil (1958) are generally regarded as masterpieces. 

In 1947, Welles fled Hollywood and moved to Italy where two years later he would start filming Othello, an adaptation of Shakespeare's tragedy. It would prove to be a difficult project. Although shooting began in 1949, the film would not be released until three years later. The bankruptcy of the film's original Italian investor forced Welles to use his own money, taking on acting jobs (like The Third Man (1949)) to raise cash and thus pausing production for long periods of time. But eventually, Othello was released in Europe in 1952 to much acclaim, even winning the prestigious Palm d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival. 

Releasing the film in the US, however, was a different matter. Welles couldn't find a distributor, and then when it was finally released through United Artists in 1955 the film was hardly a success (even though the European version had been changed to suit the American market --changes which included the addition of a narration by Welles). Today, there is more appreciation for Othello, especially after a 'restored' version of the American cut was released in 1992.

The letter for this post was written by Twentieth Century-Fox executive Darryl F. Zanuck to Orson Welles in October 1952. With the successful release of Othello in Europe in May 1952, Welles was now seeking an American studio to release his film and had possibly approached Zanuck for that purpose. But Zanuck felt Othello was not yet ready for the American market, giving Welles some harsh criticism as well as recommendations on how to improve his film (as mentioned above, United Artists would release it in 1955). Apart from Zanuck's letter, also shown is a telegram from Welles giving his reaction to Zanuck's suggestions.

Transcript:

October 13, 1952

Dear Orson:

Yesterday I saw OTHELLO. First I am going to tell you the good things about it and then I am going to tell you the things I think are completely wrong.

The photography is absolutely superb.

The locations and settings are fabulous.

Your individual performance is brilliant.

With the exception of the scenes in which you personally appear and a few other "intimate scenes" the picture is almost impossible to understand. Frankly most of the time they could have been speaking Roumanian and it would have been just as clear. It is more than a case of poor dubbing or poor rerecording--it is literally impossible to even comprehend what most of the performers are trying to say.

Desdemona is second-rate, but at least you can understand her. What I cannot comprehend is why it is impossible to understand some of the other actors like Bob Cootes.

Here you have a pictorial masterpiece, but without printed titles or narration it hasn't got a chance in the United States, in my opinion---even in the art houses.

Nothing grieves me more than to give you the above opinion, which is shared by Al Lichtman and others in our releasing organization. I hope we are wrong one hundred percent, but I had two of your biggest "fans" with me, namely Virginia and Susan, when I screened it, and after the first ten minutes they too were "lost" in the bedlam of dialogue.

You know that I have great affection for you and I have great respect and admiration for your talent and ability. For the United States you can save this picture only if you will pursue a drastic course. The course is as follows.

Take all of the dialogue out of the entire picture with the exception of the intimate, personal and dramatic passages --and tell the story with narration. Hold down all of the other dialogue to a minimum so that the narration drowns it out and then only let the "live action and dialogue" come to the surface in the really dramatic scenes.

I would not change the pictorial flow or content of the film except that I would shorten it by eliminating entirely all of the extraneous or inaudible dialogue scenes concerning other than the two or three principal actors. I would treat it exactly as if the picture had been produced in a foreign language.

I would start out under the opening scenes by explaining the basic story of OTHELLO. I would start with the date, the period and the historical situation.

Darryl F. Zanuck

Your version goes on the assumption that the public is intimately familiar with the story of OTHELLO. This is not so. You must explain the story to them and the background of the basic situation. You have one of the greatest musical scores I have ever heard in any picture and thus with music and narration you can tell your story and let it come "alive" only when the key scenes are on. The critics will laud you for this technique, but what is more important the public will then have a chance to understand and appreciate the story.

Right now the story in the present version is incomprehensible. To enjoy something an audience must understand what the hell it is all about. You could write the narration for this picture in one week. It would be a new and revolutionary technique --and in my sincere opinion it is the only conceivable chance you have of running up an American gross.

In narration you could tell about the War --the hatred for the Moor-- the background and historical basis of the conflict.

After all when you release it in Europe you are doing the same thing when you use printed titles to accomplish the same purpose. 

I want to see you come out a winner in this and I imagine the American market is important to you. I think you should carefully weigh the possibilities of this suggestion. When I last read OTHELLO it was in high school. I remembered only a few high lights and the basic idea. Thus when I saw the picture I found myself not only straining to understand what the hell was being said but I was also trying to remember the play and put it together in my mind with what was transpiring on the screen.

The above is savage criticism but if you follow this recommendation the final result may very well be far from hopeless. You must not give up on it now. You have spent too much and gone too far, and you must go still further. There are many wonderful things in the picture and your last scene is magnificent, but with fifty or sixty per cent of the inaudible babble eliminated and replaced with narration and your wonderful music, this definitely has a chance.

Best always,

(signed 'Daryl')

Mr. Orson Welles

c/o J. Dyball

Albergo Internationals

Rome, Italy

Transcript:

DARRYL ZANUCK

20TH CENTURY FOX BEVERLEY HILLS CALIFORNIA

DEAR DARRYL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LETTER

GIVING CONTENTS CAREFULLEST THOUGHT

FONDEST REGARDS =ORSON

Images Zanuck's letter and Welles' telegram courtesy of Heritage Auctions

We are tremendously eager to see you

In the early 1950s, producer David O. Selznick became fascinated by the Italian neo-realist films, especially those of Vittorio De Sica. Ready for a new challenge after a few critical flops, Selznick commissioned De Sica to make a film starring Jennifer Jones, Selznick's wife. The film was Terminal Station -- about a love affair between a married American woman (Jennifer Jones) and an Italian man (Montgomery Clift) -- and was to be shot entirely on location in the central railway station of Rome. However, once shooting had started, Selznick and De Sica proved to be a very poor match. The two men were in constant disagreement with each other, and Selznick spent nights in the lounge of the train station rewriting scenes and writing elaborate memos to De Sica. But De Sica was undeterred by Selznick's meddling and continued to direct the film in his own way.

Jennifer Jones in "Terminal Station" (1953)

Apart from De Sica, Selznick also had to deal with his wife who was then emotionally fragile. Jones was still distraught over the untimely death of her first husband Robert Walker a year earlier, and she really missed her two sons (by Walker) who were at school in Switzerland; furthermore, she was reportedly smitten with co-star Montgomery Clift. Emotionally distressed and with shooting running late into the night, Jones was exhausted and tried to catch up on her sleep during the daytime. Thus, when Orson Welles, who had lived in Italy since 1947, wrote to the couple wondering if they could meet, Selznick replied with the following letter.

Source: heritage auctions/ image reproduced with permission

Transcript:

Grand Hotel, Rome

November 4, 1952

Dear Orson:

Jennifer and I were terribly pleased to hear from you. Except for the time on the set, she is either sleeping or trying desperately to get to sleep, and thus she has asked me to reply to your sweet note.

We are both tremendously eager to see you. The difficulty is that de Sica works all night, every night- for the entire film is being made in the station, which of course can be used only at night. This means that Sunday is a sleep day, after working all night Saturday, and that the only thing that closely approaches a day off is Monday, when Jennifer must also get some sleep in order to be prepared for an all-night session on Monday. However, if you're ever free on Monday, we would certainly love to come out, or meet you in town, as you wish.

Additionally, I would like enormously to have dinner with you any night you are free and can give me just a little prior notice. 

Do please call me at your convenience. I am almost always at the hotel in the late afternoons, and invariably between 3:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m.

With affectionate regards from us both,

Sincerely,

David (signed)

Note: 

Terminal Station was released in 1953 in Italy under the title Stazione Termini. The original version ran 89 minutes but Selznick was less than pleased with the result. Back in the U.S., he re-edited De Sica's film (without De Sica's permission), cut it down to 64 minutes while also adding close-ups. Retitled Indiscretion of an American Wife, the film was released in the U.S. in May 1954. Montgomery Clift hated Selznick's slick Hollywood version and called it a "big fat failure". If you're interested, a comparison of the two different versions can be seen in this fascinating 5-minute clip. And to see both versions in full, they have been released together on DVD by The Criterion Collection. 

Orson Welles worked together with David Selznick on two films: "Duel in the Sun" (1946) -as narrator-, and "The Third Man" (1949). Welles hated Hollywood and went to Italy in 1947 where he lived for the next six years.

David Selznick and Jennifer Jones were married from 1949 until Selznick's death in 1965. They had one daughter Mary Jennifer (she committed suicide in 1976 after which her mother set up a foundation for mental health & education).

Perhaps it wasn't as disastrous as I'd feared

In March 1942, Orson Welles' The Magnificent Ambersons received both positive and negative reactions from preview audiences. Focusing on the negative reactions (which said the film was too long and too depressing), RKO decided that the film needed serious editing and eventually cut it down from 131 to 88 minutes. The man in charge of post-production was film editor Robert Wise, who became later known as the director of West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965). While Wise was busy editing The Magnificent Ambersons, Orson Welles was in Brazil working on a propaganda film as part of the war effort. In Welles' absence and under Wise's supervision, approximately 40 minutes were cut from the original version and -in order to prevent a possible reconstruction- the deleted footage was destroyed. Outraged by the butchering of his film, Welles later said: "They destroyed 'Ambersons' and 'it' destroyed me."

English theatre critic and writer Kenneth Tynan was a great admirer of Orson Welles. In 1943, when Tynan was only 16 years old, he wrote Welles a letter in which he commented on The Magnificent Ambersons. Delighted with the boy's positive remarks on his film, Welles answered Tynan's letter on 29 April 1943. Welles' letter can be read below.

Left photo: Orson Welles and Anne Baxter on the set of "The Magnificent Ambersons"; right: Kenneth Tynan.

Via: mike in mono

Transcript:

April 29, 1943

Mr. Kenneth P. Tynan

229, Portland Road 

Edgbaston

Birmingham, 17

England

Dear Mr. Tynan:

It is difficult for me to tell you how mightily cheered and heartened I was by your kind letter. What you said about "The Magnificent Ambersons" particularly made me happy. While I was away in South America, the studio cut it without my knowledge or consent, and released it before I could work on it. The picture suffered from all this meddling, but your letter makes me feel the result perhaps wasn't as disastrous as I'd feared.

Again, many thanks, and all good wishes.

Sincerely,

(signed)

Orson Welles

Orson Welles' nose obsession

Orson Welles was very self-conscious about his nose. He thought his nose was too small and once said that it "had not grown one millimetre since infancy". Therefore in most of his films Welles put on false noses. For his role as attorney Clarence Darrow in Compulsion (1959), Richard Fleischer's version of the famous Leopold & Loeb murder case, Welles also wore a fake nose.

Left photo: Maurice Seiderman working on Welles' nose for "Citizen Kane"; right photo: Orson Welles and his new nose in "Compulsion".

The following letter was written by Orson Welles to his make-up artist Maurice Seiderman regarding a new nose for his role in Compulsion. Welles told Seiderman to have "three weeks worth of noses" ready for him upon his arrival back in Hollywood. Welles, who was living in Italy at the time for tax reasons, could only spend a limited amount of time in the U.S. and was clearly in a hurry to get the nose job done. Incidentally, Maurice Seiderman was not hired to do Compulsion, the film's make-up artist was Ben Nye.

Via: stargayzing

Transcript: 

Dearest Maury,

I expect to be back in Hollywood about the first of October to do a job for Twentieth: the Darrow part in "Compulsion". I'll need a nose-- the enclosed sketches indicate the general idea. There'll be no time for make-up tests-- I'll be arriving (for tax purposes) the day before actual shooting starts, so you'll have to be ready with three weeks worth of noses all baked and perfect. Dont talk to Twentieth about this-- I'll handle it myself. Either you'll be put on the picture (if you're free) or paid for your work. My part lasts about three weeks. 

If you cant do this please wire at once.

love Orson (signed)

care "Mori" Largo Bradano 4 Roma Italy