Feature

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? - Chimes at Midnight (1965)

Daniel

25th March 2011

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? is our weekly feature that shines a spotlight on lesser-known films and discusses their many merits - it's like the transcript of a DVD commentary that we'll never get to hear because all the original filmmakers are long dead.

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? is brought to you by Daniel Palmer, of Part-Time Infidel web fame. He's the only man my mum would leave my dad for.

Nightmare AlleyChimes at Midnight (1965)

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The standard story of Orson Welles' life is that of a humbled enfant terrible, a brash wunderkind reduced to the status of jobbing actor in order to finance his projects, which were either filmed piecemeal or abandoned altogether. But this version fails to take into account the breadth and quality of the work he managed to make outside of the studio system in spite of his impecunious state, putting his own unique seal on everything from documentary to his interpretations of The Bard.

Chimes at Midnight is an adaptation of Welles' own play Five Kings, which takes scenes and characters from Parts 1 and 2 of Henry IV, Richard II, Henry V and The Merry Wives of Windsor - only Welles would have the audacity to modify Shakespeare's writings to his own liking! Welles plays Sir John Falstaff, the dissolute companion of Prince Hal (Keith Baxter). Much to the displeasure of Henry IV (John Gielgud), Falstaff and Hal carouse in the ‘bawdy house' of Mistress Quickly (Margaret Rutherford), the former knowing that the latter will abandon him when he ascends the throne.

There is a special quality to all of Welles' later work, a magic only he seemed capable of creating on the sparsest of resources. As with his equally low-budget adaptation of Othello (1952), Welles used minimal settings, natural light and overdubbed sound, providing many of the voices for the supporting roles when he couldn't afford to call the actor back. Welles had no truck with the standard set up of a scene, eschewing master shots in favour of extreme angles, canted frames, tracks and close-ups that serve to underscore the music of the language. The battle scene is a master class in working with a dearth of extras, aided in no small part by Fritz Muller's bravura editing.

Orson Welles' Santa always scared the kids at Christmas.


Much more so than Charles Foster Kane, Falstaff is the role Welles was born to play. He captured the wounded pride and roguish charm of the lazy, profligate, sybaritic coward, conveying the absurdity and tragedy of the character with uncommon honesty and focus. Falstaff's story resonated with Welles at this stage in his career because it so paralleled his own - Falstaff is the essence of excess, the king of his lowly court, marginalized but unbowed.

Such was the respect for Welles amongst his peers that he was able to amass a formidable cast willing to take a pay cut for the opportunity to work with him. Rutherford - the definitive Miss Marple - has the perfect physiognomy for the role of the disreputable proprietress, while Gielgud's sonorous timbre and stately bearing exude gravitas.

Shakespeare so often feels stilted when transferred to the screen because the camera is there merely to capture the performances, betraying the theatrical roots of the piece. Welles transformed the material into a truly cinematic experience, shooting in such a way as to invest every scene with renewed scope and drama. Chimes at Midnight is a wonderful example of artistry and vision overcoming the vicissitudes of budget and schedule.
Bet you never thought you'd read the word ‘vicissitudes' on this site, did you? It's ok - don't be afraid of change. More from You Ain't Seen Me, Right? next week.

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