Orson Welles
Falstaff

Anyone who knows me knows how much I adore Orson Welles. I've already said he is the greatest artist in the history of cinema when discussing "Citizen Kane."

I don't have a particular ranking, like I prefer this over that, because I like everything about Welles. Of course, it's obvious that if I had to choose among his best films, I wouldn't hesitate to say "Citizen Kane" and "Touch of Evil," but then I'd be plagued by regrets for not mentioning "The Magnificent Ambersons" or "Confidential Report." Or other so-called minor films, which are actually pure masterpieces, such as "Chimes at Midnight."

The gigantic authorial figure of Orson Welles blended well with the theatrical one: a giant on stage. Orson Welles is the William Shakespeare of cinema, a strong, authoritative personality, a true deus ex machina. Already having engaged with Othello (another film to revisit), Welles masterfully mixes several famous works of the English Bard, "Henry IV" and "Richard II," "The Merry Wives of Windsor," and a morsel of "Hamlet," blending the whole wonderfully, ingeniously, enough to form a unique, unforgettable work, overflowing in its ostentatious magnificence, formally elegant, epic, and out of any predetermined scheme, "Chimes at Midnight," the monumental work that will be taken as a model by both established great directors (Akira Kurosawa) and promising young ones (Martin Scorsese, as seen in his "A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese through American Movies") as an example of independent and courageous cinema, wealthy yet free from the constraints of major studios and production houses.

"Chimes at Midnight" is a work of art of inhuman proportions, a film that mixes the fate of losers with the reasons of History, the defeatism of wars, and the fatality of chance, but it is also a harsh critique of corrupt power that corrupts the man first and then his soul. However, behind Hal's character, there also hides the melancholy of one's age, the relentlessly advancing years, the solitude that cannot be compensated by wealth, and the failed achievement of a goal. All set in 1408, when Hal, the son of Henry IV, though rich and close to the throne, prefers to feast in a very popular tavern run by Mistress Quickly and talk for hours with his friend John Falstaff (Orson Welles). When the nobles declare war on the crown, Hal will be forced to renounce his past, repudiate Falstaff's friendship, and ascend to the throne.
Behind it all lies technical work that should be dissected frame by frame, for it is precisely there, amidst the intricacies of Wellesian technique, that the true and greatest essence of cinema hides. Behind the continuous visual explorations typical of the experimenter Orson Welles: excessive wide angles, monumentality in the lowest scenes (those inside the tavern), capturing battle scenes with an emphasis and power of image no one has ever equaled (light-years away from "Braveheart," which many, perhaps due to historical ignorance, celebrate as epic and monumental), slicing some shots and making them epic with just one camera movement, he reserves for himself the seemingly secondary role of John Falstaff, the real manipulator of everything that happens in the film, the common thread of a partially announced tragedy.

Hal is Keith Baxter, perfect in the role, confidential at first and then ruthless as an executioner seeking elusive revenge, and the final scene where Hal, now ascended the throne as Henry V, repudiates Falstaff by sneering at him is something more than memorable: "I know thee not, old man. Kneel and pray". If there had been a theater stage instead of a screen, the stalls would likely have erupted.
"Chimes at Midnight" is the greatest film of the sixties (perhaps equal to Kubrick's odyssey), but it is certainly the most innovative, the most powerful, the ultimate expression of cinema not devoted to the masses or to easy public success, but in the constant pursuit of new cinematic languages, capable of grafting elements of new European cinema into a typically Shakespearean tragedy, creating images, dialogues, and scenes so shocking as to be, even today, too avant-garde.

It's not a surreal avant-garde like that of Luis Bunuel (which has made its time, anyway), it is a more popular avant-garde, less fanciful, more rooted in the social fabric of cinema, more open and "circular," an easy prey for skilled directors ready to turn it into modern art (in addition to the already mentioned Kurosawa and Scorsese, Coppola and Stone also deserve mention). "Chimes at Midnight" is the emblem of modern cinema, but perhaps it is beyond modern, it is something indefinable that resembles the future more than the present.
In the cast are wonderful artists: Jeanne Moreau, John Gielgud, Margaret Rutherford, and our very own Walter Chiari, stripped of any television clichés and light-years away from the national popular comedy that mainly bolstered his success. Overseeing all is Orson Welles, director, actor, and screenwriter. Say what you will (perhaps opening an old debate I don't feel much need for), but hearing him act in English is disarmingly beautiful. Lines, timing, accents, apostrophes: it seems like His Majesty commanding the subjects.

An important testimony to what this film has been for many filmmakers is present in the Dizionario dei Film del Morandini: "...a film made in bizarre ways and technically disastrous yet remaining fascinating... no film has been so personal and impacted me so deeply," words by John Carpenter.

Baroque, insane, ambitious, monumental, unhinged, wonderful. This is the description of "Chimes at Midnight," but it could also be the description of Orson Welles's personality. Still, the greatest of all.