Out of the Blue (Dennis Hopper, 1980). I like to imagine the moment Hopper heard the Neil Young song and thought, that’s the story. And the insight that told him that these two useless criminal wash-outs were the Easy Rider pair 10 years later. The idea that punk rock is a rumour or an idea that has already been and gone, and eventually reaches teenage Cebe as stances or postures or a way of describing an opposition to everything you encounter, is appealing as well.
The Magnificent Ambersons (Orson Welles, 1942). Welles at his most pitiless and mature, and, at only 27, somehow drenched in nostalgia he may have never escaped. The legend is that this was his childhood too but the charismatic exuberance of Charles Foster Kane has already become the idiocy and arrogance of George Amberson Minafer. As has been said many times, everything else Welles did was somehow contained in Citizen Kane.
Mr Arkadin (Orson Welles, 1955). More of a mess than Ambersons ever was. Forget, from the distance, the politics of studio interference and grudges and assess what you see on screen. Is there a chance that Ambersons was better for not having Welles in it? And that, cornball happy ending aside, some of the edits were not so terrible? We will never know. But Arkadin is incoherent, all bluster and restlessness that spills over from a Welles performance that already feels like the worst of his caricatures.