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<\/a><\/p>\nNext up on the essays shelf<\/a>:<\/p>\n \nThe Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town (Modern Library Paperbacks)<\/a> Orson Welles’ life is epic, in a very American way. There’s a reason Simon Callow felt the need to push his biography of Welles into three volumes (still waiting for that third volume, Simon). There are so many elements, the life had such scope, such highs and lows. It’s a symbolic<\/i> life, and you can’t say that about too many people. I, however, am particularly fascinated by Welles’ time in New York pre<\/i>–Citizen Kane<\/i>. His relationship with John Houseman<\/a>, the formation of the Mercury Theatre, their radio programs (of which the famous War of the Worlds<\/i><\/a> was only one episode, although it certainly put them all on the map), the famous “Voodoo Macbeth<\/i>“, the brouhaha surrounding the musical When the Cradle Will Rock<\/i> (1937) (read about that in the link to John Houseman), and then, of course, Welles’ famous modern-dress production of Julius Caesar<\/i> in 1937. <\/p>\n \n \nRead here for an excerpt from Simon Callow’s biography of Welles<\/a>, where he discusses the Julius Caesar<\/i> production. It was insanity. They were barely ready by the time the curtain went up on opening night, and Welles kept tweaking. This was classic Welles. He was never done<\/i>.<\/p>\n Welles wasn’t even yet 30. I don’t think he was even 25 when all this stuff was going on. It’s insane. He was so inventive. He never stopped to rest on his laurels. He was always busy planning the next thing. He was, in many ways, a trickster, a magician (he loved magic). These weren’t just productions. They were stunts<\/i>. His Julius Caesar<\/i> was giant hit for Mercury, and also seemed to tap in to the anxiety about fascism, which, in 1937, was reaching its peak. The cast dressed in black military suits, like Mussolini’s goons, and the setting was abstracted: giant platforms and giant drapes, with pin-spots, and targeted lighting. The few pictures that survive are dramatic and frightening. The “Voodoo Macbeth<\/i>“, which Welles set in Haiti, and cast with mostly non-professional African-Americans, was a huge hit for him as well, and white audiences traveled into Harlem to see what the fuss was about. It helped make his name. Julius Caesar<\/i> was a classic hit, and people went crazy about it. <\/p>\n It was 1937. “War of the Worlds” happened in 1938, and then, of course, came Citizen Kane<\/i>, right on the heels of that stunt-to-end-all-stunts. <\/p>\n So Welles was already famous in 1937. He was famous in a local New York kind of way. That was about to change. <\/p>\n Here, in 1937, A.J. Liebling writes about seeing an ad in the newspaper for “The Shadow”, and being struck by the fact that “Orson Welles” was also the same guy who was playing Brutus on Broadway in his own production of Julius Caesar<\/i>. It seemed astonishing to Liebling that it could be the same man. He tuned in to “The Shadow” to get a listen to it. He was amazed by Welles’ vocal capability, in the dual-role of “The Shadow\/Le Monte Cranston”.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n