Me and Orson Welles

In my junior year of high school, following the Christmas break, I began a half year course called Film. My instructor, Mr. Henry N. Littlefield, began by telling us what the course was all about, and what we could expect. He said that we would, in a few weeks, be seeing the greatest movie ever made. Did anyone know what that movie was? I confidently raised my hand, and answered, "Citizen Kane". Go to the head of the class, young man. I graduated that semester with 3 Ds and an A. The A was in Film. After that semester my academic career took off, largely because I finally knew what I really wanted to study.

There was, at the time, a cultural landmark in Cambridge known as The Orson Welles Theater. Tommy Lee Jones was once the House Manager. It had three screens, a restaurant, a bookstore, and an academic institution known as The Orson Welles Film Institute. Housed between Central Square and Harvard Square, cinephiles flocked to it in those days as much as coffee hounds seek out Starbucks today.  It was also known, in my house, as Mecca. Imagine if there was only one Starbucks in the world today.

In 1976 I was in Europe studying cinema and Shakespeare when a new Orson Welles film, F For Fake, was released. I'm pretty sure that I saw it at the National Film Theater in London, but I honestly can't be sure. In any case, it was a documentary (sort of), and quite unique. Friends back home didn't know anything about it. As usual, Orson had trouble finding distribution in the US for one of his films. I came back to the states just in time for Christmas, itching to talk to someone about it, but realized that it would have to wait.

In January of 1977, Orson announced that he was coming to the theater which bore his name to premiere the film in the US. Before that, however, his minions in the Boston area put up the money to have Orson appear, one night only, at Symphony Hall in Boston for what was billed as An Evening with Orson Welles. I booked tickets faster than you can say, "Rosebud". What could go wrong?

Well, it was January, and you know what that means. My girlfriend and I left early that day, as there was the prediction of some snow. That prediction proved to be an understatement. It became a blizzard. Orson made it, amazingly enough, but most people didn't. The grandiose Symphony Hall, sold out, became an intimate setting for less than two hundred snow covered patrons who wouldn't have cared if Orson Welles read from the phone book that night. He was one hell of a storyteller. He entertained us for over two hours with stories, Shakespearean monologues (Anthony's speech from Julius Ceasar and Shylock's famous soliloquy from Merchant of Venice), and he took questions from us. When he mentioned F For Fake, I blurted out, "It's great!", and the great man looked me in the eye and thanked me. And that's no story.

The Orson Welles Theater closed in 1986, the result of insurance problems following an electrical fire. By that time, the institute and bookstore had closed, and the restaurant had become a Chi-Chi's. And the man who had inspired it was dead. I was married, and running a wine shop less than 2 miles away in Harvard Square. I mourned in my own way, as much for my dreams as for the past. How, I wondered, could I ever capture that magic again?

"What's that, sir? I used to be a magician? Sir, I'm still working on it."