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Rating: 
Summary: Weak.
Review: June 10, 2002The first problem with Barbara Leaming's biography
of Orson Welles is that it principally relies on
the absolute worst source imaginable: Orson Welles
himself. Anyone who knows the details of Welles's
life, career and character even a little knows that
the man was a liar. Not a malicious one, to be
sure--his was more of a child's capacity for
prevarication, born out of equal parts insecurity
and need for attention--but a liar nonetheless. The second problem is that while Leaming is a
serviceable writer, she is not particularly worldly.
She's certainly not objective. She seems to belong
to that cosmetically clever but ultimately narrow
breed of communicators: the gossip monger. She
loves anecdotes, and swallows Orson's whole. All the requisite facts are in this book, but other
Welles biographies have served the man and his art
better. The single greatest irony about this book
is how smarmy, superficial and childish its subject
comes off in this, the work of his most flattering
biographer. It's too easy to spot Welles toying with Leaming,
and he doesn't come off very charming or impressive
by extension. He sees her coming from too far off
and feeds her lots of junk, too much of which she
printed.
Rating:
Summary: Weak.
Review: June 10, 2002 The first problem with Barbara Leaming's biography
of Orson Welles is that it principally relies on
the absolute worst source imaginable: Orson Welles
himself. Anyone who knows the details of Welles's
life, career and character even a little knows that
the man was a liar. Not a malicious one, to be
sure--his was more of a child's capacity for
prevarication, born out of equal parts insecurity
and need for attention--but a liar nonetheless. The second problem is that while Leaming is a
serviceable writer, she is not particularly worldly.
She's certainly not objective. She seems to belong
to that cosmetically clever but ultimately narrow
breed of communicators: the gossip monger. She
loves anecdotes, and swallows Orson's whole. All the requisite facts are in this book, but other
Welles biographies have served the man and his art
better. The single greatest irony about this book
is how smarmy, superficial and childish its subject
comes off in this, the work of his most flattering
biographer. It's too easy to spot Welles toying with Leaming,
and he doesn't come off very charming or impressive
by extension. He sees her coming from too far off
and feeds her lots of junk, too much of which she
printed.
Rating: 
Summary: Meat Loaf with Extra Gravy
Review: On the whole an entertaining read but Leaming's gossip-column style and unabashed idolatry grate before long. Leaming saves her best prose not for Welles' legendary charm or artistic genius, but for his various appendages. "The only way to make the plane was to hitchhike," Leaming writes, "but when Orson extended the long tapered thumb of his extraordinarily beautiful hand, the only vehicle to stop was a garbage truck, into which Welles and company promptly crowded." Such flourishes, as well as the index, which is surprisingly clever--under Welles, (George) Orson there is an entry entitled "false noses used by 350, 353, 401, 424" are the gravy on this meat loaf of a book. Eat up!
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