Close Search Close

 

  • Comics
  • Theatre
  • Site News

“The Fountain of Youth”

A little lost Orson Welles project.

In 1958, Orson Welles made a television program so far ahead of its time that we still haven’t caught up. There are films and filmmakers who seem to exist outside our normal understanding of the grammar they operate under; Tony Zhou of Every Frame A Painting once remarked that the movies of Yasujirō Ozu pointed to a completely different direction movies could have evolved (especially when you compare them to his rival Akira Kurosawa, who did set up how movies operate with his influence on Spielberg, Scorsese, and other New Hollywood directors). “The Fountain of Youth” was a pilot Welles made in hopes of producing a longer anthology series in the vein of Alfred Hitchcock Presents or The Twilight Zone.

One immediately sees the difference. For one thing, whereas those series have their narrators pop in at the beginning and end, Welles is present all throughout “The Fountain of Youth”, being about as active as a narrator as you can without actually being a character. He doesn’t just set up the story and provide sly commentary at the end; he’s constantly talking all the way through and editorialising heavily (such as half-embarrassedly correcting himself when he refers to the female lead as an actress – “She’s one of those creatures that stands for something more than talent.”). His closest cousin is Terry Pratchett’s narrator in the Discworld series; polite, highly literate, concerned with you having a good time, and more than willing to dissect the characters brought onstage (as you can tell from that line). 

The other thing one immediately sees is the creativity on display. When discussing his Citizen Kane, Welles often remarked that the reason it was so wildly creative was because he and his crew were simply too naive to realize what they were doing was wrong; they simply saw that the medium was capable of something and did it. The filming on display here does have some ideas developed by the industry later – mainly because the work sets up Welles’s own F For Fake, which may not have influenced the MTV-style editing popular from about the Nineties onward with its groundbreaking style but definitely presaged it. But, for the most part, this feels like Welles and his crew simply finding useful solutions to basic storytelling problems caused by television as a medium.

A lot of his solutions seem almost diabolically, even stupidly simple; for one thing, Welles knows that he has a magnificent voice and unstoppable wit, so many of the scenes are simply him narrating over still pictures, saving the expense of shooting scenes and hiring actors for minor parts. I’m awed by Welles’s performance here; he has a mask of reserve that he seems to be dropping when he starts talking more to himself, as if he’s revealing something to you in moments of unintentional intimacy, which makes the commentary he drops about life and love come off less as hectoring and more as revealing things about himself because he’s comfortable with you. He tells you that we all do things to avoid ageing, and what he’s really saying is that he does things to avoid ageing, which gives you permission to feel wistful about ageing and the things that you do to avoid it, which of course, brings you back to the characters and their actions.

What’s present under this is the genuine craft of filmmaking. There are so many tiny things Welles and his crew do to keep this visually interesting; the background behind Welles is often moving to keep his shots visually interesting, there’s a great moment where Welles physically steps in the way of a photograph to adjust the scene from it to him, and there’s another where a scene changes by having the lights go down on the protagonist, his costume is adjusted, lights go back up, and we go straight into the scene. My favourite is the simplest – when they cut to a picture of the protagonist, except it’s out of focus – so the camera adjusts, giving us an interesting way of centering him. Sometimes it’s even as simple as Welles narrating over footage of the characters talking to each other.

The crew also has the sense to slow down when it comes to the interesting, novel parts. You don’t have to explain how two people can fall in love or break apart, but you do have to explain how the protagonist gets away with tricking the love of his life and the man who took her into drinking a mystery potion. Unfortunately, this calls attention to the weaknesses of the work; the weaker acting of the non-Welles actors and the cliche nature of the story. One would expect this with any anthology from time to time, and the pleasure would be in the style around it and hoping at least every other episode is great. Obviously that did not come to pass.

Where I’m most fascinated is in how it sets a model for cheap television. Hitchcock rejected the subjective headspace almost entirely; he said that early in his career, he tried doing framing that symbolized an idea, but found audiences usually didn’t notice and when they did, they didn’t care – I suspect he was thinking of the scene in The Lodger where we look up at see him pacing around from below. Audiences tend to respond more strongly to the feeling that they’re looking at an objective situation, and I won’t lie about being bitter about how hard it is to get people to empathize – although I admit, I take it in stride when writing my own work.

Welles, on the other hand, is fully embracing subjectivity here, and it works because he’s approaching it in a fun and breezy way. Where cheap movies and television fail is that they reach for realism in a way that they can’t back up; “The Fountain of Youth” doesn’t even bother most of the time, and its confidence and total belief in its story makes it very fun to watch. I watch this and I can picture in my head making something in the same way; there’s even a particularly good local actor I can picture in the Welles narrator position, and particularly good local writers I can picture putting words in his mouth. In a lot of ways, “The Fountain of Youth” ought to have been the Velvet Underground of television; it shouldn’t have just spawned a single show, it should have spawned a whole ethos.