I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead (12 page)

Asked later by Peter Bogdanovich if he had expected that kind of
response from the broadcast, Welles stated, “The kind of response,
yes — that was merrily anticipated by all of us. The size of it, of course, was
flabbergasting. Six minutes after we’d gone on the air, the switchboards in
radio stations right across the country were lighting up like Christmas
trees . . . .” Welles also acknowledged that the broadcast proved beneficial
for him and the program. “Well, it put me in the movies. Was that lucky?
I don’t know. Anyway, thanks to the Martians, we got us a radio sponsor,
and suddenly we were a great big commercial program.”

Indeed they did get a sponsor, Campbell Soups. The final Mercury
program was broadcast on December 4, 1938 and on December 9,
The
Campbell Playhouse,
premiered. According to the authoritative
Encyclopedia
of Old Time Radio,
under sponsorship from Campbell soup the show
“moved up to first-class status.” It certainly did get bigger budgets which
afforded it the opportunity to utilize big name guest stars such as Margaret
Sullavan, Gertrude Lawrence, Helen Hayes, Paulette Goddard, Charles
Laughton and Lucille Ball. The “Mercury players” continued to be utilized:
Agnes, Ray Collins, George Coulouris, Paul Stewart, Everett Sloane, Joe
Cotten and so on, but they became overshadowed by the big names and
budgets. The show lost the intimate feel it had for those glorious months it
was known as
The Mercury Theatre of the Air
. Interestingly, once the show
became
The Campbell Playhouse,
Agnes began to appear more. It is worth
remembering that Agnes had appeared in only a handful of the
First Person
Singular/Mercury Theatre of the Air
programs — most effectively and
memorably in “Dracula.” As for the most famous broadcast, “War of the
Worlds,” she had only provided sound effects. This was nothing against
Agnes — the Mercury Theatre was, by and large, chauvinistic. Most of the
members were men and so the scripts were dominated by them. With a new
sponsor having more input, it appears that a greater variety of female roles
opened up and Agnes benefited from this. One of the most effective of the
Campbell Playhouse
scripts would be an adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s
novel
Rebecca,
which became the first episode of the newly named show.

David O Selznick owned the film rights to the novel, but Orson was able
to obtain the radio rights and it is a remarkably faithful adaptation. Orson
played Maxim DeWinter, with guest star Margaret Sullavan cast as the
heroine with no name (identified as “I” in the novel she narrates). Agnes
had the plum role of the evil Mrs. Danvers, who believes no one could ever
replace the dead mistress of Manderley (the DeWinter estate), Rebecca.
Mrs. Danvers intentions with “I” are to make her feel as inconsequential as
possible when compared to Rebecca as the mistress of Manderley, and for
the love of Maxim. Agnes’ performance is every bit as effective as that of
Judith Anderson, who played the part in the 1940 film. Had Agnes been
established in Hollywood earlier than she had, it is possible that Selznick
would have considered her for the film based on her performance in the
radio play, but Anderson, at that point, was a bigger name. The show
concluded with Orson and Margaret Sullavan speaking by transatlantic
phone with Miss du Maurier, who “enjoyed it enormously.” Welles
lso introduced a new trademark on this first episode by signing off,
“obediently yours.”

In all, 61 episodes of
The Campbell Playhouse
would be produced, with
Agnes appearing in seventeen. Among the highlights were “Our Town,”
“The Things We Have” (an original story by Welles about a young
immigrant who discovers the uniqueness of America), “Peter Ibbetson,”
“Ah, Wilderness!,” “Lilom” and “Vanity Fair” (both with Helen Hayes).
The show finally left the air on March 31, 1940. The final episode was an
adaptation of “Jane Eyre” with Vivien Leigh, but without Agnes (who
would later appear in the 1944 film with Welles and Joan Fontaine). The
reason for Orson leaving the show was due to what he felt was sponsor
interference. The sponsor wanted Orson, for instance, to hire actress Irene
Dunne to appear on the show, but Orson refused, apparently because of her
outspoken Republican politics. He also didn’t like the “blue-penciling” of
the scripts. “I’m sick of having the heart torn out of a script by radio
censorship,” he said. But in the end, the reason may be simply that he had
other eggs to fry. By this time, due to his increased notoriety, Welles had
signed a contract with RKO to act in and direct two motion pictures. He
and his “Mercury” companions were going to take Hollywood by storm.

RKO Pictures signed Orson Welles to a deal which gave him something few
actors or directors had — creative control of his projects without
studio interference. “Welles could produce, direct, write and star in his
projects or any combination of those roles he chose, and he alone would
have virtually complete control of the final film. Welles could shoot what
he liked, spend studio money any way he liked (up to $500,000 per
picture), and with only minimal input from the studio, make the finished
film just as he wanted it.” Welles’ main booster was RKO studio head,
George Schaefer.

That many in the Hollywood community were resentful of this brash
23-year-old upstart coming into
their
town cannot be understated. Many
longtime Hollywood observers believed that RKO committed a huge gaffe
in signing Welles. “RKO is going to rue its contract. I would be willing to
bet something that Welles will not complete a picture,” huffed the
Hollywood Spectator.
But RKO was a studio willing to take a chance. It was
a major, but not in the same league of MGM, Paramount, Warners or Fox.
They had made some impressive films and they were the home studio of the
hugely popular Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers musicals, but overall their
output didn’t break even — they often ended the year well in the red. So
they decided to gamble on someone different, like Welles.

They gave Welles the run of the studio. According to David Thomson,
in his book,
Rosebud,
“Mercury had a group of bungalows on the lot in
Culver City; Welles had his own steam room, as well as a masseur. He had
his private cook, who made lunches for everyone: hamburgers, several
inches thick, made from fat-free sirloin, and homemade tapioca pudding.
Then he would hold court, sitting at his ease, telling gorgeous stories
about himself.”

At first it seemed that
The Spectator
and others were right. It was taking
forever for Welles to finalize what his initial project would be. Initially,
Welles had thought of filming Joseph Conrad’s classic novel,
Hearts of
Darkness,
but that fell through due to the limits of how much he could
spend. Then he wanted to do an original film titled,
The Smiler with a
Knife.
But that fell through because he couldn’t get the leading lady he
wanted — first Carole Lombard and then Lucille Ball.

The studio was paying salaries for the Mercury members on a weekly
basis and had nothing yet to show for it, so by Christmas, 1939, they sent
Welles a letter informing him that unless he had something concrete on the
table for them by New Year’s, they would go off the payroll. A meeting on
the situation was held in Chasen’s and led to a major fight, but not a total
break, between Welles and John Houseman. Welles apparently said he
wanted to make sure everybody got paid, even if he had to pay for it out of
his own pocket — but because his business managers were robbing him
blind, he didn’t have the money for payroll. To Houseman, this was the
height of hypocrisy. Welles had spent money like there was no tomorrow
since he had arrived in Hollywood and now he was blaming others for there
not being enough money. He challenged Orson. “What are you going to
do?” Welles angrily asked Houseman what
he
was going to do. Houseman
told Orson to “tell the truth for once.” Orson flew off at Houseman: “I
don’t lie to actors. I’ve never lied to an actor in my life! You’re the one who
lies! That’s why they hate you! You’re a crook and they know it!”

In the end they had no choice but to try and come up with a project as
soon as possible. Enter Herman J. Mankiewicz, who was a screen and radio
writer, including for
The Campbell Playhouse.
Houseman later recalled
Mankiewicz (or “Mank” as he was commonly called) as a “. . . neurotic drinker
and compulsive gambler, he was also one of the most intelligent, informed,
witty, humane and charming men I have ever known.” Welles employed
Mank to help come up with an idea for the new film.

It was while Mankiewicz was recuperating from an automobile accident
in February 1940 in Victorville, California that he recalled an idea he wanted
to film years before: the story of a man’s life recalled in flashbacks by the
people who knew him. Welles liked the idea and together he and
Mankiewicz began to brainstorm ideas on whose life they could base their
script on. “ . . . we started searching for the man it was going to be about.
Some big American figure, but it couldn’t be a politician, because you’d
have to pinpoint him. Howard Hughes was the first idea. But we got
pretty quickly to the press lords.” Initially the project was named by
Mankiewicz,
American.

Eventually a screenplay was fashioned and titled
Citizen Kane.
It is the
story of Charles Foster Kane, a publishing tycoon who dies at his extravagant
mansion, Xanadu. As he is dying, his last word is “rosebud.” A reporter is
assigned to find out the meaning of Kane’s last word and doggedly
interviews several people who knew Kane to find the answer to that puzzle.

That the film was a thinly veiled biography of publishing mogul William
Randolph Hearst cannot be disputed. Certainly it includes elements of
Hearst’s own life. Hearst, like the character Kane, had once been a crusading
newspaper publisher who moved steadily to the Right. Hearst, like Kane,
had an elaborate home called San Simeon which, like Kane’s home, also had
a private zoo. Hearst, like Kane, got involved in politics and was defeated.
Hearst, like Kane, had a mistress he helped bankroll. But where Susan
Alexander was a no-talent opera singer, Marion Davies, Hearst’s mistress,
was a talented comedy actress, who was well known even before she hooked
up with Hearst. Still, many people accused Welles of basing Susan on
Davies. Welles later admitted he felt bad about that. Welles himself later
told Peter Bogdanovich: “He (Hearst) was right! He was dead right. Why
not fight? I expected that. I didn’t expect that everyone would run as scared
as they did.”

Agnes was cast as Kane’s mother. There could be no question of what
role Agnes would get. She obviously was an important member of the
Mercury team, and would be included. But there were few female roles and
the only one which, in Orson’s opinion, suited Agnes, was that of the mother.
She lacked the youth (Agnes was pushing 40) and physical beauty to play
the first Mrs. Kane, Emily. She also was not quite suited for the part of
Susan Alexander, Kane’s mistress and later his second wife.

Principal photography began on July 30, 1940. Agnes would begin four
days of filming for what would be her first motion picture on September
13. The sequence opens with the reporter reading Thatcher’s unpublished
memoirs — the section on Charles Foster Kane. The scene then dissolves
from the pages that the reporter is reading to a snow-capped landscape and
happy, playful music as we see a child merrily sledding down a hill. Is this
the last happy moments of Charles Foster Kane’s childhood? The camera
then backs up through the window to where Bernstein the banker is
presenting a paper for Mary Kane to sign giving him guardianship of her
only son. Her husband is putting up a rather weak fight, but Mrs. Kane is
adamant and signs the papers. For those who feel that Agnes’ acting is stoic
and unsympathetic, they are missing two key points which betray that.
There is a moment where Agnes says to her husband, “It’s going to be done
exactly the way I’ve told Mr. Thatcher . . . I’ve got his trunk all packed. I’ve
had it packed for a week now.” When she comes to the line, “I’ve had it
packed for a week now,” a look of regret and a hint of sadness and agony
register in her speech. David Thomson, in his fine biography of Welles,
Rosebud,
writes of this moment in the film: “Moorehead looks like a
Madonna, but a cold, imperious, adamantine one — she has the eyes of a
saint, yet she could play Miss Murdstone in
David Copperfield
or Mrs.
Danvers in
Rebecca
.”

The other key moment for Agnes occurs only a moment later when she
moves over to the window and watches Charles at play; she suddenly opens
the window and, in a look of that is both stoic and agonized, she piercingly
calls out his name to summon him, “Charles!” Thomson would later write
that Agnes figures in two of the most “indelibly humane” moments in the
work of Orson Welles — and this is one of those moments.