RKO 281

Orson?

Come into the light.

Never stand in the shadows.

You were made for the light.

Always remember that.

Now turn around and make a wish.

Go on.

You must blow out your candles.

One breath now.

That's all you get-- one chance.

Are you ready?

Now.

He came to the town of magic and dreams,

a flashing star, blazing through the firmament of illusion.

He was 24 years old and his name was Orson Welles.

Sound the trumpets, unfurl the banners, Hollywood,

the boy wonder has arrived.

May 6th, 1915, the prodigy makes his debut

on the world stage in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

May 7th, he speaks his first words, and they are

"I am a genius."

Subsequent developments confirm this opinion.

At 18 he goes to New York, the cauldron of the world.

Watch out, cauldron. Orson has arrived.

Like Hannibal over the Alps,

the boy genius invades the Great White Way

with production after production.

And then he takes to the airwaves--

step two in his plan for global domination.

This is the end now.

They're running toward the East River.

Thousands of them, dropping in like rats.

"The War of the Worlds" broadcast

sends this nation spinning into a frenzy.

Yes, the boy wonder has fooled us all.

We had no idea any of this was happening.

I-I--

I feel just horrible.

Mr. Welles, can you come over here. Mr. Welles!

Mr. Welles, over here!

How long can it possibly be before the sunny land of dreams

tries to harness the combustible power

of this showman extraordinaire?

The winner in the Welles derby is George Schaefer,

the Head of RKO Pictures.

With a contract unimaginable before the days of Orson,

Mr. Schaefer captures the whirlwind, snares the beast.

Eyebrows raise and jaws drop

when terms of the deal come forth.

The boy wonder can write, direct and star in his own projects.

The studio? Well, they just pay the bills. Oh!

So cometh Orson.

He met the biggest of the big

and charmed his way through the town.

From the Brown Derby to the Copacabana,

from Louella Parsons to Hedda Hopper--

those rival maidens of Hollywood gossip.

And so today, almost a year after his arrival,

we leave the boy wonder still hard at work

developing his much-anticipated first feature.

We're waiting, Orson.

Genius? Who does that cocksucker think he is?

Word is glory boy's all finished, Mr. Mayer.

Can't come up with a movie.

They're laying bets over at RKO

this deal ends up with him never doing a picture. Huh.

Back to New York he goes. Yeah.

After RKO boots him, let's pick him up cheap.

Have him do that "War of the Worlds" crap as a feature.

It's money in the bank for us

and bingo, no more genius.

This is Hollywood, junior. What did you expect?

And you keep coming up with the same elitist crap.

Enough, Mank.

God, I've heard this from Schaefer

and everyone else at RKO. I don't need to hear it from you.

"Heart of Darkness," million-dollar budget.

No one wants to see that. That's nonsense and you know it.

Orson, what do you think movies are about? Don't start this, Mank, please.

No, I'm interested. What do you think movies are about?

Life's rich pageant.

Life's rich pageant, my ass.

People are sick to death of life.

They want make-believe.

Okay? They want Tarzan and Jane,

not "Tristan and Isolde."

You know what they want, Mank?

Magic.

You know what your job is in Hollywood?

Put butts in seats.

Let me see that.

It's all about selling popcorn and Pepsi-Colas.

Not for me it isn't.

Then you're about to become the youngest never-was

in the history of Hollywood.

Better than the oldest has-been. Is it?

Okay, Mank.

What are we going to write? I don't know. You tell me.

You're the boy wonder.

Well?

Jesus Christ. Come on.

The old man doesn't cotton to lateness.

Good evening, Mr. Hearst.

My name is Orson Welles.

Orson!

So we set traps everywhere, right?

And every morning, the traps would be sprung

but there would be no mice.

What? So one night I noticed

Pops here getting out of bed--

I've got it: "Sigmund Freud: Life and Times."

Oh, that's a great idea.

Just got your ass kicked on Joseph Conrad

and now it's the id and the superego.

I'll be Goddamned if he isn't springing the traps

and leaving cheese for the Goddamn mice.

You-- you and that guy Disney,

in love with the damn rats.

Okay then-- Manolete.

Who?

Manolete, the great Spanish bullfighter.

Imagine Clark here in a glittering suit of lights...

on the Andalusian plains.

Mr. Welles is attempting semaphore.

Bullfighting, Miss Davies.

Oh. Is dear Mank your bull?

My factotum, comrade-in-arms, ally.

Flunky, pimp.

Writer. That too.

You fight many bulls there in New York, Orson?

No, when I was a tender lad,

my father and I made a tour of the grand boulevards of Europe.

When we were in Spain I had the good fortune

to sit at the knee of Manolete,

the greatest bullfighter of the age.

"What is the matador's greatest enemy?" he asked me.

And of course I naively responded, "The bull."

No, the bull is merely his adversary.

His greatest enemy is his own fear.

You see, to kill the bull,

one must first learn to think like him.

Having said that, he strode forth

gallantly into the ring. He flourished.

Flourished again. Suddenly the bull charged.

It thundered towards him, its calamitous hooves

shaking the earth beneath Manolete's feet.

And as it was almost upon him, he stepped to the side,

flourished again and struck.

And when the dust cleared...

the sword was gone.

Vanished in the bloody eye of the beast.

That is barbaric.

Of all man's sadism...

none is more depraved than his cruelty to animals.

Oh.

In Spain, Sir, the cruelty would be

in denying the beast a fighting end...

as in your magnificent zoo, for instance.

And who are you, Sir?

Orson Welles, Sir.

Ah, the actor.

Mmm. And director.

Sir I wish you luck.

In Hollywood,

the bull and the matador are both slaughtered.

Why the crack about the Zoo?

Why not just let it lie?

Because he's a hypocrite, Mank. Yeah, so what?

Listen, I like to come here. I want to be asked back.

Why? You have no place here.

Because Marion's my friend.

Did you hear what he said to me?

Preaching against man's cruelty to animals?

I mean, come on. Listen, come here.

I want to show you something.

The old man owns

the biggest publishing empire in the world.

When you have all that,

you can preach whatever you want.

Like appeasing Hitler.

A lot of people agree with him, Orson.

He tells them what they want to hear.

As if that was something to be proud of.

Can't smoke here.

Of course. How could I forget?

No smoking, no drinking...

no moral vices whatsoever.

I suppose keeping an alcoholic mistress

half your age is considered a virtue here.

The old man has

his own way of doing things.

I'll say.

Ah.

Oh God, these parties are awful.

You need to get out of here, Rapunzel.

That's why he has the parties.

He says it's like bringing the world to me.

But it's not so bad here.

I mean, what girl doesn't want to live in a castle?

Hey, Mr. Welles certainly is a caution, isn't he?