Citizen Kane (1941), directed by and starring Orson Welles, is often regarded as the greatest American film ever made. It is ranked as #1 on the American Film Institute’s 100 Years 100 Movies list, and has topped the Sight and Sound Critics’ Poll almost every time it has been eligible.
But more casual movie fans often question the movie’s premier standing. Perhaps it’s because, unlike with more recent classics like The Godfather (1972), there’s little drama to Citizen Kane‘s plot, because it’s mostly told in retrospect. It may also be due to a perceived lack of style, a flaw which no one could accuse Pulp Fiction (1994) or Schindler’s List (1993) of having. Whatever the reason, Citizen Kane eludes some contemporary movie fans.
My goal, then, is to explore the themes of the movie, especially concerning the meaning of its famous ending, in an attempt to make Kane easier to appreciate for skeptics.
————
The structure of Citizen Kane, for those in need of refreshing, and so that I can reference it in my analysis, consists roughly of six segments:
- Charles Foster Kane dies, and journalists subsequently compose a newsreel outlining the major events of his life. Dissatisfied, the editor sends a reporter, Jerry Thompson, to uncover the meaning of Kane’s last word.
- Thompson reads the diary of Walter Parks Thatcher, a banker who, at Mrs. Kane’s behest, took a young Charles away from his Colorado home to be educated.
- Thompson interviews Mr. Bernstein, Kane’s former manager. Bernstein describes Kane’s success in increasing circulation of the Inquirer.
- Thompson interviews Jedidiah Leyland, Kane’s former friend. Leyland describes Kane’s personal life, and how it affected his political and journalistic career.
- Thompson interviews Susan Alexander, Kane’s second wife. Alexander details Kane’s bizarre attempts to turn her into an opera star and describes how she later left him.
- Thompson leaves Xanadu, and a slow tracking camera shot reveals the secret of “Rosebud.”
Consider the elegance of the storytelling. The four main interviewees (#2-5) tell, in conjunction, a coherent story of Kane’s life. First, Thatcher’s diary describes Kane’s financial story. Then Bernstein, in perfect segue, tells of how Kane’s operation of his major financial venture—the Inquirer—was influenced by Kane’s own personal qualities, notably charisma and determination. Leyland then reveals how those same qualities eventually led to Kane’s political and marital ruin and a decline in the Inquirer’s journalistic standards. Alexander completes the portrait by expanding on Kane’s dark side, especially regarding his inflexible, controlling nature, and his perceived attempts to be loved without offering love of his own.
As I said: an elegant, enjoyable construction. But other movies have elegant constructions, maybe even equally elegant, and they don’t receive the same accolades. The intricate portrayal of Kane’s positive and negative qualities deserves high recognition as well, but, again, lesser known movies also feature complex character portrayals.
Citizen Kane only truly separates itself in its last sequence, beginning with Thompson being asked, “What did you find out about him, Jerry?” and he responding, “Not much, really.”
This might seem like a strange response, given the four well-told stories he’s heard. But he has a point: despite the elegant storytelling, what have we really learned about Kane? The interviews illustrate various chronicles that were covered in the newsreel that the journalists had already put together: the rise and fall of Kane’s finances, the rise and fall of the Inquirer, and the rise and fall of Kane’s two marriages and political career. About the most interesting thing we see through the interviews is the recurring theme, emphasized by Leyland and Alexander, of Kane wanting love without giving any in return. As Thompson summarizes, however, that doesn’t amount to much.
Plus, every one of the living interviewees ends their contribution by passing Thompson on to another person, insisting that this new interviewee is instead the best candidate to shed light on Kane’s life. Even Alexander, who was married to Kane for years, believes that Raymond the butler, who subsequently offers essentially no information, can give more insight than she. The interviewees know that they could never gain access to Kane’s deepest self.
Tragically, this also means that no one, with the possible exception of Kane’s deceased mother, ever really knew him, since the four interviewees (five, counting Raymond) were supposedly those closest to him in life. Since Thompson can’t answer his boss’s question “Who was he?” even with all five stories put together, it seems that no one ever will.
But wait.
There is in fact one more interviewee. It isn’t a person, or any character at all. The final interviewee is Welles’ camera, which, unlike the characters in the film, solves for us the mystery of “Rosebud.”
Right before this dramatic reveal, Thompson contemplates what it would have meant to solve the mystery. He is dismissive:
Thompson: “Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn’t get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn’t have explained anything… I don’t think any word can explain a man’s life. No, I guess Rosebud is just a… piece in a jigsaw puzzle… a missing piece.”
The tension between this quotation and the subsequent “Rosebud” reveal is the heart of the movie. Clearly, Welles’ sly camera thinks it’s found the key to Kane’s lock, a key that Thompson doesn’t believe exists. Does it? Can a word explain a man’s life?
Each time I watch Citizen Kane, I feel differently. Sometimes I side with Thompson: a man’s life is indeed so complex, I decide, that “Rosebud” by necessity leaves so much untouched.
But other times, incredibly, I believe the camera. And it is in these instances when I see clearly the case for Citizen Kane‘s eminence. “Rosebud” comes at us not as a trick, as with other surprising movie endings, but with an aesthetic majesty, a confidence—shared by all great works of art—that its image touches all of life, that it has somehow packaged the incomprehensible into something that its audience can experience.
In this case, the incomprehensible is the loneliness felt by a boy who was jarringly taken from home and was never able to form a true relationship again. He was not “a man who got everything he wanted and lost it,” as Thompson offers, but a man who never had anything, at least not in the way of proper companionship, since his childhood, and who spent an unsuccessful adult life trying to figure out how to get it. Faced with impending death, he can only turn to the happiness he felt before money and fame.
The themes of loneliness and the search for companionship, however, are important to more than just the character of Charles Foster Kane. He may be the most extremely isolated character in the film, but he isn’t the only one who struggles with interpersonal connection. In fact, all of the characters are unimpressive in this regard. Thatcher has his items stodgily stored in a depressing, impersonal library. Bernstein is amiable, but there’s also a sadness to him, as if he wants nothing more than to have someone to chat with, and now that he does, he’s already resigned to the impending end of the conversation. Leyland is clearly a loner at the nursing home, unable even to connect with the nurses. And Alexander appears isolated to the point of clinical depression.
Forming human connections is perhaps the most difficult challenge of life. There are so many obstacles to it—pride and fear prominent among them—and for some, like Charles Foster Kane, those obstacles prove too great. But Welles isn’t deterred by this. The genius of Citizen Kane is to convincingly assert that despite the often-insurmountable difficulties of loving and knowing each other, there is for each of us an emotional, human story.
How many films, even well-made films, are ultimately only Kane before the Rosebud reveal—only empty character portraits, maybe interesting and coherent but still lacking life? How many of our own relationships in real life are Kane pre-Rosebud? Most of them? All of them?
Recall the fence sign that opens and closes the movie: “NO TRESPASSING”. This is an easy metaphor for Kane’s 
demeanor: he lets no one too close, shutting out those who would have been friends and lovers. But have we, by witnessing the secret of “Rosebud,” done the seemingly impossible—have we trespassed on Kane? Depending on your opinion, the second and final shot of the sign is either frustrated and defeated, like Thompson leaving for the train, or ironic: the victorious camera mocking the naysayers.
Everyone has different reactions to great pieces of art, but after a well-timed viewing of Citizen Kane, I personally feel tremendous optimism, as if loneliness, although still very real, had been demonstrated to be unimportant. Charles Foster Kane couldn’t share his story or his self with anyone—but he tried, didn’t he? And that, Welles illustrates with the authority of a master, may be the most human thing that one can do.
–Jim Andersen
You must be logged in to post a comment.