The Other Side of the Wind (2018)

Don't read too much into the year of release: Most of the work -- the recording, at least -- was done in the '70s, which is part of why I chose it out of my recent-skewing Netflix list. You might call it Orson Welles' most troubled movie of all, and that's saying something.

The title is also of a fictitious unfinished art film within the film. Its director, Jake Hannaford (John Huston), is "celebrating" his 70th birthday by showing snippets of footage to potential funders; answering obnoxious reporter questions or, more often, having protégé Brooks Otterlake (Peter Bogdanovich) answer for him; philandering; passing out party gifts; and expressing contempt for the leading man (aptly named Bob Random), who walked away before they could finish. Little does anyone know, as the up-front narration indicates, that Hannaford will die that night.

Meta enough for you? Appropriate casting of directors as directors, one of them based largely on himself. I had assumed that washed-up Hannaford represented Welles himself, but Welles denied it. The most prominent questioner (Susan Strasberg) is a parody of his nemesis critic Pauline Kael. Despite the satirical, near-mockumentary elements, no one classifies this as comedy; I'm left to wonder whether it was ever supposed to be funny.

The internal film is curiously dialog-free, yet it manages more of a sense of plot progression than the external film. It blurs the line between artistry and sheer pornography, with rampant sex and nudity and little coherence. Only women get full frontals. The lead actress (Oja Kodar), mysteriously, is never named and never says a word even at the party. Characters, especially Hannaford, repeatedly take note of her American Indian heritage, which I'm pretty sure Kodar doesn't have.

That's not the only reason for my "politically incorrect" label. Hannaford uses a slur for a gay man. To be fair, he's not the only fellow who seems to have a hang-up about homosexuality; some accuse him of secretly indulging in it. It's not entirely clear to me how Welles himself felt.

Several other characters have prominent roles, but I don't feel inclined to describe them all. Suffice it to say that I recognize a handful of names and that there's a lot of talking, much in contrast to the internal film. It makes for a pretty long 122 minutes.

Perhaps the clearest indication of problems in production is the alternation of color and black and white, more frequently than in Hell's Angels (1930). Either that or it's intended to evoke the use of multiple journalist cameras, which sometimes leads to rapid shot shifts.

I'd probably get more out of TOSotW if I were closer to the process itself. As it is, I don't recommend this viewing to any but the most avid Welles aficionados, who turn out not to include me.