Bequeath the Wind

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND (B) - Part curiosity, part lost would-be masterpiece, this hunk of '70s art-shlock -- obsessed over for years by the legendary Orson Welles -- is finally seeing the light of day courtesy of Welles acolyte Peter Bogdanovich. Welles famously liked to shoot endlessly, hoping for happy accidents to happen. Here he is in late career, often in European exile, telling a story that he insisted was not autobiographical -- the last day in the life of a famous film director, played here by John Huston.

The film itself is such a scattershot melange of scenes that it is hard to follow, which seemed to be the intent of Welles, undisciplined as he tries to pour his cluttered mind onto celluloid. Working at the height of the next generation's American New Wave, Welles channels Godard and Altman, finding experimental brilliance here and there. But whether it was the original shooting, Welles' original cut as a template, or Bogdanovich and crew's modern edit, the final product is jumpy, uneven and discordant. At times that provides a jolt of energy; at other times, merely confusion.

Huston is magnificent as Jake Hannaford, reminding us of his epic personality on screen, whether he is piercing the ego of an actor or wrapping a creepy avuncular arm around a teenage girl on set. Norman Foster holds things together as his loyal producer. No one else stands out. (Bogdanovich famously replaced Rich Little after Welles turned on the young impersonator.)

Welles is liberal with the nudity (especially with his muse and co-writer, Oja Kodar), and a bathroom orgy scene is cut wonderfully frenetically, but the result seems like a '60s acid-washed anachronism even back then. One highlight is Kodar seducing a young passenger in a car they are riding in, her necklaces and chains rhythmically clanking against her bare, tanned chest as she straddles him and grinds away. Overall, the narrative barely holds together, and you might not care about the original idea. It's a wild ride and an appropriate tribute to a director who vainly tried his whole career to surpass his first masterpiece ("Citizen Kane").

THEY'LL LOVE ME WHEN I'M DEAD (A-minus) - The documentary about the making of the movie is better than the movie itself. At one point you get the sense that Welles' decade-long effort to make "The Other Side of the Wind" had turned into some perverse practical joke. He hints at as much toward the end of this documentary, but he's likely putting us on about that.

The frustration of working with Welles -- mad genius or over-the-hill hack? -- is captured by those still around to tell the story, as well as longtime Welles cameraman Gary Graver, seen in clips before his death in 2006. (During the frustrating down times between shoots with the boss, Graver earned a buck directing pornos.) Welles famously had trouble raising money, and here we get insights into the ill-fated Iranian connection (interrupted by the Ayatollah's revolution) and Welles' sad begging for cash while accepting a tribute award from the American Film Institute.

The man just got sadder and heavier until he died in 1985. This documentary is full of life, though, and it has a vitality and energy that the final cut of "The Other Side of the Wind" lacks.