Citizen Kane

No film encapsulates the purpose of this blog more than Citizen Kane. For a long time, I avoided watching this icon; I had a nagging feeling that it would bore me senseless. I'm not sure where I got this hunch from, but it was completely unfounded: Citizen Kane is one of the most surprising films I've watched so far. A fantastic rags-to-riches tale, the story of Charles Foster Kane explores questions of power, ambition and self-determination. Loaded with Gatsby-esque motifs, moral tension and a deep obsession with the idea of narration, it is as rich and rewatchable as any good novel.

The film opens with slow, lingering pans across the vast estate of Xanadu, where looming turrets and barren gardens conjure up something of the gothic. The very name 'Xanadu' (a reference to Kubla Khan) suggests opulence and idyll. However, in the vein of Ozymandias, the huge empty halls hint at a once magestic life now reduced to nothingness. When a man is found dead by the maid, the film plunges into a fast-paced montage as a newspaper obituary fires us through the life and death of Mr Charles Kane, an influential newspaper magnate. Rapid shots and bold newspaper headlines flood the viewer with gossip and scandal - we are immediately thrust into the position of the everyday news reader, overwhelmed with spectacle. Public opinion cannot seem to pin him down: some fear he is a communist, some criticise his fascism. Images of Kane blast across front pages, but his true identity appears but a murky sketch - the opening of Citizen Kane is purposefully disorientating.

Kane's death creates a worldwide frenzy and reporter Jerry Thompson is tasked with discovering the meaning of his final words - 'Rosebud'. The notion that the entire life of a man can be reduced to a singular utterance is clearly reductive, yet Kane's elusiveness grants him a mystical power; maybe this one word can provide all the answers. As viewers, Kane's magnetism immediately draws us in, compelling us to make our own assumptions before the film truly gets underway - a fantastic start on all accounts.

The narrative flits between Thompson's investigation and a series of flashbacks to Kane's life. When gold reserves are discovered on his parent's farmland, Kane is whisked away to be educated under the guardianship of banker Walter Parks Thatcher. At 25, he inherits immense wealth and, rather than making traditional investments, Kane decides to enter the newspaper business. The decision is telling: Kane seeks not only financial power, but the power to shape public opinion.

His newspaper, 'The New York Enquirer', begins with a bold, moralistic manifesto, promising truthful news reporting - a commitment to the public's 'rights as citizens'. The moment is filled with idealistic promise, but it is short-lived: 'The New York Enquirer' devolves into sensationalism, spreading gossip, scandal and propping up Kane's personal ambitions. Kane dresses up a figure of change (indulging in its inherent romanticism), but he ultimately becomes another cog in the capitalist machine.

As Kane’s wealth grows, so too does his detachment. People become transactions to him, a fact laid bare when, after purchasing the largest diamond in the world, he coolly claims that he is “collecting people who collect diamonds.” Beauty, intimacy, and moral value are hollowed out, transformed into commodities in his endless accumulation of power. This moral failure is made uncomfortably clear when Kane enters into a bland marriage with the President's niece - a clear move to cosy up to the White House. Meanwhile, the newspaper evolves into a garish, old-boys club. A particularly bonkers scene involves a song dedicated to Kane, sweeping him even further from reality and briefly inserting the audience into the whimsical world of a musical.

When he loses the election for Mayor, Kane quickly prints a story accusing the opposition of fraud. His desperation for public adoration is almost Sisyphean: money and power have failed to purchase something as mercurial as public opinion. Kane's obsessively curated self-image is shattered and, when the stock market crashes, he is forced to close the newspaper. Orson Welles’ performance carries all the charm needed to embody a successful businessman, while imbuing Kane with an undercurrent of frenzy and selfish desire. There is a predetermined tragedy hanging over Kane’s story and Welles’ compelling performance keeps you enchanted, waiting for his inevitable downfall.

Kane's growing delusion facilitates his car crash of a second marriage to amateur singer Susan Alexander (Dorothy Comingmore). Determined to reinstate his social status, he builds an entire opera house to prop up Alexander's embarrassing opera career. Comingmore is the standout performance of the film, mastering a youthful ignorance with fiery hilarity. In the aftermath of an awful opening night, Kane fires close friend Jedidiah Leyland for writing a poor review, but publishes it anyway. Kane appears to oscillate between a desperate hunger to remain relevant and self-destruction, highlighting a deep insecurity rooted in his humble beginnings.

When Kane and Alexander move into Xanadu, the end feels agonisingly close as we recognise the haunted setting from the film's opening. Scale is utilised by Welles to highlight Xanadu's embarrassing garishness: cavernous ballrooms dwarf the couple and their unhappiness is exacerbated by the ridiculousness of their home. When Kane suggests they go for a quaint 'picnic', the next shot cuts comically away to droves of cars, a small village of tents, live bands and a myriad of unfamiliar faces. When Susan finally leaves, Kane begs, 'Don't do this to me.' Her laughter cuts through the moment as his selfishness verges on the realm of parodic.

Kane proceeds to rip apart his home, smashing the trappings of his success - now they stand awkwardly, relics of a misused life. As he limps past the gaping servants, Kane transforms into the subject of horror, rather than awe. Kane's downfall is a fantastic tale of greed, selfishness and the consequences of failing to live authentically as oneself.

Ultimately, Thompson fails to discover the meaning of 'Rosebud', concluding (unsurprisingly) that a singular word cannot encapsulate one life. The ending is somewhat disappointingly obvious, but, in a way, this prevailing mood of disappointment is a perfect summation of the film's message, echoing the hollowness of Kane's life. As the servants leave the silent castle, a final shot reveals the sled that Kane was playing with the day he was whisked off as a child. Etched across the sled... 'Rosebud'. We are forced to watch as it burns away with the rest of Kane's treasures. The lasting effect of the final shot is tantalising. Why 'Rosebud'? The mundanity of the sled embodies the very moment Kane is ripped from his home - perhaps it is a call to the simplicity of a life he never achieved. The ending feels remarkably quiet, a strange end to a busy film and a fitting reflection of Kane's life, which collapses into anticlimax. Yet, in a strange way, Kane's final word does cement his legacy, leaving us to debate his final moments for years to come, elevating his mystery into legend.

Citizen Kane was unexpectedly entertaining, but its lasting power lies in its ideas. The film’s social commentary can be overt, yet it remains startlingly relevant. In an age where social media, AI and increasingly unreliable media reporting blur truth and spectacle, we are flooded by an endless stream of stories, images, and manufactured outrage. Citizen Kane feels prophetic in its warning that those who control information often seek to shape collective imagination itself. Like the readers of Kane’s newspapers, we remain vulnerable to misinformation and spectacle. The question begs: how many Citizen Kanes hold sway over our minds this very moment?

7/10

Yours sincerely,

The Film Buff