The recent death of the late James Gandofini makes a convenient if tasteless springboard to a wonderful rap from the not so recently late Orson Welles that appeared this week in New York magazine, reproducing conversations Orson had with Henry Jaglom back in the early eighties, promoting Jaglom’s soon to be published book containing more of the same. In my film reviews for Bright Lights Film Journal, I have frequently bemoaned the glamourization of gangsters, citing The Sopranos as yet another example of this obnoxious genre. Orson, whose street cred outstrips mine by a considerable margin, had this to say in one of his chats with Henry:
H.J.: Did you know any of them [gangsters]? Meyer Lansky?
O.W.: Very well. He was probably the No. 1 gangster in America. I knew them all. You had to. If you lived, as I did, on Broadway during that period, if you lived in nightclubs, you could not not know them. I liked screwing the chorus girls, and I liked meeting all the different people who would come in, and I liked staying up until five in the morning, and they used to love to go to nightclubs. They would come and sit at your table.
H.J.: How do you think Lee Strasberg did with Hyman Roth in Godfather II?
O.W.: Much better than the real thing. Meyer Lansky was a boring man. Hyman Roth is who he should have been! They all should have been like that, and none of them were. The Godfather was the glorification of a bunch of bums who never existed. The best of them were the kind of people you’d expect to drive a beer truck. They had no class. The classy gangster is a Hollywood invention.
In my own attacks on the myth of the classy gangster I’ve had to apologize for my enthusiasm for Bonnie and Clyde. The real Clyde Barrow was a snappy dresser with a taste for silk shirts. He and Bonnie were quite loyal to each other. They posed for gag photos in real life just as they do in the film and Bonnie did write the poems attributed to her in the movie (“The Story of Bonnie and Clyde” is quoted verbatim). On the other hand, the real Clyde Barrow was 5’2” as opposed to Warren Beatty’s (theoretical) 6’4”. He was a heavy drinker (in the film, Clyde never takes a drop), was more comfortable robbing filling stations than banks, and on two separate occasions murdered peace officers by effectively shooting them from ambush. So I would have to say that Orson nailed it.
Afterwords
Although Orson does ramble a lot in his chats with Jaglom, and tells old stories that are obviously false (e.g., Carole Lombard’s plane was shot down by Nazi spies), it’s fun to hear him being rude to Richard Burton or bitching about the service:
Waiter: Gentlemen, bon appétit. How is everything?
O.W.: We’re talking, thank you. [Waiter leaves.] I wish they wouldn’t do that. If I ever own a restaurant, I will never allow the waiters to ask if the diners like their dishes. Particularly when they’re talking.
Listen up, little people! Don’t interrupt the great Orson Welles when he’s talking! Which is always!
