Critic's Grade: A+

What can I say about "Citizen Kane?" Or better yet, what can I say about "Citizen Kane" that has not been said already by hoards of film lovers, movie historians, and nostalgic critics anxious to get their praise off their chests? As one of the landmark film events in the history of cinema, "Kane" has been reviewed, studied, dissected, exposed, broken down, understood and misunderstood, and experienced by just about everyone who takes movie-watching seriously. It has been called the greatest film ever made more times than I can even fathom; in 1998, it ranked as the No. 1 film on the American Film Institute's list of Best American Movies. Its reputation exceeds that of any other film of its kind that I can think of; in short, the word "classic" seems somewhat of an understatement when applied here.

But for me, there is a fine line between the films that I love, and those that I respect. And "Citizen Kane," the first film of a novice who would go on to become one of Hollywood's most memorable figures, deserves every ounce of my utmost appreciation for its technical brilliance and storytelling impact. But I do not love the film as I do others. I give credit where credit is due, and much can be attributed to the magnificent work of Orson Welles' directorial debut, but I cannot bring myself to make a statement of pure, unmitigated infautation with a film that I respect more than I actually cherish.

It's taken me two years to pinpoint just exactly why I feel the way I do about the film, and I've come to the conclusion that in order to fully experience the impact of such a piece, one must be completely in the dark as to the central mystery surrounding the last words of newspaper tycoon Charles Foster Kane (Welles), as he utters the name "Rosebud." I was one of the unfortunates: a fellow film student at my high school revealed the big secret in a pre-screening discussion of the movie, thus rendering the entire class helpless in trying to comprehend the big secret behind the fuss of those attempting to piece together the puzzle of Kane's life. After all, while we may study, analyze, and form conclusions, we cannot uncover that which we already know.

The story is told is a series of present-day vignettes crossed with flashbacks, the recollections of those whose encounters with the well-known Kane give way to some intriguing developments in the search for the now-legendary Rosebud. We learn of Kane's childhood years, when he was taken from an abusive father at the request of his mother; under the care of the wealthy Walter Parks Thatcher (George Coulouris), Kane grows up with every service and opportunity at his fingertips, but has only one interest, and that is to rescue the ailing New York Inquirer with a slew of yellow journalism and scandalous headlines that earn him both attention and ridicule for his tactics.

It's not long before Kane is a man of great stature and power; he even runs for office, only to have his extra-marital affair with hopeful singer Susan Alexander (Dorothy Comingore) exposed and his political image shattered. There is a pivotal moment where Kane is confronted with the option of relinquishing his adulteress and returning home to be with his wife and son, no newspapers involved. Or, he could stay with his mistress, ruin his family, and have his name smeared across the front pages. His defiance of being cornered by those he sees as being lower than he has already predetermined his decision.

The ensuing events that follow the marriage of Kane to Susan show us a much deeper sense of emptiness in his life than was previously evident. The marriage itself is out of Kane's need to satisfy the loneliness he feels day in and day out, with a constant showering of valuable gifts and wealth on Susan, who feels that her singing career is going nowhere. Kane, however, uses her voice as a means to prove to the public that he can do anything he wants; he sees his use of power and manipulation in getting her into the biggest cities with the best audiences as a way of telling the world that he didn't marry just another headlining "singer."

The lessons of "Citizen Kane" are not altogether uncommon: money can't buy happiness, nor can it expunge one's past from memory. Power, when abused, is a means to one's own end. That Kane realizes this too late in life lends a good deal of substance and impact to their meaning, and the last word that escapes his breath is proof of that. In his final moments, after everyone he holds dear- in the only way he knows how- is gone, material possessions and monetary status cannot fill the void. In effect, his reminiscence of Rosebud is like a sad realization of his life's deeply-rooted hollowness and dissatisfaction.

For such a complex piece, it comes as a surprise that Orson Welles, who directs, co-writes, produces, and stars in the film, is creating his first feature film here. This is one of those rare instances where a director finds his voice for the very first time, displaying all the passion, intensity, and knowledge of filmmaking that many filmmakers must take decades to achieve. Behind the camera, he bestows upon the movie an affection that shows in every moment; in front of the camera, he transforms himself into one of cinema's most memorable and involving characters, his portrayal ranking as a fascinating character study of a man haunted by that which he cannot escape: himself. Kane is someone whose own self-image is troublesome to him, and thus he tries to remedy this by forming the public image that he feels he deserves.

The filmed is lensed in such a way that it results in a series of unforgettable visual moments and scenes. The opening fades of Xanadu, with the single lighted window remaining fixed in one place with each passing image; the snow-covered sled, lonely, unused, as if calling for its owner; the incredible use of shadow and light, which adds a moody surrealism to the piece that enhances the sometimes dreamlike haze in which Kane dwells. All of this is done with the utmost attention to detail by Welles and his cinematographer, Gregg Toland; in fact, a glimpse of the credits will reveal names like soon-to-be director Robert Wise, who acted as editor, and legendary composer Bernard Herrmann, all of whom belong to a collective group of filmmakers whose devotion to the creation of "Citizen Kane" is blindingly evident throughout.

I don't think I've said enough about the film to truly do it justice, but those familiar with "Kane" will most likely know where I'm coming from. Some may have different interpretations of the film from mine, and some will disagree with my opinion of respect over outright adoration. But that's okay: that's what the movies are all about, and their ability to inspire endless discussion and controversy over things like subject matter, meaning, and purpose have been and always will be the universal pull that keeps us coming back for more. "Citizen Kane" is one such example, a timeless movie that grows more and more meaningful with age, its status and grandeur serving as the yardstick by which many measure other films. I may not be the most ardent of all "Kane" buffs out there, I know greatness when I see it, and in terms of pure, unblemished moviemaking, this is it.

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