Orson Welles and William Vance’s THE HEARTS OF AGE, reviewed by Travis Hedge Coke

I have the same reaction to The Hearts of Age as I do to Welles’ The Trial or Citizen Kane, and it is not “Oh! That’s what it all means.” It’s “Ffffffuuuu….” I can’t even finish the simple swear word while the movie does my head in and blows up my heart. And, I love reveals, I love mysteries, so a simple “Aha! That’s the meaning! That’s the key!” epiphany should be fine. Welles didn’t do good enough. You can tell that by the clip that floats around of him rapidfire critiquing a commercial for peas they were paying him to narrate.

Orson Welles was a badass filmmaker. You can point to the talent he worked with and try to pawn it off. “He was a great director of photography!” “That dude was a brilliant actor!” “Somebody had to build those sets!” But you know who was there every time Orson Welles made a cooler than hell film? It wasn’t that great DP or that genius actor, it was Orson Welles.

The Hearts of Age is a young man’s movie, it’s sharp and fast, hungry and full on cocky. So two-fisted dumb on its surface you don’t accurately know what was bluff and what was intentional, but that’s the show. That’s the nature of show. And, you know, you can watch the movie and recognize the entire time that, as much as this is, he got better.