F wie Fälschung

F for Fake is perhaps Orson Welles' least famous film. It's easily eclipsed by such masterpieces as Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, and Touch of Evil. Also, the lesser-known masterpieces The Trial and Chimes at Midnight, which are as good as the previous three. Still, F is quite brilliant in itself, even if it's little more than an exercise in stylized editing. In fact, there's a little more to it than that. F is ostensibly a semi-documentary about forgery and fakery. Its main subjects are Elmyr, a pre-eminent art forger, Clifford Irving, who faked the Howard Hughes biography, Orson Welles himself briefly (chiefly the War of the Worlds broadcast), and Elmyr's precursor, another Hungarian forger who is supposedly the best forger who ever lived. There is a lot of play in the film about what is real and what is not. A lot of the documentary footage appears to be real, and some is open to question.

All in all, the film's subjects are enormously interesting, especially Elmyr. It's simply amazing watching him effortlessly, and I MEAN EFFORTLESSLY, reproducing the paintings of Picasso and Matisse. Elmyr gloats how no expert on Earth could tell his fakes apart from the real thing.

Clifford Irving's segments are somewhat less fascinating, but still worthwhile. His first major success was the biography of Elmyr (which was honestly produced), so Welles intermingles his story, more or less, into Elmyr's. After that, Welles talks a lot about Howard Hughes.

The final segment, about a woman who seduced Picasso into producing portraits of her which she then seduced away from him, is mostly re-enacted. Since it is not made up of documentary footage, but re-enacted, it proves very interesting. Welles himself participates in the segment, where he role plays the part of the dying old forger, with the girl, the real-life Picasso seductress, playing Picasso, who came to Paris to root out the master art forger who produced some original "Picassos." Once again, Welles puts on yet another performance of a lifetime. What was it at this point, his one thousandth? He also has a great scene at the beginning of the film putting on a magic show for a little boy.

I deliberately skipped the part of the film, quite short, where Welles talks about himself. He speaks about War of the Worlds and Citizen Kane, a forgery of William Randolph Hearst's (and Marion Davies') life. He claims that one of his original ideas was to do a pseudo-biopic of Howard Hughes. I've never heard of it. Is he making this up, too?

There is also, though, this sad undertone of the film about Welles' own life. He seems to be wondering whether it was all worth it. He talks about forging a career as a Broadway star in order to get work in Ireland. But wasn't he? He was a director, at least, but wasn't he also a stage actor? If not, he was always a famous and successful film actor, even in movies that he didn't direct himself. He speaks of his War of the Worlds radio production in very demeaning terms, joking that, if it were produced for a medium other than radio, he would have been laughed at (he shows clips of, I believe, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, or one such 1950s UFO movie, where UFOs are wasting Washington D.C., clips which he also runs under the closing credits).

As for the film's style, it has very complex but sometimes annoying editing, very rapid. I would suspect that even people raised on MTV might get a little dizzy watching it. There is also a lot of repetition of bits of interviews, clips, and the like. It's all in fun, but it also can't help but seem a bit silly. What it really ends up doing is subtracting the illusion of abundant substance. Oh well. Like I said, it's enormously entertaining. I think all of Welles' films were, really. People tend to forget that this master crafstman, rightfully thought of as one of the pre-eminent artists of the medium, was, first and foremost, an entertainer. That's not something you can say about the majority of cinematic auteurs. 8/10.

F For Fake is Orson Welles having a lot of fun. But it is also an example of the power of effective editing – simply put, this is some of the most impressive technical cutting, swiping, panning, scanning, freeze-framing and elaborating ever put on film. It moves quicker than any other Welles film, and in fact according to the critic Jonathan Rosenbaum in his excellent Criterion Collection essay, Welles had purposely tried to separate this from his typical directorial style. The result is a film showcasing the limitless possibilities of passionate film-making – Welles was clearly in love with his material, and it shows in every frame. An entire year was allegedly spent just editing this film, and the time was well spent.

The rest of the film is just as unique – nothing like this has been done before or since. Welles called it a "new" type of movie-making: a mixture of documentary and essay. It opens with Welles performing a simple magic trick; the camera is all around him, barely allowing audiences any time to follow what's happening. Soon Welles begins to narrate the movie, but (and this is what really separates it from most documentaries) there is a decidedly theatrical quality to the proceedings. Welles chronicles the true story of the famous art forger Elmyr de Hory (as well as his official biographer and future fraud, Clifford Irving, who penned the Howard Hughes autobiography-that-wasn't-really-an-autobiography), but it doesn't feel like a documentary at all.

If you do not share Welles' passion for the subject of fraud and deception (he even recaps his own infamous War of the Worlds broadcast which nearly cost him his job at RKO), this may be a bit tiring to sit through. As one reviewer noted, it's Welles at his most personal, and this is both good and bad – good because Welles is so gleeful and joyous that it's totally infectious and, if you let yourself, it's easy to be caught up in the free flow of the film. But the bad part of this is that Welles allows himself to dabble in vices – he devotes the opening credits to shots of his mistress Oja Kodar and her back-side as she walks around a Mediterranean city catching the glimpses of men everywhere. And the finale – in which Welles tells an elaborate story about Kodar – turns into a fun and well-edited - but extremely overlong – verbal game between Welles and Kodar, preceded by an even more tiring sequence of Kodar once again walking around in provocative clothing, eventually shedding them and being captured on film in the nude by Welles for an extended length of time.

And, also, as another commentator of the film has claimed, this is a movie riddled with 1970s film-making techniques – many of which seem outdated today.

Yet, despite its flaws, a lot of them work to the film's advantage in the long run. The freeze-frames may be outdated but they help the film to develop a very distinct style which, in turn, enhances the amazing editing job.

If not for anything else, see F For Fake simply because it contains some of the best editing you'll ever see in your life. If you are a fan of Welles or share his love for the topic of deception, you'll find this to be a very enjoyable and fun little detour. It was Welles' last true finished film before his death and it seems somewhat fitting that he'd sign his departure with a project such as this: one crafted from deep passion and filled with joy and wit and wonder.

Orson Welles's final completed movie deals with fakery, and in particular with two of the most notorious forgers of the twentieth century. "F is for Fakes" (also called "F for Fake") is not really a movie or documentary as much as a look at how we interpret art, and what we WANT to interpret about anything that is essentially fake. Welles proudly calls himself a charlatan while performing magic tricks and coming up with all sorts of ways to play with the audience. I personally had never heard of Elmyr de Hory until watching this, but Welles turns him into a very interesting person.

All in all, the director known as a boy genius had a fine end to his career. Welles created a truly mind-bending look at the concept of art. The fact that the movie came out around the time that Clifford Irving's scandal broke (he wrote a forged biography of Howard Hughes) certainly adds to the documentary's quality. Can there truly be any more definite reality left in the world?

"F for fake" stands for the last movie Orson Welles really directed and, as for many artistic legacies it's the final demonstration of the genius of the artist, becoming some kind of briefing of his entire career.

It's hard to explain this movie and why I really enjoyed because, as many other Welles's movies, it's full of surprises and twists.

Filmed as a Documentary, this film introduces us the personae of Elmyr, a painter who lives out of painting copies of famous pictures of Van Gogh, Picasso, Vlaminck and many others and making them look like they're the original one. Welles also introduces to us two more people; an actress and a biographer.

With many resemblances to Welles's own life, the director of such wonderful pieces as "Citizen Kane" and "Touch of Evil" plays with the audience some sort of magical trickery. What is real and what is not? If Elmyr is able to paint a perfect copy of a famous picture and fool the world greatest experts, is he as good artist as the originals he's copying?

Working as a perfect metaphore of Welles own experiences in art (he's not only been movie director but radio speaker and even painter) "F for Fake" remains as a perfect legacy of the ideas of one of the greatest and most gifted cinema artists. Don't miss it!

There is so much zest, wit, fun, cheek, energy in this supremely entertaining film, that it's a crime that Orson Welles never directed another one. It's packed with as many ideas and potential future directions as CITIZEN KANE, but bizarrely hasn't received an nth of that classic's acclaim. Indeed only Godard's later documentaries seem to be at all influenced by this delightful fancy.

The film dazzles on so many levels. As a story about five interesting characters - two art forgers, a charlatan biographer, Howard Hughes (famous recluse, and disseminator of misleading information and doubles), and the great Orsino himself, myth-maker and magician. Their stories, fascinating in themselves, mingle, juxtapose and clash, to provide a complex essay on the nature of art, the links between illusion, life, forgery and artifice.

Elmyr is a master forger whose 'works' appear in many galleries. His story makes us ask: what is art? What is it about art that moves us - the thing itself, or its perceived value? In an age of mechanical reproduction, can authenticity survive, is it a viable (or even desirable) option? Does any of this actually matter? Maybe because everything in a post-modern culture is reproduced, the aura of the original work of art (pace Benjamin) becomes even more powerful. Or maybe a proliferation of fakes, doubles, illusions asks us to profoundly question received truths, official versions, 'authorities', who would make us believe in repressive wholes and canons, stories that tell one experience, and deny many others. Art itself is a forgery, of nature or the imagination - the forger is little different from an interpreter (e.g. Welles and Shakespeare): he cannot help stamping his own personality on the work.

These questions are very complex, and cannot be grasped in one viewing. The film's form is bewildering and exhilirating. Welles promises us, in this tale of fakery, truth for an hour, but this is a truth we must make out for ourselves. Breathless narration; visual puns; the weaving of documentary footage, stills, reconstructions, other films; tireless, confusing editing; rapid subject changes; all manage to disrupt and complicate an essentially straightforward story.

Welles the narrator is an absolute delight, a jovial trickster, with his gorgeous hearty laugh, games, aphorisms, comments, allusions; and yet behind it all is an extraordinarily depressing account of his own career, the perception of failure and broken promises, and the onset of mortality.

The last 20 minutes is an extraordinary coup de cinema, as well as a masterpiece of storytelling. The Legrand music is playful and energetic, before finally slowing down for a very melancholy climax. This film is a remarkable one-off: frustrating, irritating, stimulating, astonishing, hilarious. It always pulls the rug from under your feet, and you gleefully await your next tumble. Only Bunuel began and ended his career with the same passion and genius, the same desire to demand the most from his audiences, refusing to rest on his considerable laurels. Absolutely wonderful.