Riveting account of Welles’s last film and the remarkable story of its filming/not filming. At the end it was almost as if the film itself with its story within a story was in a way, not a film, but a meditation on the weird nature of film – and indeed on truth and reality. This was starting to be explored towards the end but was not really concluded – perhaps it could not be. The most fascinating aspects were the glimpses of the filming in all its fascinating chaos – which Welles seemed to thrive on – and the suggestion at the start that he was the ultimate indie film maker made a lot of sense – particularly with this final fling.
I found the B & W narration by Alan Cumming with its very mannered and self-conscious style very irritating – but then, perhaps that was all a part of the being of this rather strange and weird film – not a conventional documentary in its nature or construction but a fascinating experience.