Chimes at Midnight
Welles pulls together bit of Shakespeares’ history plays—mainly Henry IV, Parts 1 and 2, with touches of Richard II, Henry V, and even The Merry Wives of Windsor—and turns them into one big, aching story about friendship, foolishness, and the passing of time. At the centre is Falstaff, the great old rascal who laughs in time’s face until time gets the last laugh. It’s scrappy, echoey, and sometimes hard to follow, but that‘s part of the charm—it feels like proper Shakespeare, full of noise, mud, and life.
Filmed mostly in Spain (those “Welsh” castles aren’t), Chimes at Midnight somehow looks more authentically medieval than most British productions. The Battle of Shrewsbury is pure chaos—a blur of mud, blood, and confusion that feels way ahead of its time, like something out of Ran. Here is Welles the self-exile, railing against old age, authority, and decline; a man out of favour telling stories about men out of power. Beneath all the bluster, though, there is a real sadness—the sense that time itself is the enemy.
Like Othello and Mr. Arkadin, it was made on a shoestring, often filmed without sound and rebuilt later, with Welles often dubbing not just himself but half of the cast. It shouldn’t work, but it does—those ghostly voices give the whole thing a dreamlike feel, like wandering through memory itself. Chimes at Midnight isn’t just Falstaff’s swan song; it’s Welles’ too—defiant, melancholy, and gloriously out of step with everything around it. Messy, maybe, but all the better for it.
Filmed mostly in Spain (those “Welsh” castles aren’t), Chimes at Midnight somehow looks more authentically medieval than most British productions. The Battle of Shrewsbury is pure chaos—a blur of mud, blood, and confusion that feels way ahead of its time, like something out of Ran. Here is Welles the self-exile, railing against old age, authority, and decline; a man out of favour telling stories about men out of power. Beneath all the bluster, though, there is a real sadness—the sense that time itself is the enemy.
Like Othello and Mr. Arkadin, it was made on a shoestring, often filmed without sound and rebuilt later, with Welles often dubbing not just himself but half of the cast. It shouldn’t work, but it does—those ghostly voices give the whole thing a dreamlike feel, like wandering through memory itself. Chimes at Midnight isn’t just Falstaff’s swan song; it’s Welles’ too—defiant, melancholy, and gloriously out of step with everything around it. Messy, maybe, but all the better for it.
Mini Review: Welles pulls together half of Shakespeare’s history plays and builds them around Falstaff, the great old rogue who laughs in time’s face until time laughs back. Filmed in Spain, full of mud, noise, and melancholy, Chimes at Midnight is scrappy, haunting, and utterly alive—part battle, part elegy. A messy masterpiece where even imperfection feels like poetry.