In My Father's Shadow: A Daughter Remembers Orson Welles

In My Father's Shadow: A Daughter Remembers Orson Welles

Chris Welles Feder

Language: English

Pages: 304

ISBN: 1565125991

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Out of all the many stars and celebrities Hollywood has produced, only a handful have achieved the fame―and, some would say, infamy―of Orson Welles, the creator and star of what is arguably the greatest American film, Citizen Kane. Many books have been written about him, detailing his achievements as an artist as well his foibles as a human being. None of them, however, has gotten so close to the real man as does Chris Welles Feder's beautifully realized portrait of her father. 

In My Father's Shadow is a classic story of a life lived in the public eye, told with affection and the wide-eyed wonder of a daughter who never stopped believing that someday she would truly know and understand her elusive and larger-than-life father. The result is a moving and insightful look at life in the shadow of a legendary figure and an immensely entertaining story of growing up in the unreal reality of Hollywood, enhanced by Welles Feder's collection of many never-before-seen family photographs.

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practiced reading aloud his beautiful eulogy a number of times, when the moment came to deliver it, I broke down and Irwin had to finish reading it for me. “But I didn’t want you or that husband of yours to read my eulogy!” he admonished me. “I wanted Skipper to read it!” “But you sent it to me and you said — ” “I sent it to you because you were going to Rockford and I wasn’t, and I told you to give it to Skipper the moment you got there.” You told me no such thing. When I had said goodbye

two. Does he give a damn?” “At moments I want to believe in God, like now,” I went on, still whispering, “but I suspect people made up the idea of God a long time ago because it was too scary to imagine a world without him …” “The God of the Old Testament is terrifying! Haven’t you read your Bible?” “Seriously, Daddy …” “On the subject of God, one can’t be too serious.” “Does that mean you believe in him?” “One minute you sound like an atheist and the next like the Grand Inquisitor.” “I’m

stepfather’s, and that I deserved not only a good report but an excellent one. From that moment on, Madame Favre was my friend. “Now tell me, Christophare,” she began while pouring our tea in her pleasant living room, “why are you so unhappy these days?” I burst into tears and told her everything. When I had finished, she kept stirring her tea, twirling the spoon around and around in her cup while she gazed out the windows at Lac Léman and the towering Alps beyond. What would it be like, I

man had begun life on the grim south side? Norman Richard DeHaan was his own creation, I realized, and that struck me as more remarkable than any of his other achievements. I SHOULD HAVE anticipated Norman’s next move, but it came as a complete shock to me. We were spending the weekend with friends of his in their country house by the lake. It was a chilly evening in late August, the air crisp with a premonition of fall, when Norman suggested the two of us go for a walk on the shore. We had not

picture would “work” under any circumstances, and as the hours dragged on, we became convinced that possibly the worst movie in cinema history was unrolling before our eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt something new and uncomfortable: pity for my father. A sudden commotion jolted Norman and me out of our stupor. I heard a voice calling my name, and there on the pier below, waving and struggling to board the ferry, insisting she knew me, was a slim, olive-skinned young woman I

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