Written by John Peurach

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

image for On A Clear Day You Can See (And Hopefully Find) A "Rosebud" By Any Other Name
ONE IN THE HAND - Upon further review, still well worth two in the you know where old fashioned way.

LOS ANGELES - Ahhh yes, "Rosebud".

Once upon a time lost and eventually found, somewhere or thereabouts, deep inside the cozy cinematic confines of Orson Welles' oh so notorious, ultra-legendary, totally four-star Hollywood debut, "Citizen Kane."

Apparently - as is now being (better late than never) unofficially reported by New York Post Page Six gadfly-on-the-wall (of pretty much everywhere and/or all points in between) Patterson Dorsey - it was NOT, in fact, a thinly veiled, below the beltline/inside the pantyland, reference to a specific would-be code word nickname, as otherwise semi-impolitely engineered by used to be way too powerful newspaper mogul mad man William Randolph Hearst, to lovingly describe a strategic portion of longtime go-to/did-have mistress/main squeeze Marion Davies' nearest available well-traveled anatomy.

Uhhh, sure, if you say so.

And well, to help unravel even more of what's what, and/or, ultimately wasn't, regarding this up close and oh so personal mystery get down, according to many of those still really in the don't ask but do tell know region of this herein, therein, everywhere there's an in-in (if you know what I'm meanin') unnecessary story, of sorts, most if not all of the unavoidable confusion surrounding this particular down there somewhere matter stems from the now we know fact that the initial title of Herman Mankiewicz' recklessly over-the-top (well, sort of), supposed to be satirical send-up/take no prisoners source material - hastily penned one longer than usual evening in the late 1930s on the damp entrusted backs of nearly 2000 Algonquin Room cocktail napkins, before being even more shuffled-up accordingly into co-written original screenplay form, via some last minute, now and forever fine-tuned, smart ass assistance from overly-precocious multi-media boy oh boy wonder Welles - was in fact, (Hold onto your, uhhh, socks, and, of course, hats!) "Clitoris Payne."

All of which, surprisingly enough - then again, maybe not, once you put together the 2+2, and, of course, anything else going on with this beginning of a middle looking for an end of, yeah, so what else is new? - was once upon another had to go there time, reigning all the while rampaging, Hearst movie gossip maven Louella Parsons' totally under the breath in-office moniker.

Allegedly brought on, and/or, accidentally acquired (and then some), following an unfortunate incident involving a runaway teletype machine during a reportedly overly extended weekend long Los Angeles Examiner Christmas Party that - according to backroom newsroom legend (and, at least, four subsequently soon to be deep-sixed LAPD reports) - had to be called on account of (eventually) Monday morning.

Bright and early not included.

But, what the hey, at least (for once, anyway) some of the main participants in this here ultra-wild and so and so crazy holiday drama-thon-a-thon (and on) had reason enough to show up to work on time for a change.

As for the actual identity of "Rosebud" itself; as in, over and above, the - Spoiler Alert! - long distance childhood sled that makes a final scene appearance before being burned up completely for all of what's left of any and all on-screen eternity?

Who knows?

Although, upon further review, a better than good bet might be the one and only Bud Rose, a one time, long, long ago, on-set whiz of all seasons/Jack-Of-All-Trades, who - due in no small part (literally) to his well documented all on board endowment of well observed sorts (at least according to more than just the usual here to there and all the way back in the day say, and, more importantly, as luck, and a certain amount of tale of the tape fate would have it, a supposedly altogether accurate illustration that for many years decorated a now long since torn down RKO Studios soundstage wall) - was every inch the match of well known big stick men, Milton Berle and Forrest Tucker (combined).

But, only if he - with the collective on-set help of a strong armed team of pre-unionized studio tech handlers - was (temporarily, at best) capable of properly folding as much as they could of his, well, you know WTF, in half.

Or, so they were told, the police said, once, of course, the authorities arrived, and - on more than one occasion - Miriam Hopkins was properly revived in time to commence filming the remainder of her pre-arranged scenes that day.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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