I saw "Citizen Kane" for the first time in a film class I was taking for what I thought was going to be an easy A in college. Silly me. Not only was the class tougher than I ever imagined it could be, I thought "Kane" was a waste of time. "What the hell was that?" I wrote at the top of my paper on the film. I got a C on the paper; I just didn't get it.
"Citizen Kane" is not a film that most people "get" the first time they see it. Especially these days when it's all but impossible to appreciate how innovative the film was since most films today borrow something from the film; either directly or as is most times the case, indirectly. More than twenty years later I saw it again and that time, through admittedly older and arguably wiser eyes and ears, I did "get it" and continue to get it in different ways every time I've seen it since. Without the tip of a spear from a college film class at my throat, I've found myself mesmerized by Citizen Kane on many levels the least of which being my respect for how a twenty four year old Orson Welles was able to craft such a seminal film at such a young age. Most importantly, I'm intrigued by how much I identify with, as many do, the story of Charles Foster Kane.
To summarize Citizen Kane as succinctly as possible, "Kane" is the story of newspaper reporters attempting to discover the meaning of, "Rosebud", Kane's final utterance. Simple as that may seem, part of the greatness of Kane is the simplicity of it. Kane is to films what a great cheese omelet is to eggs.
Literally or figuratively, everyone has a Rosebud. My Rosebud was a pedal car just like this. In this one passenger, one kidpower pedal car I was the Richard Petty of the sidewalks of Overlook Place.
It wasn't perfect. More of a four wheel child's tricycle than even a four wheel child's bike, it made a pogo stick seem like real transportation. The issue was the pedals and what amounted to a 1:1 posi-traction rear axle. A lack of gearing made that 1:1 axle exhausting especially on the up and down hills of the broken sidewalk paths of Overlook Place. What's more, without gearing to multiply force and without brakes, my pedal car, literally could only go as fast as my legs could pump the pedals. Stopping was easy, you didn't pedal you didn't move. Not very exciting. It did handle very well thanks to what amounted to rack and pinion steering although, as with rack and pinion units on real cars, it did have an enormous turning radius. U-turns on sidewalk slabs amounted to my getting out of it, picking it up and turning it around.
I had a number of accidents in my pedal car in attempts to make things more interesting. The worst was the time I had the brilliant idea to ride it down the smoothly paved but steep hill that led into the park behind my house. I picked up speed very quickly and the rapidly spinning pedals forced my feet off them. Thanks to that 1:1 "posi" there was no way for me to get my feet back on the pedals to brake without the pedals slamming into my shins. Doing a "Fred Flintstone" seemed like a sure way to break not only my legs but my ankles too. And of course, I'm realizing all of this as I'm rocketing down hill. To stop it, I had no choice but to crash into a tree. Nose bloodied, the steering wheel all but impaling my chest and my forehead bruised with the imprint of tree bark, I pulled myself out to examine the damage. The tank like little car didn't have a scratch on it. I promptly pushed it back up the hill and did it again only this time I'd steer into a clearing and have gravity slow me down. Eventually.
I think of my pedal car often even to this day and all of the plans I had for it. A lawn mower engine driving the rear wheels and a set of small, balloon tires would trick the little car out making it the screamer I knew it always could be. There was still the problem of getting it to stop, though. Didn't matter; kids make plans and parents laugh. During a spring cleaning frenzy a couple of years after they gave it to me my pedal car went to the curb without my knowing.
My heart is still broken.
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