“Citizen Kane” (1941) and Young Aussies Today
There was a time when asking, "What is the greatest film ever made?" almost always produced the same answer: Citizen Kane (1941). For decades it topped critics' polls, film school syllabuses, and scholarly rankings. Although newer films have challenged its position in recent years, its influence remains immense. The question for young Australians today is not whether Citizen Kane is still number one, but why it earned such extraordinary admiration in the first place, and whether a black-and-white film made more than eighty years ago still has anything worthwhile to say.
The first reason is technical innovation. Director and co-writer Orson Welles was only twenty-five years old when he made the film, yet he revolutionised cinematic storytelling. Instead of presenting events in straightforward chronological order, Citizen Kane unfolds through multiple, often conflicting memories of the central character, Charles Foster Kane. Each witness offers only part of the truth, forcing the audience to assemble the puzzle for themselves. This narrative structure has since become commonplace, but in 1941 it was remarkably original. Countless modern films, television dramas and documentaries owe something to Welles' approach.
The cinematography was equally groundbreaking. Working with cinematographer Gregg Toland, Welles employed deep-focus photography, allowing foreground and background to remain simultaneously sharp. Long takes, dramatic lighting, low camera angles and innovative compositions created a visual language that continues to influence filmmakers today. Students of film often discover that techniques they regard as modern were pioneered in Citizen Kane generations ago.
Yet technical brilliance alone does not explain the film's reputation. Its enduring power lies in its themes. Charles Foster Kane is one of literature and cinema's great tragic figures. He acquires immense wealth, political influence, newspapers, luxurious estates and public admiration. Yet despite possessing everything that modern society tells us should produce happiness, he dies lonely, embittered and emotionally unfulfilled. The film asks a timeless question: can success compensate for the loss of genuine human relationships?
That question may be even more relevant today than when the film was made. Young Australians grow up immersed in social media, celebrity culture, consumer advertising and relentless pressure to build a successful personal brand. Followers, status, income and prestige are often presented as life's ultimate goals. Citizen Kane quietly but devastatingly challenges that assumption. It suggests that a person may gain the world yet lose something far more valuable along the way.
The mysterious final word spoken by Kane, "Rosebud," has become one of cinema's most famous symbols. Without revealing every detail for those who have not seen the film, it points towards childhood innocence, lost affection and the emotional needs that wealth cannot satisfy. The message is not that success is wrong, but that success detached from family, friendship, love and meaning ultimately becomes hollow.
The film also offers a lesson about truth itself. Each character remembers Kane differently. None is entirely correct, yet none is entirely mistaken. Modern audiences, living amid political polarisation, algorithm-driven news feeds and competing narratives, may find this aspect especially thought-provoking. Reality is often more complicated than a single headline or social media post. Understanding another person requires hearing multiple perspectives rather than accepting the first account that appears.
There is also an important warning about power. Kane begins as an idealist determined to improve society, yet over time wealth and influence foster pride, control and isolation. His story reminds us that institutions, corporations, governments and even individuals are not immune from the corrupting effects of unchecked power. The lesson applies regardless of political persuasion.
Some younger viewers may initially struggle with the film's pace. Black-and-white cinematography, measured dialogue and a lack of modern special effects require patience. Yet this is precisely why it remains valuable. Like reading Shakespeare rather than merely watching short online clips, engaging with demanding works develops concentration, historical understanding and critical thinking. Not every worthwhile experience must deliver instant gratification.
Perhaps the greatest lesson Citizen Kane offers young Australians is that civilisation progresses by building upon the achievements of previous generations. Just as young musicians still study Beethoven, young writers still read George Orwell, and young martial artists continue to learn from Miyamoto Musashi, aspiring filmmakers and thoughtful viewers benefit from understanding the works that shaped their art form. Appreciating Citizen Kane is not an exercise in nostalgia but an encounter with one of the foundational texts of modern cinema.
Whether one ultimately regards it as the greatest film ever made is a matter of taste. Rankings inevitably change, and every generation discovers new masterpieces. But Citizen Kane deserves its place among the classics because it combines technical innovation with enduring insights into ambition, memory, power, happiness and the human condition. Those questions have not become obsolete. If anything, in an age obsessed with wealth, fame and digital status, they have become even more urgent.
