Bosley Crowther, reviews of Citizen Kane in The New York Times, 2 May and 4 May 1941.

        (2 May 1941)

        Within the withering spotlight as no other film has ever been before, Orson Welles's Citizen Kane had its world premiere at the Palace last evening. And now that the wraps are off, the mystery has been exposed, and Mr. Welles and the RKO directors have taken the much-debated leap, it can be safely stated that suppression of this film would have been a crime. For, in spite of some disconcerting lapses and strnge ambiguities in the creation of the principal character, Citizen Kane is far and away the most surprising and cinematically exciting motion picture to be seen here in many a moon. As a matter of fact, it comes close to being the most sensational film ever made in Hollywood.
        Count on Mr. Welles; he doesn't do things by halves. Being a mercurial fellow, with a frightening theatrical flair, he moved right into the movies, grabbed the medium by the ears and began to toss it around with the dexterity of a seasoned veteran. Fact is, he handled itwithmore verve and inspired ingenuity than any of the elder craftsmen have exhibited in years. With the able assistance of Gregg Toland, whose services should not be overlooked, he found in the camera the perfect instrument to encompass his dramatic energies and absorb his prolific ideas. Upon the screen he discovered an area large enough for his expansive whims to have free play. And the consequence is that he has made a picture of tremendous and overpowering scope, not in physical extent so much as in its rapid and graphic rotation of thoughts. Mr. Welles has put upon the screen a motion picture that really moves.
        As for the story which he tells--and which has provoked such an uncommon fuss--this corner frankly holds considerable reservation. Naturally we wouldn't know how closely--if at all--it parallels the life of an eminent publisher, as has been somewhat cryptically alleged. But that is beside the point in a rigidly critical appraisal. The blamable circumstance is that it fails to provide a clear picture of the character and motives behind the man about whom the whole thing revolves.
        As the picture opens, Charles Kane lies dying in the fabulous castle he has built--the castle called Xanadu, in which he has surrounded himself with vast treasures. And as death closes his eyes his heavy lips murmur one word, "Rosebud." Suddenly the death scene is broken; the screen becomes alive with a staccato March-of-Time-like news feature recounting the career of the dead man--how, as a poor boy, he came into great wealth, how he became a newspaper publisher as a young man, how he aspired to political office, was defeated because of a personal scandal, devoted himself to material acquisition and finally died.
        But the editor of the news feature is not satisfied: he wants to know the secret of Kane's strange nature and especially what he meant by "Rosebud." So a reporter is dispatched to find out, and the remainder of the picture is devoted to an absorbing visualization of Kane's phenomenal career as told by his boyhood guardian, two of his closest newspaper associates, and his mistress. Each is agreed on one thing--that Kane was a titanic egomaniac. It is also clearly revealed that the man was in some way consumed by his own terrifying selfishness. But just exactly what it is that eats upon him, why it is there, and for that matter whether Kane is really a villain, a social parasite, is never clearly revealed. And the final, poignant identification of "Rosebud" sheds little more than a vague, sentimental light upon his character. At the end Kubla Kane is still an enigma--a very confusing one.
        But check that off to the absorption of Mr. Welles in more visible details. Like the novelist, Thomas Wolfe, his abundance of imagery is so great that it sometimes gets in the way of his logic. And the less critical will probably be content with an undefined Kane, anyhow. After all, nobody understood him. Why should Mr. Welles? Isn't it enough that he presents a theatrical character with consummate theatricality?
        We would, indeed, like to say as many nice things as possible about everything else in this film--about the excellent direction of Mr. Welles, about the sure and penetrating performances of literally every member of the cast and about the stunning manner in which the music of Bernard Herrmann has been used. Space, unfortunately, is short. All we can say, in conclusion, is that you shouldn't miss this film. It is cynical, ironic, sometimes oppressive, and as realistic as a slap. But it has more vitality than fifteen other films we could name. And, although it may not give a thoroughly clear answer, at least it brings to mind one deeply moral thought: For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? See Citizen Kane for further details.

        (4 May 1941)

        Now that the returns are in from most of the local journalistic precincts and Orson Welles's Citizen Kane has been overwhelmingly selected as one of the great (if not the greatest) motion pictures of all time, this department rather finds itself with the uncomfortable feeling of a cat regarding a king. For we, in spite of the fact that we cast our vote in favor of it, frankly went to the polls with our fingers dextrously crossed and came away vaguely uneasy about the absolute wisdom of the choice. Mr. Welles has made an absorbing, exciting motion picture, and there is no question but what, compared with the average, it is vastly superior. But is it, as some of the more enthusiastic votecasters have called it, the greatest film ever made? Is it, indeed, a great picture--saying "great" with awe in one's voice? And does it promise much for the future of its amazing young producer? We, a minority feline, are not altogether certain, and a careful consideration of those questions will form the burden of these allegedly second thoughts.
        One fact cannot be disregarded in an estimation of this film: when Citizen Kane had its world premiere at the Palace on Thursday evening it was riding the crest of perhaps the most provocative publicity wave ever to float a motion picture. The circumstances of the case are too familiar for more than capsule repetition. Mr. Welles had made the picture in the greatest secrecy--had written it, produced it, directed it, and acted in it with carte blanche from RKO, his apparently self-satisfied sponsor. Furthermore, the aura of mystery was rendered even more formidable by the fact that Mr. Welles was an enfant terrible of note, had created quite a murmur with his well-advertised oddities and had already taken a bye on two previously projected films.
        Then suddenly the word got around as to what Citizen Kane was all about--the story of a newspaper publisher who rules a chain of aggressive journals and lives in baronial splendor surrounded by treasures of art. Immediately folks got suspicious that it might bear a close parallel to the life of an eminent publisher now living in much the same way. Certain ones saw the picture and allegedly pulled strings to have it squelched. The matter at once became news. Would Citizen Kane be released? Would RKO dare to fly in the face of assumed improvidence? Many folks became considerably disturbed, so when finally the picture was presented it had an audience waiting breathless and alert.
        This fact is very important for one particular reason: regardless of what the film actually showed upon the screen, this extraordinary advance publicity preordered a mental attitude. Folks who are generally familiar with the history of yellow journalism in America and with its more notorious exponents were prepared to see in Citizen Kane an archetype of ruthless publisher. Further, they were ready to respond with quick and prescient recognition to even the slightest implication. And although the film fails completely to state a case against Publisher Kane, to identify him except by vague suggestion with the flagrant tactics of yellow journalists, it is the belief of this department that most of the people who have seen the picture so far have come away with the solid conviction that they have beheld the image of an unscrupulous tycoon.
        Yet at no point in the picture is a black mark actually checked against Kane. Not a shred of evidence is presented to indicate absolutely that he is a social scoundrel. As a matter of fact, there is no reason to assume from what is shown upon the screen that he is anything but an honest publisher with a consistently conscientious attitude toward society. This is a surprising realization after you've seen the film, but it is a fact. We saw it twice just to make sure. And because there is this lack of positive characterization, because the real significance of Kane depends entirely upon one's personal preconceptions, we are inclined to feel that Mr. Welles is slightly hoodwinking the public. Or rather, we should say that circumstances have made it possible for him to do so.
        Of course one might reasonably argue that Mr. Welles, as an expert showman, has simply taken advantage of an established attitude and that the picture anyhow is not concerned so much with the importance of Kane to society as it is with the importance of the man to himself. In a measure this is true. But the entire significance of Kane to himself and to those around him is predicated upon the assumption that he is a sort of monster, that he has betrayed everything that is decent in his mania for wealth and power. And this the picture does not show.
        We hate to discover inconsistency in a film which is so beautifully made--and beautiful is a temperate word for Mr. Welles's Citizen Kane. Everything about it, from a technical point of view, is surpassingly magnificent. With the able assistance of Gregg Toland, whose contribution was obviously great, he has made use of all the best devices of pure cinema which have been brought out through the years. And he has invented a few of his own. Mr. Welles and Mr. Toland have used the camera not only to record a story but to comment upon it, to compose by visual contrasts and sharp glimpses caught from unusual points an overpoweringly suggestive film. The music of Bernard Hermann is applied with incomparable effect; Mr. Welles has directed the whole with the sureness and distinction of a seasoned master, and the entire cast--but especially Joseph Cotten, Dorothy Comingore, Everett Sloane, and Mr. Welles himself--perform it in a manner which puts to shame the surface posturings of some of our more popular stars.
        But this corner is inclined to suspect that the enthusiasm with which Mr. Welles made the film--the natural bent of a first-class showman toward eloquent and dramatic effects--rather worked against the logic of his story. And the accomplishment of his purpose has been so completely impressive that it tends to blind the audience to the holes in the fabric.
        . . . And when the significance of "Rosebud" is made apparent in the final sequence of the film, it provides little more than a dramatic and poignant shock. It does not clarify, except by sentimental suggestion, the reason for Kane's complexity.
        And so we are bound to conclude that this picture is not truly great, for its theme is basically vague and its significance depends on circumstances. Unquestionably, Mr. Welles is the most dynamic newcomer in films and his talents are infinite. But the showman will have to acquire a good bit more discipline before he is thoroughly dependable. When he does--and let's hope it will be soon--his fame should extend to Mars.