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GENIUSES AT LARGE
nymphomaniac? I recalled that people used to say about him: "There, but for the grace of God, goes God."
He roared with laughter : it came out of him like a tidal wave smashing through a dam. Then, abruptly, it was arrested in full flow. He said, " I have reached an age when I no longer have the desire to prove anything. At least I think I have." Again he laughed with controlled abandon, his whole body heaving in participation. "You may be right," he said; "subconsciously perhaps ... I don't examine my own motives. There isn't time."
"And this business of your being a genius," I said.
"That was a lot of nonsense," he said, but he used a more expressive and potent word than "nonsense".
His wife, the beautiful Italian Contessa Paolo Mori, was at present wheeling their baby round the swimming pool.
Welles said: "I expected Las Vegas to be sinister and rather awful. I thought it would be gruesome wheeling the baby through a gambling den every morning. But it is almost as respectable as Hollywood." He ran a finger down his face — the face of a dissipated cherub, I thought — and added, "Anyway, I have learned what it is like to work in a night-club. I had never done that before. Everything is material for something. No experience is without its value. I don't see anything wrong with performing Shakespeare in a night-club. I am a performer. I will perform anywhere, in a tavern or in a circus, wherever people are prepared to listen. The culture-snobs may raise their eyebrows, but the play's the thing — not the environment. Shakespeare would have approved."
And would Shakespeare have approved of the way he had played Othello? I asked, reminding him of how he had bruised and terrified Peter Finch, playing Iago, with his impromptu epileptic fit.
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