Knowing that I had this difficult Wellesian period in my sights, friends sympathized with me — “how sad it is,” they said, “such a terrible decline.” But I have never shared that view. Welles did it his way. If he had modified his behavior — if he had trimmed his sails, if he had pulled in his horns — he could have made many more films. But he would not then have been the force of nature that he was. He would just have been another filmmaker. As it was, this period in Welles’ life left behind him at least two films, Touch of Evil and Chimes at Midnight, that are remarkable by any standards, plus extraordanary work in several other media — but above all I looked forward to tracing that arc as Welles struck out towards the unknown region.
Such was my plan. But I was baulked by Welles himself. His prolificity during these years was so immense, the circumstances surrounding every venture (successful or unsuccessful) on which he embarked were so complex and extraordinary, and the ambitiousness of his approach to each was so unfettered, that had I attempted to encompass nearly forty years from 1947 till his death, the book would have run to considerably more than a thousand pages…
Orson Welles, Volume 3: One-Man Band