
Dead Air: The Night That Orson Welles Terrified America. William Elliott Hazelgrove. Rowman & Littlefield. 2024. 280pp. $32.
For six seconds, Orson Welles held his audience in suspense with utter silence during the infamous 1938 Halloween broadcast of The War of the Worlds. This is the linchpin moment vital to this book’s argument that Orson Welles had a malevolent intention behind this most talked about radio scare. Was it a playful prank, an attempt at art, that got out of control? Most will argue that to be the case. William Elliott Hazelgrove, the author of this book, prefers to paint a much darker picture. Whatever the case, you can add this to the mountain of books on Welles and make a note of its intriguing details.

Orson Welles rehearsing War of the Worlds broadcast, 1938.
Orson Welles, given such a vast and complex career, continues to inspire great love and hate. Hazelgrove comes out of the gate exhibiting his scorn like a badge of honor with a bombastic description of what it must have been like for Orson Welles, someone wielding so much power as a star of the dazzling new medium of radio. No doubt, numerous casual listeners to a radio play of H.G. Wells’s The War of the Worlds, adapted to sound like a realistic news broadcast, were innocently caught unawares in 1938 and this resulted in a panic. Hazelgrove turns the screws with his suggestion that Welles should have known better and that a touch of evil must have been at play that night. Now, whether there is more or less truth to this analysis, Hazelgrove sounds very certain. However, keep in mind, that is just Hazelgrove’s suggestion. Smithsonian Magazine presents a case of Welles and his Mercury Players team scrambling to turn their adaptation into something palatable: “The elements of the show that a fraction of its audience found so convincing crept in almost accidentally, as the Mercury desperately tried to avoid being laughed off the air.”

Orson on Mars, sketch by Orson Welles, 1938.
Given that Hazelgrove clearly falls within the anti-Welles contingent, it becomes all the more interesting to continue to read onward as he paints as unfavorable a picture of Welles as he can muster. His next target is the Welles masterpiece, Citizen Kane, which Hazelgrove quickly dismisses as a “famous flop.” In Hazelgrove’s opinion, and this is only his opinion being quoted here: “Undoubtedly, people in 1941 left the theater scratching their heads. Some caught it. Most didn’t.” The popular belief is that Citizen Kane was misunderstood in its own time but that is, in fact, not the case. There are so many facts to work with that can be spun in so many directions. William Randolph Hearst got in the way of Citizen Kane succeeding at the box office but, without a doubt, Citizen Kane, in its own time, was a critical success. So, herein lies the frustration, and fun, in discussing Welles and his work. There is more than enough room to spin the facts and tilt your argument in one direction or another. All in all, Hazelgrove offers up an engaging and highly readable addition to Welles scholarship. I don’t have to completely believe him or agree with him and you don’t have to either but, like Orson Welles himself, Hazelgrove offers something lively and highly relevant for further discussion.





























