F for Fake, directed by Orson Welles in 1973, bends the idea of an essay film in a way that was ahead of its time. No one explained it better than Tony Zhou of Every Frame a Painting, breaking down how the film itself becomes a meditation on the art of essay-making. Talking about essays—whether out of curiosity or sheer ambition—often dives into technicalities, from aesthetic choices to narrative structure. But when it comes to F for Fake, it’s hard to even define the medium it belongs to.
This quasi-documentary explores impostors, authenticity, and deception—ideas that still shape essays and video essays on the internet today. Welles himself argued that calling F for Fake an essay film was misleading, just as much as calling it a documentary. It blurs the line between essay, documentary, and fiction, yet somehow meets the criteria of an elaborate, self-aware essay on deception.
That said, sincerity isn’t really the point here. Welles plays with both public and private personas, making his qualifications as a storyteller both obvious and elusive at the same time. But that doesn’t mean critics and essayists can judge the film by the same standards as other documentaries or conventional essays. Maybe that’s the point—Welles wanted F for Fake to follow the same artistic principles as his films in general.
The film opens with a series of magic tricks performed by Welles himself, reinforcing the idea that magicians are just actors playing a role. In the same way, movies are just illusions, stories framed in a way that makes them feel real. To drive the point home, he presents an example: a vintage clip of a young woman walking in a miniskirt, carrying her things. He explains how this footage, and the way men react to it, can be manipulated to tell different stories—an experiment in framing and perception.
More broadly, a filmmaker can shape a subject’s actions completely out of context. The audience’s reaction might not even match what’s actually happening, but the camera creates meaning through editing. Joshua Oppenheimer used a similar approach in The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence, two documentaries examining Indonesia’s communist massacres from the perspectives of both perpetrators and victims.
In F for Fake, the structure seems simple. Similar themes and recurring motifs give the illusion of repetition. The process and scenes may feel cyclical, but Welles never gets stuck in a pattern. He plays with logic and interpretation, ensuring that, no matter how simple the premise seems, there’s always a deeper thread connecting it all.
Welles’ next main subject is Elmyr de Hory, a legendary art forger who fooled museums and collectors into believing they were buying the real thing. The film shows actual footage of de Hory hosting a dinner party, surrounded by the European elite. At the party, Clifford Irving, de Hory’s biographer, brings up the irony of it all. A debate starts to emerge: is de Hory guilty or innocent of forgery?
De Hory then shifts the conversation to another scandal—this time, a political one—about a fraudulent autobiography of reclusive billionaire Howard Hughes.
Irving dives into the details of Hughes’ fake autobiography, drawing parallels between the hoax and de Hory’s forgeries. The question isn’t just whether de Hory’s paintings are real or fake, but how much authenticity actually matters. Many art dealers, Irving suggests, don’t care about the difference—they only care about what sells. He highlights the uneasy relationship between counterfeiters and so-called “experts” in the art world.
But de Hory’s deception goes beyond just paintings. Welles reveals that the luxurious house de Hory lives in isn’t even his—it belongs to an art dealer. Welles doesn’t explicitly call this a forgery, but he lets the audience make the connection. He extends the analogy further, comparing de Hory’s trickery to famous hoaxes like the War of the Worlds radio broadcast. Despite being completely different mediums, both fooled audiences into believing they were witnessing something real.
De Hory, however, insists that he isn’t a forger—at least not in the traditional sense. After all, he never signed the original artist’s name on his recreations. This moment becomes a key turning point in F for Fake, forcing both Welles and the audience to reflect on the nature of deception and authenticity.
From here, the film circles back to the miniskirt girl. Oja Kodar, we learn, once posed for Picasso, inspiring 22 of his paintings. But when she asked to keep them, she was denied. Later, Picasso heard rumors of an exhibition showcasing all 22 paintings—but the real trick? The artist behind them wasn’t Picasso at all. It was Kodar’s grandfather.
Of course, this entire story is just another illusion, played out in a staged conversation between Welles and Kodar. In the end, the miniskirt girl, Picasso, and Kodar’s grandfather are all part of the same trick—an observation on the lies hidden within what we assume to be the truth.
When breaking down F for Fake, Tony Zhou compared its structure to the storytelling method used by South Park co-creator Trey Parker. Instead of just stringing scenes together with “and then,” Zhou explains, Welles builds everything through “cause and effect.” That’s why, despite covering so many subjects, the film never feels random—it’s carefully constructed, even in its chaos.
Zhou concludes that F for Fake moves in parallel with its essay-like structure, weaving together multiple stories and constantly shifting focus, isolating the audience in time and space. But from any perspective, the film isn’t about how it ends—it’s about how the process unfolds, how each cut leads to another, and how it all comes together. Unlike a traditional essay, a video essay is still a film. Welles, however, prefers to call F for Fake “a film about trickery and fraud,” spanning over forty years of deception.
Cinema, like magic, creates truth through illusion. To Welles, art itself is a lie—but a necessary one. He hoped F for Fake would mark the beginning of a new phase in filmmaking, embracing the techniques of the French New Wave while avoiding ironic detachment. He refuses to expose his own “Wellesian” persona too directly, yet still sits at the center of the film as an actor, a fraud, a magician, and a critic, all while casually smoking a cigar.
On screen, Welles reminds us that he has never been a more charismatic presence. Yet, at the same time, he plays alone in the realm of illusion, questioning the film’s reality. Watching F for Fake is like looking at an old photograph of people who have long passed, wondering if they ever truly lived—or if they were just another illusion all along.
References
- Ebert, R. (2005). F for Fake Movie Review (1973). RogerEbert.com.
- Oppenheimer, J. (Director). (2012). The Act of Killing [Film]. Final Cut for Real.
- Oppenheimer, J. (Director). (2014). The Look of Silence [Film]. Final Cut for Real.
- Rosenbaum, J. (2004). Discovering Orson Welles. University of California Press.
- Welles, O. (Director). (1973). F for Fake [Film]. Janus Films.
- Zhou, T. (2015). F for Fake – How to Structure a Video Essay [Video]. YouTube. Every Frame a Painting.
