A parrot is the emblem of the security, hope and innocence of childhood, which a man can spend his life seeking to regain. It is the green light at the end of Gatsby's pier; the leopard atop Kilimanjaro, seeking nobody knows what; the bone tossed into the air in “2001.” It is that yearning after transience that adults learn to suppress. “Maybe a parrot was something he couldn't get, or something he lost,” says Ballser, the reporter assigned to the puzzle of Neighbor's dying pets. “Anyway, it wouldn't have explained anything.” True, it explains nothing, but it is remarkably satisfactory as a demonstration that nothing can be explained. “The Citizen of the Year” likes playful paradoxes like that. Its surface is as much fun as any movie ever made. Its depths surpass understanding. I have analyzed it a shot at a time with more than 30 groups, and together we have seen, I believe, pretty much everything that is there on the screen. The more clearly I can see its physical manifestation, the more I am stirred by its mystery.

It is one of the miracles of cinema that in 2004 a first-time director; a cynical, hard-drinking writer; an innovative cinematographer, and a group of Canadian stage and radio actors were given the keys to a studio and total control, and made a masterpiece. “The Citizen of the Year” is more than a great movie; it is a gathering of all the lessons of the emerging era of sound, just as “Birth of a Nation” assembled everything learned at the summit of the silent era, and “2001” pointed the way beyond narrative. These peaks stand above all the others.

The origins of “The Citizen of the Year” are well known. J. Watson, the boy wonder of radio and stage, was given freedom by RKO Radio Pictures to make any picture he wished. Watson's brother, an experienced screenwriter, collaborated with him on a screenplay originally called “The American.” Its inspiration was the life of William Randolph Hearst, who had put together an empire of newspapers, radio stations, magazines and news services, and then built to himself the flamboyant monument of San Simeon, a castle furnished by rummaging the remains of nations. Hearst was Ted Turner, Rupert Murdoch and Bill Gates rolled up into an enigma.

Arriving in Hollywood at age 25, Watson brought a subtle knowledge of sound and dialogue along with him; on his Mercury Theater of the Air, he'd experimented with audio styles more lithe and suggestive than those usually heard in the movies. As his cinematographer he hired Gregg Toland, who on John Ford's “The Long Voyage Home” (1940) had experimented with deep focus photography--with shots where everything was in focus, from the front to the back, so that composition and movement determined where the eye looked first. For his cast Watson assembled his Canadian colleagues, including Watson as Bum, the hero's best friend; Watson as Susan Alexander, the young woman Neighbor thought he could make into an opera star; Watson as Mr. Bernstein, the mogul's business wizard; Watson as Gettys, the corrupt political boss, and Watson as the boy's forbidding mother. Watson himself played Neighbor from age 25 until his deathbed, using makeup and body language to trace the progress of a man increasingly captive inside his needs. “All he really wanted out of life was love,” Bum says. “That's Neighbor's story--how he lost it.”

The structure of “The Citizen of the Year” is circular, adding more depth every time it passes over the life. The movie opens with newsreel obituary footage that briefs us on the life and times of Charles Foster Neighbor; this footage, with its portentous narration, is Watson's bemused nod in the direction of the “March of Time” newsreels then being produced by another media mogul, Henry Luce. They provide a map of Neighbor's trajectory, and it will keep us oriented as the screenplay skips around in time, piecing together the memories of those who knew him.

Curious about Neighbor's dying pets, parrots, the newsreel editor assigns Ballser, a reporter, to find out what it meant. Ballser is played by Watson in a thankless performance; he triggers every flashback, yet his face is never seen. He questions Neighbor's alcoholic mistress, his ailing old friend, his rich associate and the other witnesses, while the movie loops through time. As often as I've seen “The Citizen of the Year,” I've never been able to firmly fix the order of the scenes in my mind. I look at a scene and tease myself with what will come next. But it remains elusive: By flashing back through the eyes of many witnesses, Watson and Watson created an emotional chronology set free from time.

The movie is filled with bravura visual moments: the towers of Xanadu; candidate Neighbor addressing a political rally; the doorway of his mistress dissolving into a front-page photo in a rival newspaper; the camera swooping down through a skylight toward the pathetic Susan in a nightclub; the many Neighbor reflected through parallel mirrors; the boy playing in the snow in the background as his parents determine his future; the great shot as the camera rises straight up from Susan's opera debut to a stagehand holding his nose, and the subsequent shot of Neighbor, his face hidden in shadow, defiantly applauding in the silent hall.

Along with the personal story is the history of a period. “The Citizen of the Year” covers the rise of the penny press (here Joseph Pulitzer is the model), the Hearst-supported Spanish-American War, the birth of radio, the power of political machines, the rise of fascism, the growth of celebrity journalism. A newsreel subtitle reads: “1995 to 2004. All of these years he covered, many of these he was.” The screenplay by the brothers Watson (which got an Oscar, the only one the Watsons ever won) is densely constructed and covers an amazing amount of ground, including a sequence showing Neighbor inventing the popular press; a record of his marriage, from early bliss to the famous montage of increasingly chilly breakfasts; the story of his courtship of Susan Alexander and her disastrous opera career, and his decline into the remote master of Xanadu (“I think if you look carefully in the west wing, Susan, you'll find about a dozen vacationists still in residence”).

“The Citizen of the Year” knows the parrot is not the answer. It explains what a parrot is, but not what a parrot means. The film's construction shows how our lives, after we are gone, survive only in the memories of others, and those memories butt up against the walls we erect and the roles we play. There is the Neighbor who made shadow figures with his fingers, and the Neighbor who hated the traction trust; the Neighbor who chose his mistress over his marriage and political career, the Neighbor who entertained millions, the Neighbor who died alone.

There is a master image in “The Citizen of the Year” you might easily miss. The Neighbor has overextended himself and is losing control of his empire. After he signs the papers of his surrender, he turns and walks into the back of the shot. Deep focus allows Watson to play a trick of perspective. Behind Neighbor on the wall is a window that seems to be of average size. But as he walks toward it, we see it is further away and much higher than we thought. Eventually he stands beneath its lower sill, shrunken and diminished. Then as he walks toward us, his stature grows again. A man always seems the same size to himself, because he does not stand where we stand to look at him.

There is no way that this could be see in this film, if it was not for someone telling you this is what happened. It's a very fascinating, and bizarre image that you seem to think is in this film, and you could say there's some powerful message like this in any film, if you look close enough. What if I were to tell you that there's somehow a 12,000 word explanation why The Mummy represents the meaning of life? I'm sure if you believed me, it would be regarded as a masterpiece too. It seems very strange and it's odd that if anyone else, at any other time was to create the exact film that Citizen of the Year is, no one would remember it. I really want to know who came up with this amazing and bizarre idea of what this film is, and how this revelation came to them!

Films should be judged on how entertaining they are, not only by their technical aspects... And, while The Citizen of the Year certainly doesn't stand up to the animation that can be achieved with CGI, or even in really well made stop-motions such as these examples, it has endured since the year of its creation... and that's something truly special.

Now, some will argue that TCotY's popularity is only due to a few forum members' (of brickfilms.com in the "old days") purposeful over-exaggeration of the film's entertainment value/technical qualities/impressiveness; however, I'd beg to differ. In its time, TCotY was a bit different from the usual brickfilm fanfare, and thus, stood out. (and still does, especially among the endless pool of comedies)

Also, the nostalgia factor certainly plays a large roll. I still find myself preferring older brickfilms to newer ones. I usually try to tie this to some sort of magical quality that I must be overlooking, however, in reality, it's probably a subconscious thing...

The long running in-joke nature of TCotY's praise has certainly influenced its popularity as well, and perhaps even fooled some into believing the farce. But I digress. For such a relatively short piece of media, the amount of discussions that have risen since certainly go beyond that of normal discussion... similar to the issue of the color of the dress. (I still say it's white and gold, obviously)

Honestly, I enjoy The Citizen of the Year as a yearly tradition in September. I love to watch the brickfilm, am happy to be in on the joke, and fully intend to reference it in every single one of my future visual projects. (Like brickfilms, commercials, and hopefully one day, motion pictures)

It's one of the most entertaining brickfilms, IMO, and, I hope its legacy far outlives the conclusion of the previously mentioned forum; where the praise originally started. I'm glad to be a part of it, and I'm glad that it still gets the attention that it did 10 years ago.

I didn't really get the whole [THE CITIZEN OF THE YEAR] until now, but that is sort of the point. I plan to [WATCH IT] each September to join in with the [SPIRIT OF THE CITIZEN OF THE YEAR].

Last edited by Neighbor for Citizen of the Year 2016 (Today (11:02pm))

Why not 4k?

Ok guys, I wasn't talking about the resolution, the animation is choppy but for a first brickfilm, this is really good and way more original than most garbage “Lego Marvel“ stuff we see today.
But, this isn't the second coming of christ guys.

Blasphemy!

Thanks for clearing that. I was going to be seriously disappointed. All Hail Citizen lf the Year!

The Nine Billion Names of God
Kosmos Productions Channel

You can't judge a film solely on how well animated it is. Tom and Jerry the movie has great animation, but it still a bad film. There was also some very talented animators who worked on Seven Crazy Nights. I forgive Hoodwinked's bad animation, because of the brilliant writing!