Continuing my Orson Welles mini-kick with the film he considered to be his best. I found a lot to adore in The Trial, but just as much to furrow my brow over. The cinematography is stunning; full of visual metaphor and gorgeous photography, it's an unyielding show of moviemaking expertise. Welles plays up the bleak, "no tomorrow" nature of the exterior scenes, the structured chaos of the workplace and the hedonistic excess exhibited by the various stages of the trial itself, to great effect. The story, though, feels too flighty and imprecise for my taste. It should come as no surprise, being a translation of a Kafka novel, that this often feels surreal and confusing. The narrative continuously floats and sputters just beyond the grasp of understanding, like a moth delicately avoiding a set of flailing hands. The Trial’s premise may be established nicely during the opening scenes, but as the duration grows it becomes too ambitiously ambiguous for its own good.