e first thing we see in Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, the rather formidable beginning of an opening sequence that's still as electrifying as any in the history of movies. Charles Foster Kane -- the eponymous tragic hero and central enigma of 1941's Citizen Kane -- expires moments after the movie bearing his name comes stirring to life, gasping that cryptic word Rosebud with his last breath. But Citizen Kane, now re-released on its 50th anniversary, is as thrillingly alive as it has ever been.
             The thrills of Welles' breathtakingly exciting debut picture are multifarious. For one thing, there's the exhilaration of watching a cocky 25-year-old genius named Orson Welles explore the possibilities of the medium for the first time, playing provocatively with the properties of film as if he'd been doing it all his life. Visually and aurally -- from Gregg Toland's celebrated deep-focus cinematography to Robert Wise's crisp, complex editing to the multi-layered impressionistic/expressionistic soundtrack -- Kane is as stunning and sophisticated as any movie ever made, and it crackles and whizzes along at a pace that can even keep the MTV generation riveted to the screen.
             Then there's the thrill of watching the exuberant young Mercury Players, among the finest actors ever to work in front of a movie camera, having the time of their lives as they projecting themselves into the future and into the past. Their fresh performances still bristle with spontaneity and an edge that few contemporary actors (Robert DeNiro comes to mind) can match. And, behind that NO TRESPASSING sign, there's also the thrill of the forbidden. For Citizen Kane -- in its first few images -- takes us behind that barrier, erected to keep out the public, for an intimate look at a great and powerful man who got everything he ever wanted... and then lost it.
             As Bernard Herrmann's ominous score rumbles portentiously on the soundtrack, the camera surmounts several layers/levels...