The other day, while having a brief conversation about the films of Akira Kurosawa, the concept of his last film, Madadayo (1993), being a rather fitting conclusion to his career popped into my head. The melancholy and respectful conclusion of the film, complete with images of the passing generation – the aged moving forward and bestowing on youth the responsibilities of life – simultaneously mirror’s Kurosawa’s assault on cinema in his early years (Rashomon, 1950) and his darker contemplative works of his later years (Ran, 1985). While it’s true Madadayo has little indirect commentary to offer his samurai action catalog, its mood of reflectiveness and humanity recalls his social films, from Ikiru (1952) to Dodes’ka-den (1970), and I’d argue, the man’s final emotive state as his career and life concluded.

Naturally, this led me to consider other filmmakers whose final directing effort seems to subtly cover their whole output. I came up with two – though I admit I had to cheat ever so slightly, since both directors had subsequent failed projects, unfinished projects or short films that I disregarded.

First, Orson Welles. The epitome of the bucking bronco in the Hollywood studio system. His final true film was the feature documentary F for Fake (1975).  As a film it prominently features a threadbare number of shots, archive material and photographs edited together beyond reasonable expectations, and a beguiling hoodwinking attitude – all on a razor thin budget – that assaults the audience with all the struggle, angst, and general chaos surrounding Welles’ career. The talent level oozes from the screen in bold, vibrant daggers (as did Citizen Kane, 1941), and the smirk Welles has behind his eyes as film narrator boldly states, “I will have the final laugh when they look back.”

Second, Max Ophüls. His final finished film, Lola Montès (1955), is a breathtaking exercise in technical precision; the camera movement in space, the use of color, and the visual compositions of the filmed images are a feast to the eyes. The condemnation of nostalgia, celebrity (and the public’s fascination with it),  and the personal cost of the pursuit of art as a lifestyle are wrapped in a saturation of melodrama. It’s a combination of elements that have their roots in such films as Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948), with its reflection of the costs of love and art, and La ronde (1950), with its dual comic/tragic look at various liaisons. There’s also a hint of sadness in looking at a past that, while idyllic, can never last, which suggest Ophüls’ films in Germany before the rise of the Nazis.

Clearly this doesn’t work for many directors – I don’t think anyone would suggest Family Plot (1976) invokes the best of Alfred Hitchock, or that John Ford’s 7 Women (1966) is worth contemplating much. However, I’m sure there are some others that may be considered an appropriately concise final act. Any suggestions out there?