While we're all familiar with the seminal Citizen Kane, how much is really known about the man behind the film, the legendary actor and director, Orson Welles?

Rosebud, a one-man monologue, written by Mark Jenkins and performed by Christian McKay, sets out to redress this imbalance.

McKay bears a spooky similarity to Welles and from the moment he strode onto the stage, imposingly clad in a heavy overcoat, hat and enormous shoes and accompanied by the theme tune of The Third Man, you became sucked into the recreated fantasy of a long-gone era.

What unfolded, through McKay's physical transformations, was the story of a child prodigy, "Awesome Welles", whose undeniable talent became a political weapon of a paranoid pre-war country and vacuous movie industry.

As Welles climbed the hazardous ladder of success on his way to becoming one of the most acclaimed film directors in history, it became evident he would also become the master of his eventual downfall.

McKay's pseudo Midwestern accent rarely faltered as he recounted firstperson anecdotes from Welles' past although, at times, you felt the timbre and resonance were not quite deep enough to fully convince you you were sharing time with the big man himself.

There were witty, wry reminiscences packed full of excessive namedropping as he glossed over his love affairs with movie icons such as Rita Hayworth, who he married and later divorced, eulogising about his leading ladies: "They may think they have the leading role but it's a celluloid illusion, I'm the star."

In an environment which prided itself on superficiality, McKay convinced us the War Of The Worlds director was perhaps a tad too real.

Brought up on an erudite diet of literature and the classics, Welles found it difficult to toe the unilaterally right-wing Hollywood line.

As he skitted wittily through McCarthyism, Roosevelt's New Deal and the influence of the Italian mafia on the fledgling film industry, McKay conjured up a compelling account of a man torn between his artistic integrity and the necessity to make a living.

His transformation into a bearded, Falstaffian, older Welles, pigging out on Viennese pastries, was a poignant reminder of the harsh realities of an uncompromising industry.

It was also the most lasting image, as this once-revered director, who obstinately refused to become anyone's stooge, was reduced to doing voiceovers for frozen peas and fish fingers to make ends meet - surely a lesson to us all.