boring. I don’t see why the box called it a masterpiece.
Your thread title answers that for you.
I guess mileage varies, although I could see that your appreciation of ToE depends on what you expect from a film. I’m a very visual person, and I happen to think there has never been a better framed film than ToE. Every scene is eye-popping, simply in the way every tiny element is distributed across the screen (there’s a low-shot scene where people do nothing more than walk in and out of the frame that’s simply amazing in its dynamics). If you’ve seen it recently, you probably saw it letterboxed, and there’s quite some controversy over if it was ever meant that way (it’s clearly supposed to be shown in 4:3, but many people believe that Welles at least anticipated a somewhat more widescreen release).
Short answer: I love it, mainly for visual reasons, although it is helped by a much more engaging story than, say, Citizen Kane was.
Okay then.
Did you watch the re-edited version where the beginning is restored? Where there is one long (3 minutes or more?) shot of a car (which we see is rigged with a bomb) makes its way through a border town, picking up local sounds and music.
That is absolutely brilliant filmmaking. Doesn’t mean you have to like it personally - but you should be able to recognize that the craft is just so…clearly superior.
I watched the re-edited version on VHS and it was in full frame. I don’t know anything about film composition; I can’t be expected to do research to enjoy a film.
You don’t need to do research. There are many great elements, starting with Welles’s great performance of a good man gone bad, as well as the question of whether the ends justifying the means (Quinlan frames the man, but it turns out he’s guilty). It has some great setpieces, including the justly famous opening shot, the murder of Gradi, the claustrophobia of Susan being terrorized in the hotel room. Dennis Weaver has one of the most creepy roles in film and every frame is designed to get the most out of the story and the characters.
So many other films have stolen from it that it may look old hat to you, but this was the first hat for many of the things it portrayed. That’s actually a common problem – you’ve grown up with seeing the techniques and portrayals that have been almost direct steals from the originals, so you don’t see why the original was so revolutionary.
I didn’t realize Orson Welles had gotten so fat even in 1958
That’s just it (IMHO) you don’t have to. I pieced some knowledge about films together by reading entirely too many websites, but I really believe that Welles’ brilliance in compositing makes for images that are extraordinary to anyone, even if you don’t understand why. But like I said, if you’re not a visual person, you might not pick up on that, and I fully concede that story-wise, you could do a lot better than ToE.
He hadn’t: there was a lot of make-up and padding there. He would go on to get much fatter than even that, though. OTOH, if Welles’ girth is what you wish to contribute here, maybe this wasn’t a film for you to begin with.
Also, everything WordMan and RealityChuck said.
By way of example, without Dennis Weaver’s turn as “the Night Man,” in Touch of Evil, the character of Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho would most likely have more substantially resembled the Norman Bates of Robert Bloch’s novel. (This would not be a good thing.)
Touch of Evil is my favourite Orson Welles film, hands down. It’s just so perfect, from the jaw-dropping orchestration of the opening scene to Marlene Dietrich’s sadly nihilistic observation about the fallen Quinlan: “He was just some kind of a man; what does it matter what you say about someone?” It’s clear that he was was the love of her life, in as much as she had one. Between the lines: “Yeah, he was a great man. And he was a no-good shit. Don’t break your heart trying to make it make sense, kitten – you’re not going to get anywhere with that, believe me, I know.” Never fails to choke me up.
Touch of Evil is one of the last examples of “real” film noir to be released. That alone should make it significant.
Granted, the story isn’t up to much, but apparently, it never was. One of the stories about Welles’ involvement is that he so wanted to direct in Hollywood again, that he asked producer Albert Zugsmith for the worst script he had on hand to prove he could make a good film out of a bad script. The original script was then rewritten, partly with input from all the actors in the cast.
Despite the storyline, the cinematography is great, especially that opening shot.
Yes, there are better film noirs out there; the original version of DOA is one of my all-time favourites, along with Double Indenmity and The Postman Always Rings Twice. If anything, use Touch of Evil as your introduction to film noir, and seek out some of the other titles in the genre.
I liked the Maltese Falcon. Does that count
I knew nothing about it when I watched it. The opening sequence was strangely thrilling–I think at some point I realized the shot was going on for a long time, but mostly it just felt like an ominous dance sequence. The rest of the movie was so corrupt that I felt filthy after watching it; I don’t know how else to explain it. It was deeply unsettling. But it didn’t feel cheap or gratuitous: it reached its corruption honestly.
As for film noir, I still don’t think you can do better than The Maltese Falcon. I watched it in college to see if my longstanding dislike for old movies still held up, and Maltese Falcon totally shattered the prejudice: I grinned like a damn fool through the whole thing, and began a lifelong crush on Humphrey Bogart. It’s still my gold standard for sparking dialog in movies.
That’s like saying “I don’t know anything about art; I can’t be expected to do research to enjoy a painting, but I still don’t understand what’s the big deal about everything hanging in that museum.”
Anything labeled a “masterpiece” typically represents a high standard in that medium, so it’s unlikely that all of that piece’s merits can be spoon-fed to those who admit to not wanting to put the effort in in the first place.
I love that film despite the tomfoolery of casting Charlton Heston as a Mexican. Roger Ebert, who has placed it on his Great Movies list, has an excellent essay about it here.
I found his speculation that Anthony Pekins may have adopted Dennis Weaver’s persona for Psycho two years later interesting. (Both movies show Janet Leigh having trouble with motel rooms. :D)
I have a personal attraction-repulsion to the film: Welles reminds me so much of my father in that movie it’s distracting. The weight (my father wasn’t quite that heavy but he was close), the rumpled clothes, the bass announcer’s voice, the cowboy hat, the cigar- everything, just “dead-on Daddy”. Still one of my favorite noirs though.
Even more perversely, Charlton Heston was not cast as a Mexican. His character was originally a pasty white guy, and Welles thought that a mixed-marriage angle would make the story more interesting. The role wasn’t recast after this script change. “Okay, you’re Mexican now.” “Yeah, I can do that.” 
You’re doing research now, even if you don’t realize it. Presumably you posted this to find out why the movie is so well regarded.
This is about my impression. I recognize that the film is brilliant, but there is so much that is loathsome in the film that watching it is an unpleasant experience.
I agree; my description of it was that it was “tawdry, very tawdry”, “oily” and “somewhat slimy”.
Obviously, if it can communicate this kind of a reaction, Welles did something right.