Mr. & Mrs. Smith (1941): A Review

 

MR. & MRS. SMITH

This review is part of the Summer Under the Stars Blogathon. Today's star is Carole Lombard.

While Alfred Hitchcock was the Master of Suspense, there is one outlier in his oeuvre that still puzzles people today: the romantic comedy Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Short and breeze, Mr. & Mrs. Smith works well despite its questionable logic. 

David Smith (Robert Montgomery) and his wife Ann (Carole Lombard) are a battling but ultimately couple. After their last three-day fight ends, Ann asks a rhetorical question: if he could do it over again, would he marry her?

David goes for the honest route and says No. While he loves her, he would keep his freedom first and for a bit longer. This is an exceptionally dumb answer, but it turns out to be prophetic. The clerk from where they got married comes to New York and tells David that, due to a legal technicality, their marriage is invalid. Unfortunately for David, the clerk is an old family friend of Ann's, and he stops by to see her and tells her the same.

David thinks he'll get a mistress first, then a wife. He did not count on Ann's rage at his attempted seduction. Soon, Ann is living the single girl life while David is relegated to living at his club. She also is wooed by Jefferson "Jeff" Custer (Gene Raymond), a Southern gentleman who is also David's law partner. As David continues his efforts to win his wife back, Ann has growing and conflicting feelings for her potentially former husband. Will our cuckoo lovebirds find each other's love nests?

I figure many would be astonished at the idea that Alfred Hitchcock could make a straightforward screwball comedy. However, Mr. & Mrs. Smith proves that Hitchcock was capable of working in this genre. The movie moves quite quickly to where one is surprised that so much can fit into a breezy 94 minutes. 

One can see how well Hitchcock could work within this genre in certain scenes. For example, there is a great moment when both David and Ann end up in a swanky nightclub. A clearly embarrassed David is already aghast at the girls his club friend Chuck (Jack Carson) whipped up for them. His first attempts to fool Ann by miming a conversation with the more attractive female next to him is amusing. That is followed by his disastrous efforts to get out of the club by giving himself a bloody nose.

Not to be outdone, Lombard has a great moment herself when Ann and Jeff go to the World's Fair and are stuck on a ride where they must endure the rain. Seeing the elegant Ann all wet and flustered, followed by her efforts to be coy with a courtly but drunk Jeff show Lombard's skills as a comedienne. She has another great moment when she expresses some puzzlement over why her wedding suit no longer fits three years later. The gag works, and Lombard sells her mix of embarrassment and attempted befuddlement well.

Mr. & Mrs. Smith has not only amusing comic bits but a surprising amount of risqué moments. Early on, Ann is playing a version of footsie with David, pulling away as soon as he says he would not remarry her. David at one point writes, "Miss Krausheimer" when thinking about his unexpected situation with Ann. He then crosses it out and substitutes "Mistress" for "Miss". While "mistress" is technically used correctly, the implications around "mistress" are all but poking at the censors. The film ends with her skis crossing each other, which is as overt a suggestion of sex as the censors would allow (or miss).

Lombard and Montgomery work well together as this oddball couple. Lombard had an exceptional ability to be simultaneously glamourous and silly. Here, she does wonderfully as Ann, who has something of a childlike innocence when it comes to David but who is also understandably angry at his behavior. She has a wonderful moment late in Mr. & Mrs. Smith when she attempts to hoodwink him by pretending to be with Jeff by making a lot of noise and carrying a one-sided conversation with him. 

Montgomery too does great work as David. To be fair, it is hard not to see David as a jerk, forever doing or saying idiotic and insensitive things. That we like him at all is a credit to his abilities as an actor. In smaller roles, Gene Raymond and Jack Carson were amusing. Raymond's Jeff had a great moment when playing drunk. The Southern accent was not overdone, and even allowed for some humor at his expense. David, upon learning that Jeff has asked Ann out, calls him a "hillbilly ambulance chaser". Not to be outdone, Jefferson's parents are horrified when learning of the Ann/David situation. "What kind of white trash are your going around with?", Jeff's parents angrily ask.

Carson's more genial and randy Chuckie was equally amusing and almost stole the film in his few scenes. His telephone call to one of his girls, complete with blowing kisses, was light and enjoyable.

Norman Krasna's screenplay flows well, even if the logic of the plot is extremely thin (it's highly dubious that the marriage would be invalid due to a geographical dispute over who could perform the ceremony). Still, a film like Mr. & Mrs. Smith does not exist out of logic. In fact, it is the illogic that makes it more amusing.

Finally, Mr. & Mrs. Smith was the final film released in Carole Lombard's lifetime. Her tragic early death in an airplane crash is still one of the greatest losses to film. One can only imagine how, had she lived, she might have become one of Hitchcock's cool blondes in a more dramatic role. 

Alfred Hitchcock had comedy bits in some of his films and at least one other film, The Trouble With Harry, is more comedic albeit of a black variety. As the only pure comedy in his filmography, Mr. & Mrs. Smith more than stands on its own as a nice, pleasant film. 

Hitch, we hardly knew you...

DECISION: B+   

Stage Fright (1950): A Review

 

STAGE FRIGHT

This review is part of the Summer Under the Stars Blogathon. Today's star is Jane Wyman.

Murder and death take stage in Stage Fright, a lesser-known and I would argue lighter Alfred Hitchcock film. With a bit more humor and some strong performances, Stage Fright is entertaining though not among The Master of Suspense's greater works.

Aspiring actress Eve Gill (Jane Wyman) learns from her love interest Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd) that famed chanteuse Charlotte Inwood (Marlene Dietrich) has come to him for help after murdering her husband. Johnny has been having an affair with Charlotte, and as a result he was seen fleeing the scene of the crime by Charlotte's maid Nellie Goode (Kay Walsh).

Now, Eve is determined to clear Johnny's name. With help from her father Commodore Gill (Alastair Sim), Eve uses her acting skills to infiltrate Charlotte's circle, though she has to bribe Nellie to get her to pass Eve off as her "cousin", Doris Tinsdale. Eve becomes Charlotte's maid/stage dresser, while also starting something of a romance with Detective Wilfred Smith (Michael Wilding), who likes it when she calls him "Ordinary" Smith.

Charlotte maintains her innocence, but there are more twists in the tale until we discover that not is as it appears, with deadly results for one and romance for another.

Starting from Leighton Lucas' opening music on down to some of the performances, Stage Fright feels less thriller and more light entertainment. It is not surprising given that a highlight is Dietrich's rendition of The Laziest Gal in Town, a song written by Cole Porter specifically for her. Dietrich seemed to be having a ball playing up a bit as the great musical star, but she also can show a good, strong dramatic manner when reminiscing about how she had to kill off a dog who bit her.

As Dietrich was playing diva, it leaves Wyman to play a bit more mousey as Eve. Stage Fright did give her a chance to play dual roles: Eve Gill and Doris Tinsdale. It speaks to the more lighthearted manner of Stage Fright that there's an extended scene of Eve preparing to masquerade as the Cockney maid only to end up easily recognizable to her nearsighted mother (Sybil Thorndike). Wyman did well not just in these dual roles but also when showing her conflicting romantic feelings for Ordinary Smith.

More lighthearted elements come through Sim's performance, which for me was a highlight. With a slight twinkle in his eye and a generally amusing and amused manner, Sim's Commodore Gill showed himself to be less addled than his estranged wife but still able to show lightness. Like Wyman though, he was able to play the more dramatic elements, especially when warning Eve of how dangerous Johnny was.

I think a lot of Stage Fright is more light due to seeing how Eve continuously tries to hide her undercover work. Most of the film is Eve/Doris trying to keep others from discovering her double-act. This, along with Sim and Dietrich's performances indicate that Stage Fright is not intended to be deep or intense. Rather, it is a bit of a lark, not a full-on romp but not something to put one on the edge of one's seat.

Finally, in regards to what is called "the false flashback", I can see how it would be needlessly misleading the audience and think it should have been reworked. Rather than show, perhaps merely telling would have been enough, or at least indicate in some way that things were not as presented. However, it is not a deal-breaker for me.

Stage Fright, while nowhere near the same level as Vertigo or Psycho, is pleasant enough and worth the price of admission to see Marlene Dietrich be The Laziest Gal in Town. 

DECISION: B-

Shadow of A Doubt: A Review (Review #960)

SHADOW OF A DOUBT

Small-town America is usually shown in one of two ways: an idyllic center of warmth or the heart of darkness.  It usually depends on the writers and director's worldview.  Shadow of a Doubt balances those two aspects by making the actual denizens of small-town America good people, but the prodigals returning to it are the sources of darkness.

In nice, quiet Santa Rosa, California, a family is looking forward to the return of Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten).  Particularly excited in his niece and namesake, Charlie (Teresa Wright).  She has always been fond of her Uncle Charlie, and Uncle Charlie does seem to have a sweet spot for her.

A note: since the central characters have the same name, I'll add 'Uncle' when referring to the man, and just 'Charlie' when discussing the woman.

However, things are not all that they appear to be.  Little details soon suggest that with dear Uncle Charlie, something wicked this way comes.  Little things, like him tearing up the newspaper of his brother-in-law Joseph (Henry Travers) to hide a seemingly innocuous story.  Little things, like Uncle Charlie feeling tense when Charlie keeps humming a waltz that she can't quite place until she figures it out: The Merry Widow Waltz.  Little things, like Uncle Charlie's refusal to have his photograph taken as part of a national survey.

There are good reasons for this, as the film progresses, and that Charlie discovers.  That 'survey' was really an excuse for two detectives to go inside the Newton house.  One of the detectives, Jack Graham, tells Charlie that Uncle Charlie Oakley may be 'the Merry Widow Killer', a man who marries older widows and then murders them, taking their money with him.  Charlie does not want to believe her beloved Uncle Charlie may be a murderer, but as time goes by, the 'little things' start adding up and Charlie becomes convinced Uncle Charlie is indeed a serial killer.

There is no solid proof of any of this, just 'little things': Uncle Charlie's almost hateful view of these widows that he openly expresses, the 'accidents' Charlie is having.  Even after another suspect is killed in Maine, Charlie is sure that her Uncle Charlie is a murderous, monstrous being.  Graham, with whom Charlie has fallen in love with and who returns the affection, is sadly out of town and cannot be reached.  Uncle Charlie has decided that it is time for him to go, but not before he 'accidentally' holds Charlie on the train as it speeds away.

A desperate battle to survive takes place, and even after justice has been met, the full story still remains hidden, that shadow of a doubt hanging over all things.

Shadow of a Doubt is brilliant in that so much of it really is done by inference.  We never see Uncle Charlie kill any of his widows (though at the end, it looks like he managed to rope one in).  We never hear an outright confession.  We never see Uncle Charlie actively try to do his niece in.  The film asks us to fill in the blanks, read between the lines, and it does it so brilliantly that slowly, bit by bit, we reach the same conclusions Charlie did.

Little hints, little details are dropped in, large enough for the audience to notice but not for the characters save Charlie.  It's a brilliant piece of film writing, and credit goes to three people (minimum): Thornton Wilder, author of the legendary play Our Town,  Sally Benson, authoress of the legendary Meet Me in St. Louis, and Alma Reville, director Alfred Hitchcock's wife who received a rare screen credit.

Hitchcock was wise to have Wilder and Benson co-write Shadow of a Doubt, for they knew intimately what made a 'small town': the people, the atmosphere, the structure.  This allows for the comic relief in the form of Travers and Hume Cronyn as Herb, the 'kooky' friend who always discuss the various ways to commit murder and are big crime fans.  Those bits relieve the tension of the main plot, but in one crucial moment add to it, underscoring Charlie's growing agony over what she know of Uncle Charlie.

The screenplay also plays at something sinister with Charlie and Uncle Charlie, unspoken and at times symbolic.  Charlie comments about how they could be almost twins, and how they are connected by more than name.  This is perversely picked up in a crucial scene between them, when Uncle Charlie tells her that they have the same blood coursing through their veins.

It's one thing to be almost open about showing Charlie and Uncle Charlie as a yin/yang type of relationship, but I found something almost incestuous about Charlie/Uncle Charlie.

Early on, Uncle Charlie gives Charlie a ring and puts it on her finger.  The ring has an engraving on it, the first clue to the Merry Widow Killer's identity, but the presentation of the ring, the slipping it on her finger, almost makes it look like Uncle Charlie has 'married' Charlie.

There is something dark and ugly underneath all the clean-cut wholesomeness of small-town America and in Shadow of a Doubt, something sinister that is just beyond. 

Hitchcock underscores great moments of tension, such as when bells ring as the lights slowly go out one by one in the library where Charlie has her fears confirmed, or when we see the camera move further away at every call Charlie makes to Graham, suggesting he is moving further from her (and from saving her).

I think Shadow of a Doubt has to be among Joseph Cotten's best performances, and sadly one that did not get the recognition it deserved then and deserves now.   He is equally charming and wicked, a man with no morality to him.  I'll walk that back a bit: he does have a form of morality: the survival of the fittest.  Uncle Charlie as portrayed by Cotten is a man who says, and probably feels, that he is right in killing all these women.  He makes a long statement about how useless these widows are, with all their money and doing nothing with it other than buying things they don't need.

As Cotten does this monologue, it almost plays like a bizarre justification or even confession, one only Charlie understands.  Uncle Charlie is so wicked in his amorality, but Cotten also lends him charm and outward pleasantness, which makes his true nature all the more grotesque.

Wright at times struck me as a little too star-struck with Uncle Charlie, and almost a bit naive.  However, given that is what the character was supposed to be, I cut her some slack.  Charlie grew to be more mature, more terrified, more wary of the man she once was passionate about.  It's the evolution of the character that makes this a strong Wright performance.

There were some things I didn't care for.  Nothing against Carey, but he never struck me as a romantic lead.  Furthermore, with Mrs. Miniver (for which Wright won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar) and The Best Years of Our Lives, I began to wonder if romantic subplots were required in all Teresa Wright films.  We never learned what happened to the widow Uncle Charlie had his eye on (whom we see briefly, waving to him on the same train).

That being said, Shadow of a Doubt becomes both a mystery and a tense cat-and-mouse game, ending in a tense battle to the death.  It's a great Alfred Hitchcock film, one that should be better remembered alongside his other masterworks.

DECISION: A-

Frenzy: A Review (Review #958)

FRENZY

As Alfred Hitchcock's career was winding down, the Master of Suspense seemed to be slipping.  Neither Topaz or Torn Curtain are held in high regard, though the merits from my perspective are yet to be seen.  We look now at Frenzy, his penultimate film.  While we have moments of Hitchcock brilliance, I found Frenzy to be rather distasteful, even vicious, and far more graphic than I've seen from Hitch.

There have been a series of murders by someone dubbed the Necktie Killer, based on the fact that the killer strangles women with a necktie before or during his attempted rape of them.  His latest victim has just washed up on the Thames, nude, with the necktie round her neck.

Enter into the picture one Richard Blainey (Jon Finch), a former RAF pilot who is down on his luck.  Just fired from his barman job by his cantankerous boss, he is searching for food, money and shelter.  He turns down an offer from his friend, Robert Rusk (Barry Foster), and hits up his ex-wife, Brenda (Barbara Leigh-Hunt), who runs a matchmaking agency.

They spend the night together, but nothing apart from a hidden 50 pounds from Brenda comes from it.  Coincidentally, Robert goes to Brenda's agency and again pushes for a woman to fit his 'peculiar needs'.  Brenda still gently but firmly tells him no.  This time, however, Robert won't be denied, at least the pleasure of Brenda's company.  Robert attempts to rape her, but he's impotent, but not impotent enough to strangle her, with his necktie.

Through a series of bad circumstances, it's Dick who is held as the prime and only suspect in the Necktie killings.  Things aren't helped when, despite hiding out at a former RAF mate's place, the newest victim is Dick's girlfriend, Babs Milligan (Anna Massey).  Robert is forced to go after Bab's body, which he hid in a potato sack, when he realizes that in the struggle, she grabbed his necktie pin and it is now lodged in her cold dead hand.

It looks like, despite his innocence, Dick will hang for his crimes, and Robert, who helped in capturing Dick, will get away with it.  Richard screams out at his sentencing that Robert Rusk is the real murderer, and swears to get him.  Chief Inspector Oxford (Alec McCowen), who up to now was firm in his belief of Dick's guilt, begins to question whether he has 'the wrong man'.  He now begins investigating Rusk, all while suffering the horrors of his wife's adventurous cooking.

Dick manages to escape before his execution date, and eventually though independently, both arrive at Rusk's place, where another victim is found, and Rusk comes in with a giant trunk.  "Mr. Rusk, you're not wearing your tie," Oxford observes while Dick seethes.

There are moments of the old Hitchcock genius in Frenzy.  As Babs and Robert go up to his place, Babs confident that Robert will help, the camera pulls back and away from the scene in total silence for what seems agonizing minutes.  Without saying a word, without a drop of music, without anything really, we can imagine the horror of what is going to happen to poor Babs.  Another moment is at the trial, where the door blocks out the dialogue for most of it, with only little bits to let us know what the court has decided.

Those moments, however, are few and far between.  It's interesting that Hitchcock, if memory serves correct, was a champion of the "don't show" school, saying that what the audience can imagine is far more terrifying than what someone can put up on the screen.  It's interesting because in Frenzy, we get a surprisingly lurid and graphic set of scenes.  Brenda's murder is one of the most disturbing moments in a Hitchcock film, so awful in terms of brutality.  The sight of Robert ripping Brenda's dress and bra off to expose her breasts in closeup is already highly disturbing, but the actual strangulation and conclusion, with our victim's tongue sticking out after a particularly vicious killing, borders on the obscene and sadistic.

It's as if Hitchcock, now unbound by the Production Code, decided to wallow in 1970's grindhouse.  That, coupled with a bit of dialogue earlier, is just grotesque.  Earlier, two lawyers were discussing the crime, and a middle-aged barmaid, overhearing this, said that she heard he raped them before strangling them.  Looking her over, one of them quips, "Every cloud has a silver lining", and perhaps it's me, but I don't find jokes about raping a woman funny.

There's just a viciousness, an unpleasantness, a sadistic nature to that scene that so bothered me.  There is also another moment, when Robert has to break the hand of Babs to get at the pin.  The corpse is now nude, and as he tears at the bag, at a certain point he thrusts his head where Babs' crotch is.  Maybe Hitchcock and screenwriter Anthony Schaffer (adapting Arthur La Bern's Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square) thought showing necrophiliac oral sex was funny.  I thought it horrible.

Again and again, seeing people murdered in such gruesome ways, particularly people who are essentially defenseless, plays at me, and I find myself highly uncomfortable.

It's also interesting that while Hitchcock continues with his 'wrong man' motif, the wrong man here was not someone one cared about.  Dick lived up to his name: boorish, drunk, and unpleasant, it's a wonder why Oxford had second thoughts on him being the Necktie Killer.  It's also a wonder why a.) the police never found more victims after Dick's arrest, b.) could connect him to the other murders when they probably couldn't, and c.) why Oxford suddenly believed Dick's ramblings.

The performances weren't altogether good in my view either for the most part.  I found the acting a bit overly-dramatic and stale, particularly by Finch as the mean and petty Dick.  I thought Foster was better as the crazed Rusk, and both Leigh-Hunt and Massey were quite good as the poor victims.

I just hated to see them killed, and in Leigh-Hunt's case, in such a particularly ghoulish and graphic fashion.

I could have done without the comedy bits of McCowen and Vivien Merchant as Mrs. Oxford, though she was amusing in her desire for Avant-garde dining.

Frenzy tries for polish and for grindhouse, and I don't think it works on either.  Again, there are sequences that I think are brilliant (the silent moments when we know Babs is biting the dust), but on the whole, I think Frenzy shows why Alfred Hitchcock films post-The Birds aren't in high demand (though in at least one case, I think it should be). 

DECISION: C-

Dial M For Murder: A Review (Review #930)

DIAL M FOR MURDER

This is part of the Summer Under the Stars Blogathon sponsored by Journeys In Classic Film.  I am grateful to Kristen Lopez for allowing me to participate.  Today's Star is Ray Milland.

In the early 1950's, the 3-D craze was infecting Hollywood, another gimmick to draw viewers away from the demon known as 'television'.  I can't say whether studios gave much thought to whether every film was suitable to the miracle of Third Dimension, but they seemed to throw a lot of projects into this mania.  One of them was Dial M For Murder, which leads one to ask, 'what were they thinking?'  I don't think director Alfred Hitchcock wanted to make Dial M For Murder in 3-D, but he gave it as good a go as possible.

For some time now former tennis star Tony Wendice (Milland) has known that his wife Margot (Grace Kelly) has been unfaithful.  She had an affair with mystery writer Mark Halliday (Robert Cummings), who has returned to London.  Tony has therefore plotted out a very ingenious plan to murder Margot, inherit her fortune, and give himself the perfect alibi.  He's been planning out every detail for months if not years, and part of that plan involves blackmailing a college acquaintance fallen on hard times, Swan (Anthony Dawson) into doing the actual killing.

After all the months of preparation, the night comes.  Tony's plan is to take Mark to a stag party while Margot stays home.  He'll go and call 'a wrong number' (theirs) whereupon Margot will pick up the receiver and Swan can strangle her from behind.  Tony will then call the 'right' number to give himself an alibi, with Mark inadvertently backing his story.

As in life though, things don't turn out perfectly.  Margot manages to get a pair of scissors on the desk and stab Swan in the back.  In desperation, Tony answers her reply, and if forced to improvise to cover up his involvement in the now-attempted murder.

Things, however, still manage to go Tony's way, as evidence and the thinking of Inspector Hubbard (John Williams) paint Margot as a murderess who killed Swan deliberately to get out of blackmail.  She is convicted and sentenced to death.  On the eve of her execution, Tony is coolly going over plans to leave when Mark comes.  He tells Tony that he's found a way to exonerate Margot: to say that Tony had planned all this.

Mark accidentally comes close to the truth, but the ever-cool Tony still manages to get out of things.  However, a surprise visit from Inspector Hubbard leads to a surprising conclusion.

Dial M for Murder is adapted by its playwright, Fredrick Knott, and the stage trappings of the film are very evident.  The film is pretty straightforward in its presentation, with no flashbacks or scenes outside the Wendice apartment/flat except for the stag party.  Even the scenes that technically take place outside the flat are shot as if looking out of their window.

While watching Dial M for Murder, I could see how this would prove to be a most entertaining night of theater.  The story isn't a whodunit but a will and how will he get away with it.  We the audience know what others are up to, so being 'in the know' the suspense comes from when it goes wrong and when things still go Tony's way.

Alfred Hitchcock opted not to 'open up the play', and I think on the whole it was a good decision (though like a play, it seems that the final moments when Tony comes back from the police station while Mark and Hubbard are waiting at the apartment happens too fast).  Hitchcock's brilliance comes from drawing great performances out of his actors, and from keeping things flowing.

I think many directors of lesser quality would have kept things at constant eye level, as if literally filming a play.  Hitchcock moves his camera, giving us all sorts of views to break the monotony of things.  He, along with Knott, also tell us things subtly without taking up too much time.

In the opening, we see Margot and Tony at breakfast in what appears to be domestic bliss: a peck on the lips, and the two of them separated by a small table.  Within a minute we see her with Mark, in a passionate embrace and Margot decked out in bright, almost erotic red.  Nothing has been said, but everything is on the screen for us to interpret.

In the performances, I think the two standouts are Milland and Williams.  Milland has a very charming and elegant manner to him, but what makes him a far better villain than most is that he does not get rattled.  He may be taken by surprise (for example, when he finds that his watch stopped, making him unable to temporarily set the plans into motion), but we see that Tony is shrewd, cunning, and able to roll with the punches.

Not once does he rant or rave.  Not once does he go into hysterics or crumble, even at the end when he's found out and finds no escape.  Instead, he accepts things as they are.  Milland is brilliant as the urbane villain, whom you sense is just a bit off beneath his cool exterior and charming manner.

I think Williams is also highly excellent as Hubbard.  His Chief Inspector is nobody's fool, methodically working things out that put Tony on his toes.  Williams has enough charm to make Hubbard a pleasant, well-meaning but perhaps not brilliant policeman, a bit of a stereotype.  However, underneath that seemingly bumbling manner there lies a sharp mind, one who over time can see that perhaps things are not as they appear to be.  After the Intermission, it really becomes more Williams' show than anyone else's.

To my mind, Kelly had the weaker performance.  She's very elegant and beautiful, no doubt, and her attack is intense and frightening, almost rape-like as she writhes in terror.  However, asking her to play slightly dowdy at the end rings a bit of a false note.  Grace Kelly is frankly too posh to be in a serious state of shock over Tony's duplicity.  She wasn't that convincing in her shock and horror, but on the whole she did very well.

Cummings seemed almost a bit of an afterthought, a plot device with not much going for him.  Dawson, as the amoral but still slightly conflicted Swan, was strong in his brief screen-time.

The thing about the 3-D is that very little in Dial M for Murder appears good for it.  There's the famous shot of Kelly thrusting her arm out as she's being strangled, and a shot of Williams holding out the literal key to the mystery.  Apart from that though it was a mistake to try and push Dial M for Murder as a 3-D spectacle.

With strong performances by Ray Milland and John Williams, good performance from Grace Kelly, and an intriguing premise well-executed, Dial M for Murder the film is like a good performance of Dial M for Murder the play: a pleasant diversion with elaborate and logical twists and turns that keep you guessing how things will turn out. 

DECISION: B+

Psycho (1960): A Review

PSYCHO (1960)

With Bates Motel over, I thought it would be nice to look over the history of the Psycho phenomenon, and what better way to begin than with the original.  Shocking when it was released, and still shocking today, it is interesting that while many people might think that Psycho began the glut of graphically violent films, the movie itself is actually quite restrained when it comes to what is actually there.

History has proven that Psycho was not a cheap slasher film (let alone the genesis of the genre), but among the best-crafted films of the 20th Century.

Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) is a good and honest person, though her love life is a bit chaotic.  Her lover, Sam Loomis (John Gavin), has many debts and an ex-wife, which is why he won't marry her.  Marion wants to help Sam and find a way to be together, willing even to move from her home in Phoenix to his small hardware store in Fairvale, California.

Things take an unexpected turn when $40,000 almost literally falls in her lap, a cash payment by a wealthy real estate client.  Her boss is uncomfortable with so much cash at the office and asks Marion to deposit it in the bank.  Marion decides to make a run for it.

Her nerves get the better of her, as she finds herself quietly pursued by a police officer who finds her very suspicious, more so when she trades in her car for another.  Eventually, she drives to the Bates Motel, having accidentally gotten off the highway.  She seeks shelter from the storm, and the hotel owner, Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) offers both shelter and a good ear.  He also has a mother, who constantly shouts at him but who is, in his own words, incapacitated.

Marion then decides to clean up her act, deciding in her own mind to go back and face the music.  She also decides to take a shower, and it's here where all hell breaks loose.

Marion Crane is stabbed to death in the shower.

Shortly afterwards, Marion's sister Lila (Vera Miles) goes to Sam's to find her, but Sam doesn't know anything.  Unbeknown to either, there's someone else looking for Marion: private detective Milton Arbogast (Martin Balsam).  He wants to know what happened to Marion, and the $40,000.  His investigative work leads him to the Bates Motel, where he finds a very nervous Norman.  He also finds that Norman will not let him see Mrs. Bates.

When Arbogast doesn't contact Lila and Sam, they decide to investigate themselves.  This leads to the shocking discovery of the truth of Norman and Mrs. Bates, as well as a long explanation by a psychiatrist (Simon Oakland).  The truth about Marion's murder and Norman Bates leaves everyone in disbelief.

Psycho has become a byword for 'crazy', but the film is anything but.  It still is shocking in so many ways.  First, screenwriter Joseph Stefano (adapting Robert Bloch's novel) and Hitchcock give us a major twist in killing off what the audience believes to be the main character.  The film has you believe that this will be Marion's story, but about halfway through the film, we see her slashed to death.  Having our 'main' character killed off, particularly in that manner, upends audiences' expectations, leaving them off-kilter and unsure of what will happen.

It's not a spoiler to say that Marion Crane was murdered: the shower scene having become iconic.  Those who have not seen Psycho are aware of it: it's been reference and parodied countless times.  What might be surprising to people is that the shower scene is both very brief (probably under two minutes at the most) and surprisingly not violent.

The shower scene has been analyzed and studied and dissected in many film classes, and I don't think I need to go over every frame of it.  Instead, I can tell you what I saw, and this is something that has been commented on by others.  The shock and horror that comes from it is not directly related to what is actually shown (there was probably one very quick shot of the knife near the body, but from my perspective it didn't look like it had actually entered the body).

The shock and horror comes from the impressions it leaves.  Everything in the shower scene works to give an illusion of rapid, out-of-control, frenzied violence on an almost unimaginable scale.

Bernard Herrmann's score at this scene have a stabbing-like sound: the violin strings repeating the same note in short, rapid succession, with a controlled frenzy backing it up.
George Tomasini's quick cutting where things again show a frenzy and fury, the knife appearing to come almost closer and closer to us as it 'cuts' through the water.
Janet Leigh's screams of terror as she desperately fights off her attacker.
Hitchcock putting all this together seamlessly.

We even get a touch of pathos after her killing.  Accidentally or not, a couple of the shower water drops almost appear to form 'tears' from Marion's eyes, as if metaphorically she is crying that now she will never get a chance to redeem herself when she had made the decision to return to Phoenix and try to make right what she did wrong.

It adds a touch of sadness after the perceived violence, for if one looks at the shower scene, we see that the blood and gruesome nature of it comes from our imagination, not what is literally on screen.

Psycho's brilliance also comes from the non-verbal cues the film gives us.  Herrmann's score is among the greatest for film (shockingly overlooked come Oscar time, which didn't even bother nominating it), but the use of silences in Psycho is also quite incredible.  Hitchcock allows us to fill in information without having to tell us.  When Marion decides to run off with the money, we not only see how she's gone from light to dark (in her romp with Sam, she wears white underwear, when planning to leave, it becomes black), but see the camera shift from her, to the envelope with the money, to a suitcase.

In those three movements, we know all there is to know. 

Again and again Hitchcock shows us rather than tells us things to give us the subtext: the constant mentions of marriage to Marion (whose one desire is to marry Sam), the stuffed birds looking over Norman (a bird of prey seeking out its hunt), even the name Crane.  The subtlety of Psycho is something that perhaps should be more noted.

Even when dialogue is used, sometimes it can be to dark humor's use.  After Marion is killed, Lila comes to Sam's, wanting to help her sister before, in her words, "she gets in this too deeply," an unintentionally gruesome comment given how just earlier we saw Marion's body sink into a swamp when Norman pushed her car into it.

Janet Leigh was nominated for Best Supporting Actress, and it was well-earned.  Her Marion was sympathetic, and often she had to act with voices going through her head.  Leigh had to express emotions with her eyes and face, and she did it beautifully.

In his short turn as the detective, Balsam is also extraordinary: sharp, shrewd, determined.

Anthony Perkins became forever typecast as a troubled, mentally unstable man after Psycho (so much so that despite working on other films, he found his best work recreating the character in three sequels).  Despite the trouble Psycho would bring to his career, Perkins' performance is iconic and brilliant.  His hesitancy, his nervousness coupled with what appears his sincerity and kindness makes Norman Bates a figure of sympathy and revulsion.

The great flaw in Psycho to many is the psychiatrist's long and ponderous wrapping up, as if the audience needed some rationalization for the insanity of the past two hours.  I never found it a dealbreaker but I can see why so many found it rather much, even in 1960.  A minor flaw might be in some shots that make it a bit dated, but the technology just wasn't there to make it as effective as it might have been today.  Still, minor points.

Psycho still, after a half-century plus, still can shock us again and again.  Exceptionally acted, extraordinarily directed, with an iconic musical score, the film remains a high mark in cinema history.

It's a tough act to follow, let alone duplicate.  However, that's for another time.

DECISION: A+

PSYCHO FILMS AND TELEVISION

Psycho II

Psycho III

Psycho IV: The Beginning

Bates Motel (Television Movie)

Psycho (1998)

Bates Motel (Television Series)

Family Plot: A Review

FAMILY PLOT

For the longest time, I had theorized that after The Birds, the output Alfred Hitchcock made was not good.  This is due to my dislike of Marnie and both the limited reputations of Topaz, Torn Curtain, Frenzy, and Family Plot as well as how they are not as well-remembered as Psycho, Vertigo, or The Birds.  Now, having seen Family Plot, I find that I was wrong.  While Family Plot isn't as well-remembered or known as some of Hitch's classics, and isn't on par with his work in the 50s and 60s, it is a good film: a nice comic caper with a mix of action and comedy.

Madame Blanche (Barbara Harris) is a sham medium who hoodwinks various wealthy women into thinking she can contact their relatives from The Great Beyond.  In one faux-séance, she hits the motherload.  Elderly Julia Rainbird (Cathleen Nesbitt) reveals that her late sister had an illegitimate child that Julia gave away and now she wants to find her long-lost nephew to make him her heir.  She's willing to pay Madame Blanche $10,000.

Blanche Tyler and her boyfriend, actor/cabbie George (Bruce Dern) now begin their investigation to find the Rainbird heir with the few scraps of information they have.  Masquerading as an attorney, George starts digging, finding that this child, Edward Shoebridge, apparently died in a fire with his adoptive parents.

I say apparently because as George keeps going, we find that Edward faked his death.  This is where we get into our second story.  Edward now goes by Arthur Adamson (William Devane) and Arthur/Edward is a master criminal: abducting wealthy people and demanding large diamonds as payments.  Aided by Fran (Karen Black), the racket has been highly successful. 

Blanche and George have inadvertently stumbled onto Arthur's criminal world, and his friend who helped burn up his parents, Joe Maloney (Ed Lauter) is terrified they are investigating their past, not Arthur's future.  He attempts to kill them and ends up dying himself.  Blanche and George are thoroughly puzzled as to why anyone would want to kill them, especially since they are desperate to give Edward GOOD news.

Fran and Arthur have abducted an archbishop, and Blanche who has finally tracked down Edward, stumbles into them when they're about to go and get the ransom.  Now, with Blanche's life in danger, it's up to an unsuspecting George to save them.  Things end well: our criminals are caught, Blanche appears to have a real psychic moment leading to finding the diamonds (hidden in plain sight in a chandelier) and while George goes to call the police, Blanche sits at the stairs...and gives us the audience a wink.

Family Plot has a light atmosphere to it, which isn't in the normal Hitchcock canon, nor generally in that of screenwriter Ernest Lehman.  There's no overt or graphic violence (a departure from both the general 1970s filmmaking and from something like Frenzy) and the crimes of theft and kidnapping don't have graphic violence in them.  The most intense moment that I can remember is when Blanche and George find themselves racing down a winding road with the brakes taken out.

This moment, despite the obvious rear-screen projection, was actually quite tense, a credit to Hitchcock's still-impressive ability to put people in danger.  However, even this moment was given a bit of a comedic spin by Harris' hysterics: her flaying about, holding onto George, even almost strangling him as she pulls on his tie as she flies about the car.

This was intention, and a lot of Family Plot was in a more breezy, light-hearted manner than something as dark and intense as say, Vertigo.  I was surprised at how delightful Family Plot was and enjoyed the humor and the lessening of violence and stakes.

So much credit goes to Barbara Harris for her turn as the slightly wacky, slightly campy but almost naïve Blanche.  She never depended on the kindness of strangers, but on her own wits to get her ahead.  Credit her for giving a strong performance whenever she goes into a 'trance' at her séances: the way her voice rises to a willowy, sing-sing manner as she communes with "Harry", and the darkening of her voice when "Harry" speaks.  Her body movements, particularly when in a 'trance' are almost manically balletic, and add considerably to the comic overtones of Family Plot.

Dern also does well, though he isn't comedic but more straightforward.  He does have some comic manner to him, looking a bit befuddled when he tries to match wits with Blanche, but Dern handles the action moments (particularly the runaway car) with more seriousness, a strong counterbalance to Harris' broad manner.

Karen Black, I don't think, has gotten enough credit for her contributions to Family Plot.  If people remember the film, it's mostly due to Harris' comic manner (and I'd argue, rightly so).  However, Black gave a strong dramatic performance as the more conflicted Fran, who delights in the kidnappings and ransoms but is more hesitant at being part of murder.  She could just as easily have been the center of the film, for she was a very good character to see the story through.  Black did a fantastic job.

Devane was so obviously the charming villain, and while it wasn't a big performance it was a nice one: oily and calm, he could be quietly menacing when needed.

Hitchcock, even in his infirmity and advanced age (he directed Family Plot at age 77 and this would be his final film) still could command great moments.  There was the ransom pickup early in the film (where the two stories first meet when George almost runs Fran down).  Fran never says a single word throughout the long scene, but still pulls off a great and clever ransom payment.

As a side note, it is surprising to Cheers fans to see Coach himself (Nicholas Colasanto) in a small role as a kidnapping victim and Mona from Who's the Boss (Katherine Helmond) as Mrs. Maloney. 

The last, but certainly not least, positive element in Family Plot is the score, the only Hitchcock film to have the music of John Williams.  Williams, a true genius, creates this somewhat eerie score, with otherworldly vocals whenever Madame Blanche works her magic but also tense when needed.  Williams is certainly more than Bernard Herrmann's equal and Family Plot is another in Williams' brilliant canon.

About the only real fault I can find in Family Plot is when Blanche and George have an open-air argument.  It looked fake, it was far too convenient for them to reveal major plot points out in the open, and I'd argue that Fran and Arthur/Edward were too far away in their car to hear them so clearly.  I figure it was done for the audience's benefit (to show that our villains had identified our heroes) but the whole scene just didn't work.

Minus that, Family Plot is perhaps not among Alfred Hitchcock's great films like The Man Who Knew Too Much or North By Northwest, but it's a fun, breezy, lighthearted caper that I wouldn't object to being remade.

Remaking Family Plot is certainly a damn sight better than the idea of remaking or rebooting The Matrix.

DECISION: B-

Rebecca (1940): A Review

REBECCA (1940)

Hitchcock's Haunted House...

Rebecca holds the distinction of being the first American-made film of Alfred Hitchcock, along with being the only Alfred Hitchcock film to win Best Picture.  It's a curious Hitchcock film in while there is some suspense I wouldn't call Rebecca a 'thriller', but rather a gothic romance.  The strange goings-on at Manderley still feel eerie, despite all these long years that mark its debut.  Rebecca is about mood more than about straight-up horror or suspense, but there are still moments of tension and even comedy that make it a great introduction to what would be an extraordinary career.

The film is told from the viewpoint of the second Mrs. DeWinter (Joan Fontaine), since one of the selling points of both the film and Daphne du Marier's novel is the it is a first-person account of a woman whose first name we never learn.  She is a shy girl, unworldly, terrified of her own shadow.  When we first meet her she is the travelling companion of Mrs. Van Hopper (Florence Bates) in Monte Carlo.  While there, Mrs. Van Hopper's travelling companion meets and becomes enraptured with recent widower Maxim DeWinter (Laurence Olivier).  The brooding, mysterious Maxim finds this girl enchanting, and after a whirlwind romance, he proposes, she accepts.

Now the Second Mrs. DeWinter finds herself as mistress of Manderley, the grand house of the DeWinters.  There, she meets the staff, headed by Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), a woman devoted to the first Mrs. DeWinter, the beautiful Rebecca.  Mrs. Danvers' devotion to her former mistress goes beyond death: she preserves all of Rebecca's things exactly as they were the day she died, in a boating accident a year ago.  She also suggests to the Second Mrs. DeWinter that she, this timid little creature, will never be the true Mistress of Manderley.

The Second Mrs. DeWinter slowly starts to come out of her shell, gaining strength from Maxim's love.  She even manages to stand up to Mrs. Danvers.  She tells her that she wishes Rebecca's letters burned.  When Mrs. Danvers protests, saying they were "Mrs. DeWinters", our heroine rises and informs her, "I am Mrs. DeWinter now".  To fully come into her own, the Second Mrs. DeWinter asks Maxim to host a costume ball, and for once Mrs. Danvers has a good suggestion: to copy a costume from a portrait of one of Maxim's ancestors.  She does, and looks radiant, until she sees the horrified expressions on Maxim and his sister and brother-in-law.  Rebecca had worn the same costume a year ago, and the unwitting Second Mrs. DeWinter now looked as if she were mocking the first Mrs. DeWinter.

Distraught to the point of desperation, Mrs. Danvers goads her to jump, but a shipwreck causes enough commotion to distract everyone's attention.  It is after this that a shocking discovery is made: Rebecca's boat...with Rebecca still inside (despite Maxim having identified another body a year earlier).  Now the truth comes out: far from loving Rebecca, Maxim despised her.  She had been a slut, with her last paramour being her cousin Jack Favell (George Sanders).  Favell, Rebecca, and Mrs. Danvers (whom both called 'Danny') had kept this from Maxim, but Rebecca in her last day taunted Maxim with her affair and news of a pregnancy.  In the course of the fight, she fell and accidentally died.  Wishing to avoid scandal, Maxim sent her boat out.

However, Favell, convinced Maxim murdered his mistress, tries to blackmail him after the inquest into Rebecca's death has begun.  We then make a final shocking discovery about Rebecca.  Even though it is clear Maxim did not kill Rebecca, Mrs. Danvers, devoted to her mistress to the point of insanity, literally brings down the house...

Rebecca is a thoroughly spellbinding film.  Hitchcock may have dismissed it because of the constant interference from producer David O. Selznick, but he created a dark, moody picture full of foreboding.  In terms of how Rebecca sets the mood for its tale of dark love, credit goes to two people. 

First, the beautiful cinematography of George Barnes, whose camera work evokes this almost otherworldly feel, in particular to Manderley.

Manderley, this house of many secrets and terrors, almost becomes a character in itself.  The large cavernous halls and the virtual shrine Mrs. Danvers has in Rebecca's room make the home one where shadows live.  Manderley becomes this place of dread and mystery, where to quote Mrs. Danvers, "the dead can watch over the living".

Second, Franz Waxman's score is likewise evocative of the romantic yet gothic, almost dark power the dead Rebecca has over everyone who loved and hated her.  Every time her name is spoken, the score echoes it with a soft organ, as if her spirit continues to hover over Manderley, casting her spell over both the house and its residents.

As important as the look and sound of Rebecca are to making it a brilliant success as well as an auspicious debut for Hitchcock, we must remember that Hitchcock brought out great performances out of his cast.  Fontaine is simply brilliant as the Second Mrs. DeWinter.  For most of Rebecca, the fear and timidity of her unnamed character comes through in how Fontaine looks (or doesn't look at people), how she jumps (especially when Mrs. Danvers comes before her).  It takes an actress of extraordinary range to convince us that she is so timid that after the disaster of the costume ball, her overwhelming sense of failure, in particular of never living up to Rebecca's legacy, would literally bring her to the point of suicide.  Fontaine, to her credit as an actress, does show that beneath this fearful exterior the Second Mrs. DeWinter does have a spine.  When she stands up to Mrs. Danvers (figuratively and literally), we cheer her on, and Rebecca shows her evolution from frightened girl to a more strong woman.

Likewise, Olivier is a masterful Maxim.  He plays the character with the mixture of charm and melancholy that would both appeal to the Second Mrs. DeWinter but also make her fearful that he still loved Rebecca and not her.  Olivier creates a tender relationship with his new bride, almost more of a father/child one than of passionate lovers, but he also brings Maxim's menace, even danger, out.  When Maxim describes Rebecca's final moments, he speaks calmly but not dispassionately, building tension over what really happened to the First Mrs. DeWinter.

We have to also move to the simply brilliant performance of Judith Anderson as the nefarious and wicked Mrs. Danvers, a bitch if ever there was one.  As played by Anderson, Mrs. Danvers is a woman nearly possessed by her total devotion to Rebecca DeWinter.  She need only speak her name to see Mrs. Danvers slip into almost a trance-like state.  When giving the new wife a tour of Rebecca's quarters, it becomes a tour macabre, her fixation with everything "Danny" did for her mistress taking on an almost religious tone.  Anderson's Mrs. Danvers is certainly a menacing, intimidating woman (her black wardrobe and the fierce control of her body movement enhancing her almost demonic persona), but as portrayed by Anderson, she becomes almost a dark ghostly figure, one that flows across rooms.  Her final moments when she unleashes her fury upon Manderley itself brilliantly capture the total madness that her devotion to Rebecca and her memory have brought about in her.

Finally, in terms of acting, I would be remiss to leave out Sanders' Favell, Rebecca's last lover.  He has a flippancy to everyone, a cock sureness that makes one almost like him.  However, he is as dangerous to Maxim as Rebecca herself when he threatens Maxim with blackmail.  Seeing him brought down is both a delight and slightly sad.

The screenplay by Robert E. Sherwood and Joan Anderson (with an adaptation by Phillip MacDonald and Michael Hogan) kept close to the du Marier novel (at Selznick's insistence).  However, the screenplay (I suspect helped by Hitchcock) did manage to inject moments of humor into Rebecca that never felt out of place.  When Mrs. Van Hopper reprimands her companion, telling her girls would give their eyes to see Monte Carlo, Maxim calmly says, "Wouldn't that rather defeat the purpose?"  A bit later, when the unnamed girl tells Maxim that she is neither a relation or employee of Mrs. Van Hopper, but a "paid companion", he tells her, "I didn't know companionship could be bought".  At the inquest scene, we begin with a bobbie telling the waiting crowd about his own exploits before announcing who is about to testify.  These light moments neither distract or appear out of place in this gothic romance, but are both welcome and flow naturally in Rebecca. 

About the only thing that was changed was the pivotal plot point of Maxim having murdered Rebecca.  The Production Code being the way it was in 1940, wouldn't have allowed a murderer to get away with it.  Therefore, that had to be made to look like an accident.  It's a credit to the screenplay, to Hitchcock's directing, and Olivier's acting that the 'accident' business is acceptable.  Whether it's believable or not I leave up to you, but for myself, I never found it coming from left field. 

After watching Rebecca, one will always dream of going back to Manderley again. 

DECISION: A+

1941 Best Picture: How Green Was My Valley

Please visit all the Best Picture Winners reviews.

The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog. A Review

THE LODGER: A STORY OF THE LONDON FOG

The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog was Alfred Hitchcock's third directing feature, but for all intents and purposes it was his first "Hitchcock" picture.  The themes that would dominate Hitchcock's films are all there: the wrongly-accused man on the run, the blonde that excites men to frenzy, the crimes themselves being secondary to how they affect others; it's as if The Lodger was his calling card to great film-making.    However, apart from the pedigree of the director, The Lodger would stand up as a great film for its atmosphere and how an audience can be manipulated so cleverly.

It is London, and a series of murders are being committed by a mysterious figure known as The Avenger.  This serial killer is after beautiful blonde women and on Tuesday nights, and it's the talk of the city.  In our opening, we get a description of The Avenger: tall, with a scarf covering his face.  Now we move on to the Bunting home.  Mr. and Mrs. Bunting (Arthur Chesney and Marie Ault) have a daughter, Daisy (billed simply as 'June'), who is being courted by a detective named Joe (Malcolm Keen).  She is young, she is beautiful, and she is blonde.  Into their world enters The Lodger (Ivor Novello), coming in from out of the fog, a man who is tall and wearing a scarf that covers his face.  The Buntings have a room to let, and he takes it.

Soon, Mrs. Bunting becomes concerned about the strange man within her presence.  The murders are coming closer to their home, and the mysterious man above them is going out in the late of night on Tuesdays.  Even more alarming, the unnamed lodger has become enamored with Daisy and her blonde hair, much to her distress and that of Joe.  Suspicion grows until we get a shocking twist, but by then it may be too late.

Hitchcock complained about the change he had to make to The Lodger to make it more palatable to audiences, especially fans of Novello.  However, while it would have been better if it hadn't been tweaked to make it more acceptable, the film still works.

If one takes a careful look at The Lodger, we see that the actual murders are unimportant (here again, another Hitchcock theme, that of 'the MacGuffin', the mystery/object everyone wants or talks about but which is not central to the actual story, but more on that later).  Instead, it is the suspicion built around the Lodger; all that we see points to him being The Avenger, but all we really have is just that: suspicion.  Still, with only circumstantial evidence, Hitchcock has already set the situation so brilliantly that we are already under his control about the identity of The Avenger.

Being a silent movie, Hitchcock has to rely on the visuals to set the mood, and he does so brilliantly in The Lodger.  The opening titles, with their off-kilter typesetting and repetitive nature, suggest frenzy, and there are some amazing scenes that are wildly inventive not just for silent films, but really in cinema in general.  Take when we first see the lodger approach the Bunting home.  We first have the camera move towards the door with a shadow preceding it.  Once the matronly Mrs. Bunting opens the door, we see her reaction: one of shock, almost fear, and then see the lodger: a shrouded figure emerging from the fog, like a demon having escaped Hell. 

Another massively inventive scene is when the Buntings are in the kitchen, discussing the man upstairs.  A chandelier that is dominant in the shot starts to move, and the three of them look up.  We then see the ceiling becomes transparent, with the feet of the lodger pacing back and forth.  Oddly, even in today's films, I doubt any modern director would try something so psychologically driven.

One can see the German Expressionistic influences Hitchcock was using so effectively in The Lodger.

By setting up the scenario of how the Avenger targets beautiful blonde girls early in The Lodger, Hitchcock's directing and Eliot Stannard's screenplay (billed as scenario along with uncredited work by Hitchcock and his wife, Alma Reville from the novel by Marie Belloc Lowndes) shift us not to the actual murders of the Avenger, but on our fears that the lodger is the dangerous murderer. 

In the first few minutes, we learn the Avenger targets beautiful blonde women.  Later on, when the lodger sees his rooms, he is greeted by what seems to be a nearly endless parade of paintings of beautiful blonde women.  Hence, our suspicion.  When Mrs. Bunting returns to see if he will take them, she is surprised to see him turn the paintings around.  More suspicion.  Hitchcock allows the suspense to build with each new sequence, playing with the audience's expectations until we become convinced of the danger.

Visually, as I've stated before, there are some beautiful sequences.  It is clear that Hitchcock learned a great deal from the German Expressionists since the aforementioned shots, along with a remarkably shot one of a seemingly solitary hand descending a flight of stairs, have a strong feel for Weimar cinema.  The Lodger is a film that could be mistaken for one by Fritz Lang or F. W. Murnau.  The final concluding chase as the lodger is pursued by an avenging mob has a definite Expressionist look: when the lodger is brought down from the fence he's been caught in, it mirrors the imagery of Christ being brought down from the Crucifix, and when we see the lodger's face as he looks out the window, the impression of a cross is marked on his face. 

Here, we have the beginnings of some of Alfred Hitchcock's great themes and motifs that run throughout his career.  The idea of the wrong man being accused goes from such early films like The 39 Steps through Suspicion, The Wrong Man and North By Northwest.  The theme of love or at least attraction/desire and murder or the threat of murder: Vertigo, Rebecca, Psycho, Spellbound.  The effects of guilt on the criminal or those related to the victim: Vertigo, I Confess, Psycho.  The cool blonde who drives men to frenzy: where to begin? 

Oddly, there is another Hitchcockian aspect in The Lodger that I don't think has been discussed before: the theme of stairs or levels, especially descending down some. The Lodger is probably not the first to use stairs to mark a sense of impending doom or danger, but we see this again and again: from Rebecca to Suspicion to The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956) to Vertigo to Psycho to The Birds.  People going down the stairs, most of the time, were a source of tension and suspense for The Master of Suspense, and in The Lodger, it is the first instance of his using this device.

There's even a bit of comedy, although I doubt it would pass muster today.  One of the title cards is suppose to be dialogue from Mrs. Bunting.  It reads, "Even if he is a bit queer, he's a gentleman".  There's a lot of subtext to that line, given Joe the cop says he doesn't think girls aren't the lodger's type.  Read whatever you like in that.

Truth be told, by today's standards Novello's performance is highly mannered, almost exaggerated.  However, the performance is perfectly acceptable when it comes to measuring silent film acting.  He does have an intensity to his role whenever he appears enraptured by the beautiful Daisy.  I think the best performance was Ault's Landlady.  She almost always had a sense of fear and worry.  June, as Daisy, was pretty and she managed to bring charm to her character who has fallen in love with the unnamed lodger. 

The Lodger is a brilliant film in general.  It is a brilliant silent film.  It is a brilliant Hitchcock film: a finely-crafted suspense picture that leads you in the wrong direction but which puts you at an advantage over the characters.  As I stated earlier, the identity of the actual Avenger is unimportant (that would be the MacGuffin), since the case is solved off-screen.

Rather, the film is not about murder, but suspicion.  The Lodger is a brilliant way to start one of the greatest cinematic careers in history.

DECISION: A+

Notorious (1946): A Review

NOTORIOUS (1946)

Spies In Love...

As I watched Notorious, I kept thinking, "This isn't a spy film. It's really a love story in the guise of a spy film". A spy film would be something like The Man Who Came in From the Cold or the Bourne films: Identity, Supremacy, Ultimatum. No, this ISN'T a thriller--although there are thrilling moments. Essentially, Notorious is a romance, a love story with a little bit of espionage in it.

Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman) is notorious due to her father, who has been convicted of treason for having spied for Nazi Germany, and for being a party girl, drinking and carousing with abandon. Because of her father's past and her blemished reputation, she is therefore the right person to infiltrate a German cabal in Brazil to find out what they're up to.

T.R. Devlin (Cary Grant) is the American agent who recruits her to integrate herself into the circle of her father's friend Alexander Sebastian (Claude Rains). Sebastian, who is in love with her, easily allows himself to be charmed by Alicia, and she gains entry into his world, one where exiled Nazis are planning to smuggle uranium. Eventually, Sebastian and his mother (Madame Konstantin) figure out what is going on and plan to kill Alicia.

With Notorious, Alfred Hitchcock and writer Ben Hecht create a superb romance that can easily pass for a suspense film. The film has a love triangle between Alicia, Devlin, and Sebastian, and we are not allowed easy outs to who is the good guy and who is the bad guy. Sebastian is at the very least a Nazi sympathizer/collaborator, but he also is genuinely in love with Alicia. Conversely, Devlin is constantly cruel to her: he has no qualms about insinuating she's a slut to her face. However, he also is driven by his love for her in spite of his desire NOT to care or love her. As for Alicia, it's clear she's in love with Devlin and is willing to be made a virtual prostitute because of her love for him. This is the true suspense in Notorious, between the desires of the three main characters and the goals each has.

Take for example the scene where Alicia tells Devlin that she has made Sebastian one of her "playmates". You see Devlin's reaction is a quick flash of anger, but then he strikes back verbally at her, suggesting that it isn't a surprise given her past. You then see Alicia's reaction: one of hurt. This is brilliant acting: Grant and Bergman are able to communicate great emotional torment with only their faces. While saying nothing, their reactions express everything that is within them.

Both Grant and Bergman capture the conflict within their characters so brilliantly. Grant's Devlin (a brilliant name) plays on the Cary Grant persona of romantic elegance by giving Devlin a hint of menace. His performance is one where he is outwardly aloof and remote from Alicia while inside he is filled with passion toward her. He may insinuate that she's easy, but his reaction to anyone else insinuating the same thing gives him away.

Bergman is also amazing as the torn and conflicted Alicia. She is desperate for Devlin to love her, to see her as a good woman worthy of love. She wants to do the right thing and is willing to make the sacrifice of giving herself to a man she does not love in order to try to please the man she does love. Throughout the film, Alicia wants to prove she is worthy of love, especially of Devlin. The conflict within all of them comes to a head at a party Sebastian and Alicia give after coming back from their honeymoon. She and Devlin look through the wine cellar for clues about what Sebastian and his cohorts are up to. When Sebastian himself comes, Devlin embraces her passionately. Here, it is done to throw Sebastian off the track about what is going on but it also serves to throw Alicia and even Devlin off as well, where the emotions they are trying to suppress are in danger of erupting.

Claude Rains, who earned an Oscar nomination for the film, also gives a masterful performance of a man who has been duped by love. There is a scene in his mother's bedroom when he realizes that Alicia is an American spy. Hitchcock films him in front of a mirror, thereby leading us to the suggestion that Sebastian is being torn in two between his sincere love for Alicia and his anger at this betrayal, the betrayal that she didn't love him AND is taking information to the enemy. Even the smaller roles like that of Madame Konstanin are first-rate. She is a manipulative villain and appears to be a major player in the group while always maintaining herself slightly above things. In the climatic scene where Alicia realizes her life is in danger, we see her look at both Sebastian's mother and Sebastian. Hitchcock shows us, again, with the dialogue adding little to nothing to what we know is going on: both Mama Sebastian's villainy and Sebastian's passiveness.

You have three amazing actors in Bergman and Grant in some of their best performances (two beautiful people who could act) and Rains (though not beautiful) is also top-notch. You have Alfred Hitchcock, one of the great directors of all time. The combination creates of the all time masterpieces, proving that love is one of the most suspenseful emotions known to man.

DECISION: A+

Vertigo: A Review (Review #15)

VERTIGO

Necrophilia Was Never This Weird...

While Alfred Hitchcock is called The Master of Suspense, it appears to me that few of his films involve suspense exclusively. Some of his very best films are about love with the veneer of suspense. Films like Notorious, Spellbound or Rebecca all revolve not so much on suspense or mystery but on love.

Vertigo, one of his greatest films, is also about love: a very twisted love, built on obsession that borders on necrophilia, if not actually about that.

John "Scottie" Ferguson (James Stewart), a San Francisco cop has to retire from the force after his fear of heights and accompanying vertigo causes the death of a fellow officer. An old Army buddy, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore) asks him to follow his wife Madeleine (Kim Novak). He says that his wife believes she's being taken over by the spirit of a dead ancestor and fears for her life. Scottie agrees, and after he rescues her after she jumps into San Francisco Bay they fall in love.

He tries to help her solve the mystery within her mind, but the pull of death is too strong. She throws herself off a church bell tower as Scottie attempts to save her but cannot due to his acrophobia. Madeleine's death plunges Scottie into a complete breakdown, from which his best friend and former fiancee Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes) cannot help him emerge from.

Eventually, he recovers, but it's an empty recovery. He haunts all the places they would go, following the trail he would use to follow Madeleine when she lived. In one of his wanderings, he finds Judy, who bears a striking resemblance to his lost love. Scottie convinces Judy to essentially become Madeleine, but there's one final twist that will plunge them all to tragedy.

While there is a mystery within Vertigo, the film is really about how love can be an illusion, and that the illusion can grow into an obsession that destroys all those that come in contact with it. Scottie becomes so obsessed with Madeleine that once she leaves, he tries to recreate her in Judy. His obsession with his memories takes on a doomed nature, where in his fragile mind he soon no longer can tell reality from fantasy. His methodical way of recreating Madeleine becomes possessive, and when Judy reemerges to fit his fantasy world it's as if the line separating reality and fantasy blur into ultimate tragedy.

Stewart's performance is among his greatest. There is no folksy down-home mannerisms to his Scottie. He's a man obsessed, unhinged, totally given over to love that he sacrifices sanity to keep his myth of love alive. Novak also shines in her role, the object of a man's desire who would go along with his madness for the sake of love. Barbara Bel Geddes brings a touch of humor but also of pathos as the woman who loves Scottie but cannot save him from himself.

Hitchcock creates one of the greatest films of all time, and his skills are unmatched in capturing the subconscious. For example, when Stewart is getting the backstory of Carlotta Valdes, the ancestor, note the lighting in the room. It's a brilliant piece of directing.

Also, note how there are long periods when there is no dialogue, only the music to provide the mood. This is the place where special recognition needs to go to Bernard Herrmann. His score evokes the intense longing in the characters, their doomed romance, even the swirling nature of the plot.

Vertigo is a dizzying exploration into the madness of obsessive love. It's an intense, mournful experience. Part psychological horror film, part twisted romance, Vertigo is Hitchcock at his darkest.

DECISION: A+

Marnie: A Review

MARNIE

Tippi Cannot, And Hitchcock Too...


Marnie, Alfred Hitchcock's followup to The Birds, has a few things to recommend it. However, I would consider it a minor Hitchcock film. It was as if he tried to bring another version of Spellbound in terms of plot and greatness but ended up with another version of Suspicion.

Marnie (Tippi Hedren) is a thief who has robbed her employers of thousands of dollars to help her mother and keep a horse, her only indulgence. Mark Rutland (Sean Connery) is the head of the company she's planning her next heist on. She eventually commits the planned robbery, but Rutland is on to her and blackmails her into marrying him. Once married, she wants nothing to do with him, repulsed by his touch and disgusted by even the suggestion of sex with him.

Mark recognizes that Marnie has some secret that even she's not fully aware of. Eventually, after a horse-riding accident, he cajoles her and her mother into discovering the strange history of Marnie, and now that the truth has set her free, she and Mark can start a life together.

There are certainly signs that Hitchcock is still a visual craftsman of the first rank. When we first see Marnie's face, it's a pure vision of exquisite beauty, accentuated by Bernard Herrmann's beautiful score. Another flash of genius is when Marnie finally pulls of her heist. In the scene, she is suppose to be alone, but we see in the wide shot that parallel to her is a cleaning lady. When Marnie starts to leave, she realizes there may be a witness. She takes her heels off and tiptoes out, but we see her shoe start to slip out. Hitchcock builds up the tension beautifully.

However, there are problems. This was Tippi Hedren's second film, and while she was excellent in The Birds here she seems a little out of place, a bit lost. I don't think it's fair to fault her for this: she was doing her best with little experience. Connery, however, is a different matter.

He had much experience in film and on the stage, and in Marnie he is oddly cold and remote, without any passion or in some cases, interest in his performance. The phrase "phoning it in" seems apt. Connery is a first-rate actor, but his has to be one of his weaker performances.

The performances themselves aren't central to the issues Marnie has. The story is a bit odd. Mark doesn't appear at any time to be in love with Marnie, so why would he want to marry her? His motives are even more strange when you consider Marnie absolutely wants nothing to do with him sexually. On their honeymoon she is physically revolted at the thought of a kiss, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had been horribly abused  or maybe even a lesbian.

Still, there has to be a reason why she's so repulsed by the idea of going to bed with him that she would try to drown herself in a pool. It would have made more sense to either turn her in or just have someone following her. It doesn't help that some scenes such as the fox hunt or when Connery is suppose to be looking down a hall searching for Marnie are obviously fake with unconvincing effects and poor sets.

There is one good thing in Marnie: Bernard Herrmann's beautiful score. The title music and the music for the fox hunt are especially good and memorable. The soundtrack is worth getting, and it's unfortunate that both the studio and Hitchcock disliked it given it's about the only strength Marnie has.

Ultimately, Marnie can't compare to the films that came before. In the final analysis, Marnie the movie was like Marnie the character: cold, distant, remote. I love Hitchcock, but Marnie appears to be the start of Hitchcock's slow descent.

DECISION: C-