Alfred Hitchcock

I have resurfaced! It wasn't that I was intensely busy, it was more like I was…unmotivated. Maybe when my fiction writing is going well, I neglect my poor little blog? Whatever the case, I've decided to get back in the swing of things by writing about one of the most signature directors ever: Sir Alfred Hitchcock. With the movie Hitchcock, which is about his relationship with his wife Alma Reville during the making of Psycho, coming out in November, I hope this post will foster a little excitement in whoever reads it.

He's pretty adorable.

What I love most about Hitchcock is that his style is so distinct; any film of his you watch, you can immediately tell it's his. Often, though, that means his style trumps the story, which I would argue is perfectly acceptable. What also made him so popular during his hot streak was that he himself was such a character (he was afraid of eggs, if that paints a picture for you). There are few directors whose personas are so indistinguishable from their movies, whose quirks come to mind when we think of them. I can't think of anyone like that anymore.

Rebecca (1940)

A gothic romance, Rebecca is dissimilar from succeeding Hitchcock films, but it is a clear indicator that he was forging his own path. Since Hitchcock and producer David O. Selznick had such differing methodologies and got in so many disputes over how to film certain scenes, there is a blend of two distinct styles; the unabashed romance and high drama of Selznick, and the subtle tension and interesting camera movements of Hitchcock. The end result, though not purely Hitchcockian, was masterful. I love this movie dearly. When I brought it with me to watch in England, my love was renewed all over again. Joan Fontaine's performance feels so fresh and modern, and my oh my Laurence Olivier is absolutely dashing. But it is Judith Anderson as the obsessive Mrs. Danvers that is the center. Much has been said about her character, and I'm pretty sure Hitchcock knew her motivations, so I'll leave it at that. What I find equally amazing about this film is the way he hinted at so many things, not simply in subject matter, but also in the characters' feelings. He knew exactly where to place his camera to create the tensest moments.

Shadow of a Doubt (1943)

It's been awhile since I've seen this one, but I can say with convictions that out of all of Hitchock's stories, Shadow of a Doubt has one of the best, one in which the style and substance are perfectly even. I love Teresa Wright in this film; she plays the role of a restless teenager perfectly. And let's not forget to mention how charming and terrifying Joseph Cotten is. You can see Hitchcock definitely becoming his own director at this point. Just imagine how another director would film it, and then you can understand what a genius he was. In fact, this film was his personal favorite.

Spellbound (1945)

Put Gregory Peck and Ingrid Bergman in a room together, and you've got me hooked. Which is what Hitch so masterfully did in Spellbound. But instead of just letting them be beautiful together, he crafted a tightly-woven, gripping film, stunning in black-and-white (except for the dash of red in its most shocking shot near the end). Spellbound deals with the interesting topic of psychoanalysis, of which I had little knowledge of beforehand but felt I had a solid grasp of it afterward. There is so much symbolism in this film that it requires multiple viewings to unearth all the hidden meaning. Still, if you need another reason to watch it, there is a really wonderful dream sequence directed by the surrealist Salvador Dalí.

Notorious (1946)

I watched Notorious right after Spellbound, and if I thought Peck and Bergman were a knockout together, I was blown away like a leaf in a gale when I saw Bergman and Cary Grant together on screen. Grant, as you well know, is one of the many loves of my life. Because the Production Code did not allow actors to be shown kissing for more than three seconds, Hitchcock did a marvelous thing by having the actors stop kissing every three seconds and nuzzle with each other, before returning to another round. What a genius. You can imagine my face when all that went on for two and a half glorious minutes. But beside these two gorgeous leads, when I was watching this film, I could not help but feel the excitement Hitchcock was feeling as he was easing into his own style, experimenting with shots and camera angles. Certainly Notorious can be described as Hitchcockian.

Dial M for Murder (1954)

Sometimes I like to think that the Cinema Gods created Grace Kelly directly for Hitchcock. She is the quintessential Hitchcock blonde, distant but not too frigid, and the screen is in love with her. Her first collaboration with the director began with Dial M for Murder, and it was a match made in heaven. Though he would try to replicate her later on with Kim Novak and Tippi Hedren, there was nobody like Grace Kelly. I love this film for so many reasons; most of it only takes place in one room, it makes my heart pound with only a small cast of characters, and it is wonderfully plotted. I love how involved the audience gets, how the story invites you in to play along. And though I do love the b&w cinematography of Hitchcock's previous films, the color here is lovely and vibrant.

Rear Window (1954)

Now onto my personal favorite. Two masterpieces in the same year? How did he do it? Recently, I had the privilege of seeing Rear Window on the big screen, and I must say that if you're given the opportunity to see ANY classic movie in theaters, take the chance instantly. Seeing a movie the way it's meant to seen is crucial to the experience. The first time I saw Rear Window at home, I loved it, but in theaters I caught so many more things, like the witty, sometimes biting, humor. Like I said before, the screen adores Grace Kelly, and in theaters it felt like the entire movie was a love sonnet to her. I noticed that her character has a wonderful sense of play to go along with James Stewart's immobilized L.B. Jeffries, one that give the film a great feeling of fun. That being said, it is the incomparable Thelma Ritter who steals every scene with her commentary. Everyone in the theater was in fits whenever she spoke. Rear Window has some of the best cinematography, and I find it amazing how we see practically everything from one person's perspective, from one person's room, even. It's about so many things; fear of commitment, voyeurism, ethics, suicide, feminism. It was way, way ahead of its time, as most great movies are.

To Catch a Thief (1955)

The last of her films with Hitchcock, To Catch a Thief is basically a showcase for Grace Kelly's startling beauty. And what a showcase! It has a twisty and engrossing plot, but what I found most appealing were the costumes, the photography, and the chemistry between Kelly and Grant. Designed by the impeccable Edith Head, every dress Kelly wears only exemplifies her. They really are breathtaking, those dresses, but that is to be expected from such a wondrous woman like Head, famous for movies like Sabrina and The Lady Eve. I think it was this movie that made me fall in love with the South of France (or maybe it was that episode of I Love Lucy…). All I wanted to do while watching was go to Monaco, and now I can see what lured Grace Kelly there. Speaking of which, I can only imagine how upset Hitchcock must have been with himself because it was he who brought Grace Kelly to the country that took her away from him.

North by Northwest (1959)

Arguably Hitchcock's most exciting film, North by Northwest is more pure fun than any of his other films. With a goofy plot, it is done in an almost tongue-in-cheek style. However, it takes the ludicrousness and makes the audience interested in what happens. I wish more thrillers like this were released nowadays, ones that don't take themselves too seriously but are also effective. As noted before, Cary Grant in suits is all I need to be happy in life, so North by Northwest was quite the treat for me. I actually really loved Eva Marie Saint as the Hitchcock blonde here, though nobody can beat Grace Kelly. But I don't think Saint was trying to be Kelly; she had more of a coolness, an air of mystery.

Psycho (1960)

Far rougher than the lavishness of previous endeavors, Psycho ushered in the era of slasher films. Even 52 years later, it still invokes chills. I know most people think of this film and Janet Leigh comes to mind (as well as her departure after the twenty minute mark), but makes me so angry that Anthony Perkins was not recognized with any awards for his performance of Norman Bates. It's one of the most naturalistic, eerie performances to ever grace the screen during that age. If you put this film and another film of his like, say, Rear Window side by side, the differences are astounding. Yet for some reason, you still can see the Hitchcock touch. How is that?