Alfred Hitchcock Geek

Kim Novak Homage in the New York Times

2008-08-19T10:37:00.000-07:00

The August 17 edition of the New York Times gave Kim Novak her props -- citing most of her great movies, but focusing much of its attention on her timeless (literally!) performance in Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. Writes columnist Stanley Fish:

"She was not earthy like Gardner or icy like Kelly or Rubensesque like Monroe or raunchy like Jane Russell or perky like Doris Day. She was something that has gone out of fashion and even become suspect in an era of feminist strictures: she was the object of a voyeuristic male gaze."

Fish refers to Movie Diva's description of Novak's 'passive carnality,' -- an attribute that Hitch admired and fostered in most of his leading ladies, most notably Grace Kelly and 'Tippi' Hedren (whom I would describe as possessing "icy carnality").

Somehow, Novak seems to have fallen off the pop cultural radar -- perhaps as a result of her aloof treatment of her fame and of the Hollywood star system. Whatever the case, perhaps it's time for art-house film types to launch a Kim Novak revival.

Alfred Hitchcock Foundation Makes Big Donation

2008-07-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've been unbelievably busy with my "day job" -- or should I say "jobs" -- that it just hasn't been possible to check in here with new material. There has been a lot on my mind regarding Alfred Hitchcock, but no time to form the thoughts into text. Nevertheless, here's a tidbit from Variety magazine you might enjoy:

"The Alma and Alfred Hitchcock Foundation has donated $500,000 to USC's School of Cinematic Arts to fund construction of the school's educational and production complex."

Stay in touch.

Alfred Hitchcock's "Notorious": Why I Love Portland, Oregon

2008-06-22T11:34:00.000-07:00

I first saw this sign this morning on the utility pole steps away from my front door. The movie was last night: the neighborhood did its part, but where was I? Barbecueing in the back yard with good griends Chuck, Catherine and Chrissy, as it turns out.

Still, gotta love a city that plays the "Old Masters" in the parks!

Tippi Hedren: Alfred Hitchcock's Waterloo?

2008-06-05T13:23:00.000-07:00

'Tippi' Hedren was Alfred Hitchcock’s "last great obsession and arguably his downfall." So said Donald Spoto in recent statements published in the London Daily Express. “Considering the films he made and the leading ladies who came after Tippi, it is clear he lost all interest in his women, his actors, his stories – indeed, in movies.”

Ouch. That's harsh.

But Spoto doesn't stop there. According to the author of the upcoming book Spellbound by Beauty: Alfred Hitchcock and his Leading Ladies, the great director's genius died in 1964 while filming Marnie, his second feature with Hedren. "Marnie," he says, "marked the end of his art.”

Really? The end? No more art? So, like, uh, Hitch just phoned in his direction for Torn Curtain, Topaz, Frenzy and Family Plot?

Admittedly, it's generally agreed that the four films that came after Marnie were not his best. But they cannot be harshly dismissed as the work of a man who has 'lost interest in movies.' Fans, students and scholars continue to find much to appreciate about them.

As I suggested in two recent Hitchcock Geek posts (find part 1 and part 2), the absence of a "Hitchcock blonde" in these movies may indeed be attributed to his conflicts with Hedren. It may also indicate that he finally pursued that vision of icy cool femininity as far as it could go and, like any artist, he moved on to other material. Those two explanations can coexist.

Spoto's reductive analysis notwithstanding, abundant evidence shows that Hitch's decline cannot be pegged to only one cause. Other well-documented factors, such as advancing age, ill health and increased interference from the studio front office affected the quality of his later films as well.

So much for the Daily Express article. Perhaps Spoto's book will present a less sensational, more sensitive, nuanced portrait of someone who was not only a great artist, but a fellow human who deserves a fair shake.

Details of Alfred Hitchcock's Obsession "Exposed"

2008-06-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

Alfred Hitchcock -- like many Hollywood directors who worked with beautiful women -- tended to become infatuated with his leading ladies. It seems he fell especially hard for 'Tippi' Hedren, with whom he worked on The Birds and Marnie. As time went by, his crush morphed into an out-and-out obsession -- one that Hedren finally put a stop to once and for all.

Details of that final confrontation have been kept secret, leading to much speculation among Hitchcock aficionados. A new book by Donald Spoto, Spellbound by Beauty: Alfred Hitchcock and his Leading Ladies, finally reveals what actually happened. I don't yet have a copy, but a recent article in the London Daily Express gives out a few tantalizing morsels. (It's available in the U.K., but not yet the U.S.; reportedly there will be two different versions -- one for British readers and another for Americans).

Describing a scene that has until now remained known only two those who were present, Hedren said, “[Hitchcock] stared at me and simply said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that from this time on, he expected me to make myself sexually available and accessible to him – however and whenever and wherever he wanted.... That was the moment, after almost three years of trying to cope, when I finally had enough – that was the limit, that was the end.”

If you read Spoto, you'd think Hedren was the director's Waterloo. Says Spoto, “Considering the films he made and the leading ladies who came after Tippi, it is clear he lost all interest in his women, his actors, his stories – indeed, in movies.”

While the lurid details of Hitch's fumbling advances on this young actresss are intriguing 44 years after the fact, I find it hard to buy Spoto's summation of the effect her rebuff had on his art. I'll check back in tomorrow and tell you why.

Vogue Magazine Tips Hat to Alfred Hitchcock

2008-06-03T10:39:00.000-07:00

Half a century after he made his best films, Alfred Hitchcock's place in pop culture is more secure than ever. The March issue of Vanity Fair magazine featured a photo tribute to Hitch, which I commented on and now the June issue of Vogue has put together a minor homage. In a fashion spread titled "San Francisco Chronicles," actor Pierce Brosnan and model Daria Werbowy 'wander about' the Bay area for a fashion shoot, posing at such locales as Bodega Bay (setting for The Birds) and the spot under the Golden Gate Bridge where Vertigo's 'Madeleine' jumped into the bay.

Lean and angular, Werbowy looks oh-so-Hedrenesque with her hair pinned in a towering French Roll and clad in ladylike 1960s-influenced silk skirts. Hitch was always a stylish director and it seems his films just keep becoming more important with age.

Alfred Hitchcock and "Vertigo" Take Aim at the 'Marilyn Monroe Type'

2008-05-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I pointed out a number of similarities between Marilyn Monroe’s Niagara (1953) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958); you can check out that post here. At the time I promised to follow up with more ideas. Well, here goes.

Hitch apparently borrowed numerous visual ideas and plot points from Niagara. In fact, Vertigo can even be seen as his response to that film.*

The two movies share many similarities. Both stories concern a mentally unbalanced man who takes an obsessive – and possessive – interest in the beautiful leading lady, which leads to betrayal and tragedy.

George Loomis (Joseph Cotten) can't stay away from his errant wife, who leads him into a trap....

...Nor can Scottie Ferguson (James Stewart), who follows 'Madeleine' -- to his own tragic demise.

'Madeleine' seems to meet her end in a fall.

Rose, on the other hand, dies at her crazed husband's hands.

One big difference, though, concerns that leading lady: Niagara’s Rose Loomis (Monroe) smolders with over-the-top sexuality, lounging half-dressed about a Niagara Falls honeymoon motel through much of the film.

With Vertigo, on the other hand, ‘Madeleine’ (Kim Novak), keeps her best parts primly buttoned up and tucked away under a grey silk suit.

Yet, both, in their way, use their femininity to charm other men.

Rose hooks men with the promise of sex....

....while 'Madeleine' teases them along with a question mark about her sexual availability.

And that is the point Hitch seemed to be making.

In Hollywood, sexy blondes have always guaranteed tickets sales better than any other gimmick yet devised. Back in the day such idols as Jean Harlow (the original Blonde Bombshell) and Jayne Mansfield oozed sex from every curve. Monroe played that game better than anyone and in Niagara, her breakout role, something new sizzled on to the screen. In 1953, the New York Times famously gushed:

“Obviously ignoring the idea that there are Seven Wonders of the World, Twentieth Century-Fox has discovered two more and enhanced them with Technicolor in "Niagara," which descended on the Roxy yesterday. For the producers are making full use of both the grandeur of the Falls and its adjacent areas as well as the grandeur that is Marilyn Monroe.”

But Hitch had his own ideas about onscreen sexuality. As the director sniffed in an American Film Institute interview in 1972,

“I’ve never been very keen on women who hang their sex round their neck like baubles. I think it should be discovered. It’s more interesting to discover the sex in a woman than it is to have it thrown at you, like a Marilyn Monroe or those types. To me they are rather vulgar and obvious.” (Italics mine.)

Hitch was hardly a prude. He wanted to keep sex mysterious, and he held strong opinions about the matter. Writing in The Hollywood Reporter in 1962, he described what he felt was a more enlightened understanding of female sex appeal:

“We have all seen women who exaggerate their physical attributes to a point where they can hardly be ignored. Men may stop and stare at such women. They may even show a lively interest in meeting them. But a man who does manage this kind of meeting may be disappointed to learn that his new friend has very little mystery about her, once he knows her name.

“As for myself, I prefer a woman who does not display all of her sex at once – one whose attractions are not falling out in front of her. I like women who are also ladies, who hold enough of themselves in reserve to keep a man intrigued.... When a man approaches her, the audience should be led to wonder whether she intends to shrink from him or tear off his clothes.”

Marilyn Monroe took out all of that guesswork from her characters. My guess is that when Hitch saw Niagara, he decided to make a film putting forth his own idea of sexiness – along with the additional psychological baggage that his personal tastes brought with them, such as the male angst engendered by his ideal women’s unattainability. The way I see it, Vertigo is his statement about what he considers to be truly sexy in a woman. It is his reaction to the manufactured sex appeal of the Hollywood star system of that time – and by numerous allusions, he refers to Niagara as his case in point.

Hitch's leading ladies were the antithesis of the typical Hollywood vixen. While the latter paraded their voluptuousness in a wardrobe that barely skirted the Production Code of the time, Hitch’s blondes kept their lithe bodies concealed under demure suits and other high fashion straightjackets. Other Hollywood stars approached their leading men with a come-on, but Hitch’s leading ladies could be off-putting. By working against the grain of Hollywood stereotypes, this British gourmand created something distinctive, if not unique: the iconic Hitchcock blonde. Other directors and actresses have been playing catch-up ever since.

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*Taken as a whole, Niagara plays a minor role in the storytelling of Vertigo. There are several very important antecedents to Hitchcock's film: Portrait of Jennie, the Pygmalion stories from ancient Greece through George Bernard Shaw’s play of the same name and the 1956 Broadway hit My Fair Lady (which theater-loving Hitch very likely saw) are the most noteworthy. In its title sequence, Vertigo’s direct origins are credited to Boileau-Narcejac’s French novel D’entre les morts.

Alfred Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much" (1956) - A Few Visuals

2008-05-06T16:37:00.000-07:00

A dyed-in-the-wool commitment-phobe, L. B. Jeffries (James Stewart) watched from the shadows as his deepest fears about marriage were played out in the apartments adjacent to his own in Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window (1954). These miniature dramas were like a projection of Jeffries' inner psychological state. Hitch tended to do that kind of thing a lot in his films.

Take the 1956 version of The Man Who Knew Too Much, for example. As Ben McKenna(Stewart) and his wife Jo (Doris Day) slid into the nightmare of losing their child to kidnappers, numerous shots and scenes were carefully framed to highlight the characters' inner turmoil. Here are a few screen captures that demonstrate the care Hitch took to use all available space in his films to create mood, tell his story, manage dramatic tension and more.

It seems as if every Hitchcock film must have at least one of what I call a "De Chirico shot," a scene framed as if in homage to surrealist Georgio De Chirico. Here's one from The Man Who Knew Too Much:

Moroccan police chase a bandit up a deserted street as Louis Bernard (Daniel Gelin) stumbles into the portico with a knife wedged between his shoulder blades.

Over and over, Hitchcock used diminishing point perspective to emphasize the apparent danger and confusion in which his characters operated. As the devastating reality of his son's kidnapping sinks in, Ben's mind races to come up with a way to break the news to his wife. Note the vertiginous angles that frame Ben's face:

This film alternates between visually chaotic scenes, such as this street scene in Morocco, and...

... stark, desolate scenes of Hopperesque isolation.

This street is deceptively quiet. Yet, at this otherwise nondescript locale, kidnappers and assassins plan their next move.

Take a look at this beautifully set up shot in which Jo calls the police to alert them to her son's possible whereabouts. In my view, this shot is as perfectly arranged -- indeed, iconic -- as a medieval Madonna. Not coincidentally, the shot serves much the same purpose: that of a mother interceding on behalf of her children. Were it not for this thematic significance, the shot would be mere technical grandstanding. As it is, the allusion is masterful, witty and poignant.

In this scene, Ben imagines that he is being followed by one of the villains:

Moments later he comes upon what seems to be the villains' outpost:

All of which is to say that The Man Who Knew Too Much is, end to end, a near-perfectly constructed film by a master of the medium operating at the height of his abilities.

Alfred Hitchcock's Shamley Green House for Sale

2008-04-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

The Hitchcock Manse at Shamley Green, circa 1935

In 1928, while his wife, Alma, was pregnant with their daughter and only child, Patricia, Alfred Hitchcock purchased a cottage in Shamley Green, a small village about 30 miles outside of London. He soon set about expanding and remodeling the residence, capstoning the project with stone carvings of the letters A and H that had been reclaimed from the recently renovated Houses of Parliament. According to the London Telegraph, the home is now up for sale for the asking price of £2.5 million. (Hitch had paid £2,500 -- £116,000, adjusted for inflation).The man who made a generation of women afraid to bathe in their own showers apparently had a phobia of his own in this regard: none of the bathrooms in the Tudor house have shower heads. Take a slide-show tour of the home.

Although Hitch and his family generally spent only their weekends here, according to The Complete Films of Alfred Hitchcock, "his fondness for Shamley Green was one reason why he did not accept the American offers he constantly received." He spent his off-time there pottering around the garden and entertaining friends. It seems to have been a real retreat for him. According to Donald Spoto, he was visibly more relaxed here than at his weekday flat in London and his happiest hours were passed at this home. Many Hitchcock films allude to a "lost paradise" motif or symbolism; I suspect that, for him, the house at Shamley Green was a return to that paradise-like place, as these stills from their home movies suggest.

Alfred and Alma share a kiss with young Patricia.

Two giddy pups.

Alma gracefully accepts a camera's intrusion.

Eventually, of course, Hitch succumbed to the lure of Hollywood, leased the house out and moved to California in 1939, ending up at 10957 Bellagio Road in a house whose "variety of textures" (according to Spoto) reminded the Hitchcocks of Shamley Green. Meanwhile, during World War II, fleeing German bombing raids in London, his mother and brother took up quarters at a cottage adjacent to the house, but neither were to survive the war and Shamley Green went empty. Finally, reluctantly, Hitch sold the house. But his love for that old place remained and several years later the director named his television company Shamley Productions.

Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" - Minus the Birds

2008-04-14T13:25:00.000-07:00

Artist Martijn Hendricks has recently released his work Give Us Today Our Daily Terror, in which he produced an exact copy of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963), from which all birds have been digitally removed. I took a peek at the video excerpts on his site and found (strangely enough) that these suspenseful scenes didn't lose as much of their terror or dramatic tension sans their avian antagonists as you might think. Chalk one up for Hitch's direction and Bernard Herrmann's musicless score.

Click here to watch this scene.

Discussing the painting in Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho"

2008-04-10T08:17:00.000-07:00

One of the fascinating aspects of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho is its strategic use of fine art to help reinforce thematic and dramatic elements of the film. A discussion of the identity and -- more importantly, to me -- the function of the painting that hangs in George Lowery's office has been picked up at the Hitchcock Wiki discussion forum. Many of the comments in there are very interesting and I encourage you to check it out.

A couple of the comments (along with Dave Pattern's intriguing comment to yesterday's post) suggest that the figures are "looking" at Marion Crane. I like that idea. Throughout the film, Marion is the subject of "the gaze." She is leered at by tycoon Tom Cassidy,

scrutinized by a suspicious cop

and peeped at by Norman Bates.

Male audience members in 1960 (or 2008, for that matter) would have a hard time taking their eyes away from the screen, as she spends much of her time in her underwear if not in the nude. The audience's role as peeping tom is underscored by the voyeuristic opening shot of the film in which the camera enters the Phoenix, Arizona hotel room through an opened window.

We are duly rewarded with this view:

In this context, the painting in Lowery's office represents a long list of characters who gape at Marion.

Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho": Is that a Picasso?

2008-04-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

Hitchcock Wiki manager Dave Pattern left a comment yesterday concurring that, in his opinion, the painting I posted from Psycho is indeed a Picasso. He also added a much sharper high-definition image of the screen capture. Take a look and let me know what you think. Extra points if you can identify it positively, including its title, backstory, etc.!

Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho": Can you name the painting?

2008-04-08T12:16:00.000-07:00

Just rewatched Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho last night, so prepare for a couple of thoughts. But first, maybe you can help. Can you identify the painting that hangs in the office of George Lowery (Vaughn Taylor), Marion Crane's (played by Janet Leigh) boss? I'm guessing it's a Picasso.

Here's a better view:

If you can positively identify this picture, I'll give you a free subscription to this blog. :)

BTW - I haven't forgotten about a few connections that have turned up between Vertigo and Niagara. We'll be getting to that, I promise!

Roller Coaster Designer Takes a Lesson from Alfred Hitchcock

2008-03-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

In an interview in PingMag, thrill ride designer and all-around arty-engineer type Brendan Walker talks about the influence that Alfred Hitchcock's techniques have on his design concepts.

He has some very interesting things to say. By way of introduction, let's recall a moment from the climax of Saboteur (1942). Barry Kane (Robert Cummings) has been falsely accused of sabotaging a U.S. airplane factory during World War II. The story that unfolds is a perfect example of the Hitchcockian double-chase, in which Kane must run from the police while also pursuing the real villains in an effort to clear his name. The chase ends at the Statue of Liberty, where the real saboteur, Nazi collaborator Frank Fry (Norman Lloyd) has slipped over the edge of the torch and dangles from the statue's thumb. (Note the prosthetic fangs Hitch instructed Lloyd to wear in this scene!)

Kane tries to save him, putting his own life in peril.

Thus, the double chase reaches its climax with a doubly-suspenseful cliffhanger. Truly, edge-of-your-seat movie making at its best.

And when Fry slips away, the ostensibly morally justified thrill of watching the enemy fall to his death is perfectly attenuated with a cathartic relief of tension as we see (from the comfort of our theater seats) that Kane is going to be okay.

The final frames of the movie anticipate the ending of North by Northwest as Kane is lifted into the loving arms of Patricia Martin (Priscilla Lane) and we immediately fade to the ending credits. Like a good roller coaster ride, there's no need for a denouement to wrap up all the loose ends. (I discuss Hitch's on-again/off-again relationship with the denouement here.)

Thus Saboteur ends just the way Brendan Walker states a good thrill ride should end. He says: "It’s the release from fright which people find thrilling." Here's another part of his conversation with PingMag:

Hitchcock is known as the ‘Master of Suspense.’ What would be the difference between something that’s thrilling and something that’s frightening?

In dictionary terms, the differences are very subtle. But by my definition, thrill has high levels of both arousal and pleasure, whereas fright has high levels of arousal but low levels of pleasure. In terms of pleasure, ‘fright’ is exactly opposite to ‘thrill’. What’s interesting is that, in a horror film, tension and fright are unpleasurable. But from that low point, the pleasure has to increase to get back to “normal.” It’s the release from fright which people find thrilling.

Such distinctions are the stuff that Hitchcock made his living at parsing. He drew a line between the concepts of suspense and terror, once saying, "Suspense and terror cannot coexist. To the extent that the audience is aware of the menace or danger to the people it is watching -- that is, to the extent that suspense is created -- so is its surprise (or terror) at the eventual materialization of the indicated danger diminished." -- "The Enjoyment of Fear," Good Housekeeping, February 1949.

Walker has even devised a mathematical formula that attempts to methodologize the relationship between fear and thrill and their place in the "narrative" of, say, an amusement park ride:

Walker insists that his formula is, perhaps, more illustrative than practical. Still, it can form the basis of some interesting creative approaches. He explains it this way:

The intensity of thrill you experience during any activity is controlled by three things:

1. Your levels of Pleasure ‘V’
2. Your levels of Arousal ‘A’
3. and Time ‘t’(psychologists actually call pleasure ‘valence’ - hence the V not P!)

The level of thrill you actually experience ‘T’ depends on:
a. how quickly your Pleasure and Arousal changed over Time (that’s the first VA/t) and
b. the amount of change in pleasure and arousal (that’s the second VA).
As a general rule as you’re designing, just imagine how you might be affecting your rider. You can slowly raise arousal, but then give a quick boost of pleasure. You can raise arousal, make someone feel unpleasant (horror) which is then released as relief (with a dopamine rush of thrill) - there are many ways you can start playing around with ideas!

And Hitch played with those very ideas for over half a century!

You should read the full article, though, to get a sense of what this guy is bringing to the table. And when you're done, if you're interested, check out the piece I wrote on the relationship between the enjoyment of fear and the fear of enjoyment, which goes into more detail. I invite your comments.

Vertigo and Marilyn Monroe's Niagara are so very alike.

2008-03-25T12:48:00.001-07:00

If you ignore my various neuroses, you might see that I am a fairly well-adjusted male. How is it, then, that I’ve never seen a Marilyn Monroe film?

The other night, my friend Tracy and I picked up Monroe’s 1953 Niagara. I was stunned. The similarities between this excellent movie and Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo are numerous.

Both movies feature a blonde femme fatale who is obsessed over by a mentally unbalanced male lover. One big difference, though, is that Monroe's Rose Loomis is all steam and curves, whereas, Kim Novak's "Madeleine" is statuesque and glacially cool. I'll be coming back to this later.

Marilyn Monroe as Rose Loomis in Niagara.

Kim Novak as "Madeleine" in Vertigo.

The prominent use of the bell tower in each film, in which the female leads each meets their doom, makes the connection very obvious.

The Rainbow Tower in Niagara.

The bell tower of Mission San Juan Bautista. The original bell tower had been torn down about 10 years before the filming of Vertigo. Hitchcock "reconstructed" it using special effects.

There are similarities in mood as well. Both films have a transcendant, pristine quality that hearkens back to better days, a yearning for a more untroubled past. Some of the scenes also have an Edward Hopperesque loneliness.

George Loomis (Joseph Cotten) taking a lonely stroll on the Canada side of the falls. (That's Toronto's Memorial Arch, which was demolished in 1967 to make room for a parking lot. Fie on them.)

Scottie Fergusen (James Stewart) follows "Madeleine" into San Francisco's Palace of the Legion of Honor.

Niagara, set in Niagara Falls, emphasizes the pristine beauty and power of this natural wonder, while many scenes in Vertigo also speak to the ancient, eternal beauty of the natural world. (Both films also use these settings to dwarf the small, brief lives of their characters and to serve other thematic interests.)

George Loomis observed that Niagara Falls has had "10,000 years to declare its independence."

"Madeleine" and Scottie Fergusen gaze up at a tree that Scottie declares to be "2,000 years old or more."

Well, some of this has been commented on before. But I think there's more to consider, and a closer look at these films can even reveal something more about what Hitch was thinking about at the time. I'm going to upload another image or two to demonstrate what I mean. I think you'll like what you see. Come back in a day or two.

Books about Alfred Hitchcock that are on my nightstand

2008-03-22T00:23:00.001-07:00

They're in various stages of reading right now, but here's a handful of books that I'm reading that are about Alfred Hitchcock. Over the next few days, I'll post some of my thoughts on them.

An Eye for Hitchcock, Murray Pomerance

Hitchcock and Philosophy-- Dial M for Metaphysics, David Baggett and William A. Drummin, eds.

Three Philosophical Filmmakers: Hitchcock, Welles, Renoir, Irving Singer

Hitchcock's Films as Philosophy - The Exciting Conclusion

2008-03-05T14:25:00.000-08:00

This is the fourth and final part of some "thrilling" thoughts I've been posting lately on Alfred Hitchcock, film and philosophy. If you'd like to catch up with the flow, click here:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three

In Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 war propaganda flick Foreign Correspondent, Johnnie Jones (Joel McCrea) was a simpleminded, rakish beat reporter. But when his editor assigned him to Europe and changed his name to the Ivy League-ish "Huntley Haverstock," the reporter wasted no time living up to his new identity. The conceit that identity is something we own or create for ourselves was blithely undercut by another insight: identity is often foisted upon us. As the movie progressed, his newly-acquired identity became increasingly difficult to bear. As he more fully embodied what that name stood for (an intrepid wartime correspondent) he became more authentically "alive" – though in doing so he put his life at risk.

Hitch continued to ponder the meaning of identity. 15 years after Foreign Correspondent, in To Catch a Thief, the film’s lead character, John Robie (Cary Grant) had a false, this time criminal, identity thrust upon him, which he spent the film trying to shake loose. The truth of the matter was kept ambiguous – at least as far as the audience was concerned – until the mystery was solved toward the end of the movie. Any presumption of his innocence could only be based on mere sympathy for the character and on the star status of Cary Grant.

Four years after that, in North by Northwest, Hitch placed before audiences yet another character with identities inflicted on him against his will. Unlike TCaT, though, the truth about Roger O. Thornhill (again played by Cary Grant) was confirmed at the film’s outset by no less an authority than his own mother, putting the audience at an advantage. Being fully convinced of Thornhill’s "wrong man" status, viewers could watch as he knocked himself out trying to convince others of who he "truly" was.

In NxNW, spymaster Vandamm (James Mason) repeatedly accused Thornhill of giving a theatrical performance – pretending to be ad man Roger Thornhill. Vandamm insisted that he was United States Information Agent George Kaplan. "My name is Roger Thornhill," the ad executive replied. "It’s never been anything else." But that changed rapidly. Shortly thereafter, upon meeting Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint) on the train and now on the run from the law, he tried (and failed) to convince her that he was "Jack Phillips" of "Kingby Electronics." (As Murray Pomerance pointed out in An Eye for Hitchcock, "not just false identities can be laid upon us.... what we might call authentic ones can too.") Afterward, Thornhill stepped into the role of Kaplan, even getting "killed" in a staged gun attack using fake bullets – just like in the movies.
Throughout all of this, though, Thornhill was merely a thin veneer over the actor who portrayed him, Cary Grant, whose constant mugging for the camera reminded audiences of whom they were really watching. (One scene in the hospital even treats us to the Hollywood fan world, when a bobby soxer swoons over Grant!) This house of mirrors-like labyrinth of identities could permutate forever as it works out such questions as, "who am I?" and "at which point to I ‘become’ the roles I take on?" Clearly, name, profession and social status are completely inadequate answers to these kinds of existential questions.

For me, regarding the answer to that second question, the operative word is become. Thornhill learned that accouterments such as a driver’s license, a hotel key, a gray silk suit or even a recognizable face are unreliable identifiers. Instead, action itself is the thing – it was in the act of becoming Kaplan that he found himself. In becoming, he became alive. That’s the lesson that I take from Sartre’s dictum, "As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become." If that is the case, then its opposite might also be true: to stop becoming is to die.

And that’s what I mean when I suggest that Hitchcock’s films are philosophy.

"North by Northwest"'s Plaza Hotel Renovated

2008-03-03T05:27:00.000-08:00

When Alfred Hitchcock filmed North by Northwest, Cary Grant was living in an apartment at New York City's Plaza Hotel. This made Grant's daily commute very convenient, at least while they were shooting scenes at the hotel. Because space was tight and crowd control was difficult, Grant stayed in his room until he was needed on the set. In his biography Hitch: The Life and Times of Alfred Hitchcock, John Russell Taylor wrote:

One morning he came down [from his apartment], walked through the crowd, picked up a telephone and put it down (to match a studio close up), then walked over to the camera and looked through it to see what the outside line for his walk would be. [A crew member] said to Hitch, "You haven’t even said 'Good morning' to Cary. How does he know what to do?" Hitch answered casually, "Oh, he’s been walking across this lobby for years. I don’t need to tell him how."

Of course, Grant's Roger O. Thornhill lived elsewhere. But George Kaplan "occupied" room 796, which didn't exist - room numbers topped out at 769. And it is in this room that Roger underwent his existential crisis: he realized that he could easily be mistaken for Kaplan, that he was, as Murray Pomerance says, "Kaplanesque." So let's get this straight. In this scene, Cary Grant played a character who has been mistaken for another fictional character (an expedient exaggeration, as Thornhill would say), who is registered in a room not unlike Grant's in the same building. Okaaaaaaaay.

After a $400 million dollar renovation and three years under the scaffold, the Plaza Hotel has reopened, and about three quarters of its rooms have been converted to condominiums. Now, anyone with enough money can live like Grant did. If you want to experience happy hour like Roger O. Thornhill, however, you'll have to wait a bit longer. The Oak Bar, where Roger was kidnapped is still undergoing renovation and won't be open for another month or two.

"To Catch a Thief" as Philosophy, Part 2 and Leading, I’m Afraid, to Part 3

2008-02-29T10:33:00.000-08:00

This is the third of a series of posts I wrote on Alfred Hitchcock, film and philosophy. To read the others, click here:
Part One
Part Two
Part Four
Note added March 5

Shot mostly on location as a "gorgeous spectacle in VistaVision," To Catch a Thief offers up panoramic views of Monaco, tours of its famously narrow, precipitous roads other beautiful scenes. It’s a travel pic. And just to drive the point home, the film introduces the principality with a travel agency poster with its jaunty slogan "If you love life, you’ll love France!" For most people, this film is the next best thing to actually traveling to that resort city, and it's escapist entertainment at its best. But an escape to what? A vacation spot? Hardly. It’s just an illusion. An image on a blank screen.

Alfred Hitchcock delivered that illusion using the best Hollywood tricks and technology at his disposal. And then he set about subverting it. By means of his traditional cameo appearance, the film’s references to Cary Grant’s offscreen life and Grant’s mugging asides to the camera, This film reminded audiences that it’s only a movie.

In an earlier post, I described Hitch's films as "philosophical treatises, written with a camera, not a pen." I’d like to modify that. I don’t think his films are treatises as much as they are philosophical meditations. His movies aren’t so pedantic as to try to convince people of any philosophical position; instead, they mull their subjects over, leaving any conclusions open-ended, up to the viewer to decide upon. TCaT ponders the nature of identity – traded in, replaced, inhabited and eschewed.

Just as decisively as Archibald Leach traded in his name for the more saleable moniker Cary Grant, that actor also replaced his identity as a circus acrobat with that of a suave leading man. Likewise, his character, John Robie, The Cat, traded in his criminal past for a new life as a gentleman bachelor and vineyard owner.

Almost no one in TCaT is what they seem to be. The good guys are busy trying to hide their humble origins behind a veneer of wealth and sophistication, while the bad guys are rapidly amassing wealth while posing as wage-earning restaurant workers.

This idea of identity recurs in Hitchcock’s films. In fact, part of what makes his movies so damned compelling is that there is an ongoing, coherent set of themes that continue from one film to the next. (Now, that’s continuity!) Stick with me here. I promise to wrap these thoughts up in one more – and, I promise, final – post.

Robert Boyle's Academy Award Video - REDUX

2008-02-28T09:43:00.000-08:00

If you subscribe to my blog via feed or email, it seems that the YouTube video of Alfred Hitchcock production designer Robert Boyle's speech didn't make it into the Feedburner system. I'm not sure why - but I'm sorry for the difficulty. Here's the direct link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVY3VfFmEG4

Robert Boyle's Academy Award Video

2008-02-26T23:01:00.000-08:00

Production Designer/Art Director 98-year-old Robert Boyle received this year's lifetime achievement award at the Oscars. As you might know, he was Production Designer on such Alfred Hitchcock classics as North by Northwest, The Birds and Marnie. He truly was and is a class act. Take a look at his acceptance speech.

Vanity Fair's Hitchcock Scenes Compared with Originals

2008-02-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

Fellow blogger Barefoot Cassandra has been doing a lot of heavy lifting lately. When the March Vanity Fair came out with those (I think) fantastic recreations of famous Alfred Hitchcock scenes, she set about scanning those images and then finding their parallel stills from the original movies. It's been interesting to compare them side by side - to see how the artists adhered to the original and where they exercized their creative license. Thanks, Cassandra! (Whoever you are....)

Later, today, hopefully, I'll deliver my wrap-up on Hitchcock's Films as Philosophy.

"To Catch a Thief" as Philosophy

2008-02-20T11:56:00.000-08:00

This is the second of a series of posts I wrote on Alfred Hitchcock, film and philosophy. To read the others, click here: Part One
Part Three
Part Four
Note added March 5

Last Saturday I proposed that Alfred Hitchcock’s films can be viewed as philosophical treatises, written with a camera, not a pen. Using To Catch a Thief as a case in point, I suggested that this movie explored the relationship that an actor has to his or her role in film, as opposed to the stage. Here are a few more thoughts.

Filmmakers realized early on that verisimilitude of acting and of setting is essential to making movies. For instance, a film is more "convincing" when it is either shot on location or the scene is recreated in the studio with such detail as to look like a real location. The early Russian film theorists (led by Kuleshov, I think) insisted that the actors ought to naturally be the roles they play. It was advocated, for instance, that if one wants to depict a crowd of coal miners, a director should hire real miners to serve as extras. Such cinematic rules invite actors to evaluate what their relationship to a fictional character really means. (Cary Grant thought about this and famously said that even he couldn’t live up to the image he’d created.)

When a film explores that relationship, it enters the realm of film as philosophy.

TCaT pushes deeper into what it means to be a film actor. Just about every character in the movie is acting a role to some extent. And they do so with an explicit agenda of deception. Thus, a consideration of actors, screen acting, authenticity and deception all play into the film.

The movie concerns Robie, a former jewel thief nicknamed the Cat, who has been falsely accused of committing a recent spate of burglaries around the resort town of Monaco and must clear his name or be sent to prison. Although Robie has retired from his criminal past, many insists that he is still active and is lying about it. They maintain that his life as an honest citizen is only an act. This seems to provoke indignation from the girl Danielle (Brigitte Auber) and the rest of the former Resistance workers in her father’s circle because they are implicated in his supposed thievery. When one of the resistance members is killed, the police seize on the opportunity to identify him as the Cat in order to present an appearance to the public that they have solved the case. Justice is not their aim; for them the mere pretense suffices. Frances (Grace Kelly) and her mother (Jessie Royce Landis) put on their own show, using their wealth to live an aristocratic life that conceals their true, more humble origins. Although they own up to the ruse, that isn’t enough. They, along with the insurance agent H. H. Hughson (John Williams) get pulled into the act when they don costumes to attend a masquerade ball; Highson spends the evening disguised as an African slave in order to convince the police that he is Robey in disguise. Like a matrushka doll, he wears a disguise within a disguise. (Is the triple H in his initials a sly wink at the triple identity he takes on in this scene?) In each of these cases, these characters act one part or another as part of an agenda of deception.

In order to catch the real burglar, Robie must engage in some play-acting, by seeming to reprise his role as the Cat. Eventually, this leads to the film’s climax where he scrambles cat burglar-like across a rooftop, chasing the real Cat, who turns out to be Danielle. She reveals that she is part of a plot involving those former resistance workers to burglarize the community and to blame Robie – thus, their supposed indignation at him was also a mere performance!

In all of this deception, I see a direct relationship to the nature of film. By striving for verisimilitude, filmmakers attempt to deceive viewers into thinking that the images projected onto a white screen aren’t images at all, but the thing in itself. This kind of deception is just what happens onscreen in TcaT. I’m going to wrap these thoughts up tomorrow, or, perhaps, the day after.