Friday, January 27, 2012

Why Alfred Hitchcock Turned Down a British Honor in 1962

Hitch waits for some love from the palace.

When Alfred Hitchcock was designated a Knight of the British Realm toward the end of 1979, henceforth his formal title was Sir Alfred Hitchcock, KBE.  His life was quickly winding down, but between bouts of depression and heavy drinking, the old jokester flashed forth. Parlaying the honor into a brief PR stunt for his never-to-be-completed film The Short Night, he rechristened himself The Short Knight. His longtime friend, Universal Studios heavy Lew Wasserman, quickly threw together a celebratory luncheon attended by old friends Cary Grant, Janet Leigh and others. British consul general Thomas W. Aston bestowed the medal.

When a reporter asked him why it had taken the queen so long to bestow the honor, Hitchcock dryly replied, "I guess she forgot." Sadly, he was to enjoy the title for only another four months, whereupon he passed away.

That may be the end of the story. But it isn't the beginning.

As reported in the London Daily Mail today, the Queen first awarded Hitchcock in 1962, but he turned the honor down. As disclosed in a recent release of information from the royal archives, the director declined "because, in his view, it did not do justice to his contribution to British culture."

Wow. That's ballsy. If I were to be invited into the Order of the British realm, I'd accept the offer without a second thought. Turns out, hundreds of artists, scientists and others have snubbed the queen -- usually for political reasons, or out of protest. But Hitch was different. In effect, he said, "Your highness, is this it?" That got me thinking. And Googling. Turns out that in 1962, Queen Elizabeth II offered Hitch the title "Commander of the British Empire." That title, while impressive, is of a lower rank than KBE. Most importantly, perhaps, it doesn't come with the honorific prefix "Sir."

Thus, after fronting 48 movies and a hit TV show that rank among Great Britain's most important cultural exports, Hitch was still to be addressed as "Mister." That didn't sit too well with him. So he declined. I might not have been able to do what he did. But I can understand why the man who never won an Academy Award and who thus accepted the Irving Thalberg Lifetime Achievement Oscar with a two-word acceptance speech ("Thank you") marked his CBE medal "return to sender." He was holding out for something better.

Too bad there isn't a British rank titled "Maestro."

Friday, January 20, 2012

2012 Shaping up to be Major Year for Hitchcock Fans


Over the next year or so, there will be so many Alfred Hitchcock-related events, it will be hard even for die-hard fans to keep up.

For starters, researchers and scientists at the British Film Institute are working feverishly to restore Hitch's nine surviving silent films, including The Pleasure Garden (1925), The Lodger (1926), The Ring (1927), Downhill (1927), Easy Virtue (1927), The Farmers Wife (1927), Champagne (1928), The Manxman (1929) and Blackmail (1929). These frame-by-frame restorations will be released with brand new, custom-made musical scores. (If you're a fan of silent movies, you know how annoying those "canned" musical scores can be.) The release will timed to coincide with the 2012 Olympics in London.

Also, after several years of languishing in development, it looks as if Steven Rebello's fantastic book Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho has finally been green-lighted for a trip to the big screen. Anthony Hopkins has been signed to play Hitch, while Helen Mirren will play his wife, Alma. The biopic will cover the travails (and there were many) Hitch endured to bring one of cinema's most outstanding -- and profitable -- films to life.

Several Hitchcock films are also slated to be brought to Blu-Ray in 2012, most notably Dial M for Murder (1954) in 3-D! If you have a Blu-ray player and a newer TV that can handle 3-D, you'll finally be able to see this amazing film the way Hitch originally intended.

Another biopic about Hitch, called The Girl, is in production. This BBC production will star Sienna Miller as Tippi Hedren and Toby Jones as the director. With story consulting from Ms. Hedren and Hitchcock biographer Donald Spoto, the film promises to be the Hedren-authorized chronicle of this difficult chapter in her life.

I've got a book ready for press as well. Titled Notes from an Alfred Hitchcock Geek, it culls some of the best posts from this blog and adds in totally new content to demonstrate once and for all that Alfred Hitchcock is indeed the Shakespeare of the 20th century. I'm looking for a publisher and 2012 would be the perfect year to bring this fascinating study of Hitch's films to the public!  If you can help, or of you'd like to review my proposal, please contact me at joel.gunz (at) gmail.com.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Dial M for Murder coming to Blu-Ray in 3D in 2012!

Watch these clips in 3D. You can even choose the format you want (red/blue glasses, "cross-eyed" etc.) by clicking the 3D icon at the bottom of the frame. 

As my friends know (because I have a way of worming it into, like, every third conversation), I believe Dial M for Murder (1954) to be one of Alfred Hitchcock's underrated masterpieces. How did it come to be overlooked? I think many people take their cue from Hitch himself, who described it as a light, hastily produced film whose performance he'd "phoned in." Methinks he doeth protest too much. (Plus, he couldn't resist a bad pun.)

The bigger problem is that very few people have had the opportunity to see the movie in its original format--3D--which makes about as much sense as watching North by Northwest in black and white. You're literally missing an entire dimension. Village Voice movie critic Andrew Sarris agrees. Upon seeing Dial M in 3D for the first time in the 60s, he exclaimed, "In 2D, Dial M is minor Hitchcock; in 3D, it is major Hitchcock."

And so, on my Hitchcock Geek Facebook page, I put out a call to my fellow geeks to campaign Time/Warner, which owns the film, to restore it for a Blu-Ray 3D release. Within hours, Alert Reader Charlie Fulton pointed out that "it's already happening" and drew my attention to a podcast featuring an interview with Warner Home Video Senior Vice President George Feltenstein, who announced the upcoming release of two 3D films, House of Wax (1953) and Dial M. He says:

"It looks really, really good that they're going to [be released] sometime in 2012.... Probably the end of 2012. We're working on them now. Those 3D experiences are going to be crisp and clean and sharp and vital and realistic." (Catch the entire interview with WMPG radio's Dick Dinman under the title "Inside the Walls of the Warner Archive.")

Thanks to quantum-leap improvements in 3D imaging in recent years, I think it's safe to say that, with this reissue, the Dial M in 3D experience is going to be an improvement over what audiences got in 1954. And with a Blu-Ray reissue, you'll get to see it whenever you want!

TAKE ACTION!

Want to nudge Feltenstein to speedily (and skillfully) complete the project? Drop by Warner's Classics Facebook page and tell them how eager you are to see Dial M in 3D on Blu-Ray.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Rear Window and the Case of the Swirling Snifters

One of part of [Rear Window] that always makes me giggle is when Jeff, Lisa and Doyle are all hanging around and warming their brandy throughout the entire scene. It cracks me up every time. The visual of the three of them swirling and swirling and swirling for some reason just strikes me as funny. Am I the only one who thinks this or have I watched this film one too many times?” -- Prairiegirl

Alfred Hitchcock was not one to leave a good entendre undoubled. From Rope’s campy gay undertones to Mrs. Danvers’ not-so-subtle lesbian love for Rebecca DeWinter, his movies are literally (and metaphorically!) stuffed with sexy kinks and high jinx. For instance, in this scene from Easy Virtue (1928), over-eager suitor John Whittaker (Robin Irvine) works a martini shaker a tad too vigorously, in a motion that unmistakably parodies masturbation as he watches Larita Filton (Isabel Jeans) pose for her make-up artist.

This was just a warm-up for later, when he, er, pops the question.

And so, in Rear Window,when Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly) steps out of L. B. Jefferies’ kitchen nursing (heh heh heh) pair of brandy of brandy snifters, detective Lieutenant Doyle (Wendell Corey) can be forgiven for sniffing out (hehehe) double trouble (snerk!).



Think such theorizing is merely a product of the Hitchcock Geek's dirty mind? Well! I'll have you know that I know better people than you in Pittsboig! Matter of fact, Hitch himself envisioned the scene as an elaborate sex joke. In this interview transcript that he graciously shared with me, Hitchcock author Steven DeRosa (Writing with Hitchcock) asks Rear Window screenwriter John Michael Hayes about the loopy humor in this scene and I suspect that even Steven was surprised by the answer he got:
SLD:   In that scene with Jeff, Lisa and Doyle, when they're swirling the brandy snifters.  I was wondering where that came from.
JMH:  That was a Hitchcock suggestion.  It was to emphasize her breasts.
SLD:   It's just so funny.
JMH:  And it was sort of, you know, to make fun of her chest as she swirled these things around.  That was, I wasn't really too taken with it at first, because I thought it was a little, what do you say? Not cheap, but a little raw, a little gross for a sophisticated woman to be suggestive like this. But that was Hitch's thing.  And that's the kind of humor he had.
SLD:   Yeah, I remember that shot now when she's walking out, out of the kitchen. But then throughout the rest of the whole scene, as the three of them are talking, you just have these three snifters swirling in the air.
JMH:  Yeah.  All swirling in that air. I don't know. That was Hitch's directorial touch. And I'm not running away from it, but that was his idea, and I'll tell you that. Because I never thought of it, as a suggestive gesture. I still don't think it does much for Grace Kelly's character. But it was amusing and it was something, and it made the scene more interesting than just, you know, just walking out and handing somebody some brandy, and they were all sort of nervous and tense and they were swirling the brandy around.
Nervous? Tense? Of course! If you ask me, there was even more to the tension than just Grace Kelly’s ta-tas (not that that wasn’t excuse enough). Those warming brandy snifters added heat to a scene already steamy enough to fog up L. B. "Jeff" Jefferies' (James Stewart’s) studio window. Lisa Fremont (Kelly) had just arrived at his apartment and announced that she would be staying overnight. While Jeff’s landlord might not have cared, censors in 1954—the same censors who insisted that married couples sleep in separate beds—would have nixed the sexual implications that would logically follow. (That's why his plaster cast reached up to his belly button, satisfying the board that all skin below his waist was derma non grata.) What followed in the dialogue amounts to a careful tango between the Hollywood code and the obvious outcome of a night with Grace Kelly.

But to fully appreciate the fun Hitch had with the brandy snifters, we need to back up a bit. Though voyeurism and murder are the overt story elements in the film, Rear Window is really the story of two people who just can't seem to get their lives in sync in the love department. Lisa’s first two piping-hot entrances into Jeff’s apartment speak volumes for their difficulties. First, there is her ravishing initial entrance, where she arrives shrouded in darkness, like an apparition or a midsummer night's dream fever, to awaken sleeping Jeff with a kiss. (See also: “Sleeping Beauty.” In fact, Rear Window is an inversion of the fairy tale, with the Princess risking life and limb to claim her knight.)

But after this hot and heavy screen moment, Jeff and Lisa get down to the real business of their relationship: arguing about his failure to commit.
In their next scene together, Lisa wears a sultry, jet black dress. Again, though she throws herself at Jeff, he barely acknowledges her as he mulls over the question of “why a man would leave his apartment three times in the middle of the night.”




Her sex appeal can’t compete with his interest in solving the mystery on the other side of the courtyard.

Still, it’s during this scene that Lisa is finally convinced that Jeff’s suspicions are founded in truth. Logically, then, in their next scene together—and though the shooting script called for “another extravagantly beautiful dress”—Lisa shows up at his home dressed in a no-nonsense green suit and with her hair tucked primly under a pill box cap. The only indulgence in her attire this time is a gaudy pearl bracelet rattling around on her forearm, a reminder of her expert taste in jewelry—a bit of knowledge on which her credibility hangs in this scene.

Without even a hello kiss and ready to prove she can live out of a suitcase just as well as Jeff can, Lisa's poised to catch a thief, er, murderer.
For the first time in the movie, they are in harmony, which at the moment involves 50 percent amateur sleuthing and 50 percent foreplay as Jeff invites her into his lap to neck a little—and discuss the case. In return, she offers to trade, not sex, but her feminine intuition, for a bed for the night. 


When Lisa announces that she’s going to “slip into something comfortable,” she takes off her jacket to reveal a sleeveless, backless top that’s all business in the front and a party in the back, setting the mood for the sexual innuendo to follow. The moment is a perfectly-planned exhibit of Hitch's description of Kelly as a “snow-covered volcano.” However, the scene that made it to the final cut departs significantly from the shooting script. Here’s how the script goes:



                       JEFF
           You mean -- like [slip into] the kitchen? And
           make us some coffee?



                       LISA
           Exactly what I had in mind -- along
           with some brandy.


In the film, however, the lines are swapped. Lisa says what Jeff was supposed to say and vice versa:



                        LISA
            Why don’t I slip slip into something
            more comfortable?



                        JEFF
            By all means.



                        LISA
           I mean the kitchen to make us
           some coffee.



                        JEFF
            With some brandy too, huh?



Thus, it’s Lisa’s idea to prepare for a sober night of detective work by brewing a pot of coffee, while Jeff, feeling amorous, asks for a dollop of brandy. By changing those line readings on the set, Hitch (or, perhaps, Hayes) brought their maturing relationship into deeper relief. Their roles are now effectively reversed (Jeff even briefly waffles about whether or not Thorwald is guilty) and that situation will sharpen when Lisa puts her life on the line. 


The voyeur becomes the voyee.
“What people ought to do is get outside their own house and look in for a change.” So says the insurance company nurse, Stella (Thelma Ritter), earlier in the film. That outside look into Jeff’s home is provided by Doyle, who now lets himself in. Though the movie takes place primarily from Jeff's perspective, for the moment we are brought inside Doyle’s head. Through the use of subjective action/reaction shots framed from his perspective, we join him in his voyeuristic inspection of Jeff’s apartment.


Introducing the scene, Doyle enters the apartment, only to stop short when he hears Lisa, who, almost as if prompted by him, begins humming the tune being composed across the way. Her haunting, theremin-like vocalese wafting in from the kitchen aurally parallels the sight of her ghostly shadow winding about on the ceiling. (See also: the dreamlike scenes of the flitting Merry Widow Waltzers in Shadow of a Doubt.) It echoes our first shadowy encounter with her.
 Doyle's first sighting of Lisa is not with the woman herself, but, rather, with her feminine mystique.
Doyle then looks down to see her Mark Cross overnight bag lying open on the table, an explosion of pink femininity in Jeff’s platonic man-cave. A stonefaced detective lifted straight from the pages of Dashiell Hammett (except for the fact that he has settled down to what I guess to be a lackluster marriage), we're left to rely entirely on the Kuleshovian editing to tell us that he is doing the math in head.

When he lights his cigarette, it seems to cue the neighboring composer to strike up a boogie-woogie on the piano. The sound distracts him from his first train of thought, and it has the same effect on him that it does on Lisa, drawing him toward the window to find the source of the music. In Rear Window, music exerts an almost metaphysical power; even the world-weary police dick can't resist its tug.
We see (from Doyle's perspective) a raucous party at the composer’s apartment and, next, the Thorwalds’ apartment, plunged into darkness. This pair of shots works on at least three levels. 

First, it shows us that he has identified where the music is coming from. Secondly, it is a reminder that the swinging, cocktail-soaked world of single life is not something that Doyle (and Jeff) can be a part of if they want to be married; the best they can do is stand outside and look in. Finally, its chaotic camaraderie serves as a neat counterpoint to the Thorwald home's morgue-like interior.


(Also, look closely at the party and you'll see one of the female partygoers snaking her way through the crowd with a pair of whiskey cocktails hoisted aloft to hand to one of the guests, a pre-echo of Lisa's brandy service. You'll also see an elderly woman nearly passed out drunk on her feet, dressed in a white suit and a lavender scarf—Hitchcockian colors of death (see, for example, the funeral wreath in Topaz) and, perhaps, a nod to dead Mrs. Thorwald.)


The camera pulls back and down, giving us a powerful low-angle view of Doyle, from Jeff’s viewpoint—that is, we watch Jeff watching Doyle. All eyes are on the Lieutenant Detective and the news he is about to share. His mysterious silence and the grave look on his face indicate that he has something portentous to reveal. Grandstanding, he relishes his moment of power by withholding his Big News.


                                   DOYLE
                      What else have you got on this guy
                      Thorwald?     
   

                                   JEFF
                      Enough to scare me that you wouldn't
                      get here in time, and we'd lose him.


                                  DOYLE
                           (Soberly)
                      You think he's getting out of here?


                                  JEFF
                      Everything he owns is laid out on
                      the bedroom, waiting to be packed.


As we shall soon see, Doyle's conspiratorial tone is just a case of Hitchcock leading us up the garden path. First, though, Lisa emerges from the kitchen, cupping in her hands those two mammarian snifters, a hint that Jeff himself has some bedroom business of his own “waiting to be packed.” Winking double entendres like that permeate this scene, in which the dialogue counterpoints the visuals.


From here out, the scene actually has two story lines: (1) Jeff and Lisa's argument with Doyle regarding whether or not Lars Thorwald is guilty of murder and (2) Doyle’s mostly unspoken interest in Jeff and Lisa’s appearance of sexual impropriety (along with Doyle’s quite obvious excitement at seeing Lisa). The snifters tie the scene together as a visual analog to the dramatic tension while also reinforcing the impression that illicit sex is afoot. Specifically, there’s a hint of masturbation—particularly on the part of Doyle, who clearly gets off (cough cough) on the opportunity to make his old war buddy, Jeff, “look foolish.”
Those twirling cocktails thus play a role comparable to that of the ticking clockwork of the metronome in Rope that Rupert Cadell (James Stewart, six years earlier) uses to ratchet up Phillip's (Farley Granger's) anxiety during the interrogation sequence. Their circular pattern echoes Lisa's twisting shadow on the ceiling seconds earlier. It riffs on Hitch's earlier cameo, where he is glimpsed winding up the spring steel belly of the clock on the composer's mantle, an analogue to his role as this film's ringmaster of dramatic tension. It may even reference the spiral unspooling of the film itself as it relinquishes its story, one shuttering click at a time. Think I'm overdoing the associations? Go rent Hitch's silent masterpiece The Ring (1927) and make up your own mind.


The brandy is also a sexual innuendo, a libation whirling hypnotically as a prelude to sex: Doyle feels an erotic tug in Lisa’s direction, while she and Jeff, in their opposition to Doyle’s indifference, come together (relationally, that is!), their palms and fingers warming more than their brandy. It’s a masturbatory ménage à trois.


It's also a celebration. Following Lisa’s insistence that no woman would leave for a trip without taking her jewelry with her, Jeff and Lisa believe that they’ve got conclusive evidence of a murder and they toast their cleverness with Doyle, who, noncommittal, lets them talk.


Finally, in Hitchcock's world, brandy is often a symbol of sophistication (see Tony Wendice's special occasion drink in Dial M for Murder). Here, it exposes the class distinction between Doyle and Jeff and Lisa. While the latter two capably partake of their drinks and Jeff especially appears to enjoy mulling his around in the glass, Doyle drinks his straight down and shows that he can't handle his liquor as well as the other two can. This is important, as it reveals that Jeff's tastes have evolved in the years since he and Doyle served together in the war, leaving Doyle behind in that area. Their handling of the brandy is an apt metaphor for the contrast between Jeff's attunement to the subtleties of his neighbors' behavior and Doyle's social myopia.


But getting back to Lisa's hubba-hubba entrance with those two brandies! This is Doyle’s first look at Jeff’s girlfriend and, unable to take his eyes off her, his lust at first sight stops just short of a wolf-whistle. Meanwhile, Jeff stares intently at Doyle. As the script directs, “he seems to be trying to penetrate Doyle's mind.” The almost telepathic focus ostensibly has to do with the Thorwald case, but it also leads Jeff to pick up on Doyle’s worldly-wise judgment of Lisa’s sleepover. Thus, in response to Lisa's assertion, Doyle looks down at Lisa’s overnight bag billowing over with her sleepover goodies—a perfect counterpoint to Thorwald’s sinister suitcase. Though his face remains fixed, the editing tells us what he’s thinking: “Thorwald’s not the only guilty person around here.” But before he can get a word out, Jeff cuts him off with a pointed “Careful, Tom.”


We (and Jeff) have been waiting anxiously to hear about what his sleuthing has dug up on the disappearance of Mrs. Thorwald and the camera moves back, as if to courteously give him space.


After taking a phone call that further delays his Big Reveal, the next shot is a fairly long take. Clocking in at one minute and six seconds, it may not match the eight-minute marathons in Rope and Under Capricorn, but it's still a gem of stage blocking and camera work. As Doyle hangs up the phone, Lisa steps into the room, placing Doyle between her and Jeff. Doyle listens impassively, whipping his head back and forth between the two as they regale him with the details of Jeff's “research” and Lisa's intuition, those orbs of brandy going non-stop.


In one long take, with sex in the air, the three stand in almost claustrophobic proximity, swirling their brandy about in those balloonish snifters, in rhythm to the boogie-woogie drifting in from outside. Jeff and Lisa are aroused by their cleverness and sexual attraction, while Doyle is aroused because he thinks he can trump their circumstantial evidence—and, of course, he's turned on by Lisa. The three couldn't be more full of themselves and though the scene is quite masturbatory, most viewers won't allow themselves to “go there.” Unable to put their finger on it, as it were, they can't help but giggle. Here's how the long take goes, which closely followed the shooting script:


LISA
Jeff, aren't you going to tell him
about the jewelry?


Doyle looks suddenly interested. He asks tersely:


DOYLE
Jewelry?


JEFF
He has his wife's jewelry hidden in
among his clothes over there.


DOYLE
You sure it belongs to his wife?

He turns his head to Lisa, who answers.


LISA
It was in her favorite handbag --
And, Mr. Doyle, that can lead to
only one conclusion.


DOYLE
Namely?


His head snaps back to Jeff, who answers:


JEFF
That wasn't Mrs. Thorwald who left
with him yesterday morning?


DOYLE
You figured that out, huh?


His head moves back to Lisa as she answers with a touch of
pride in her voice.


LISA
It's just that women don't leave
jewelry behind when they go on a
trip.


Before Doyle can comment, Jeff asks impatiently:


JEFF
Come on, Tom -- you don't really
need any of this information, do
you?


Bringing their cozy little three-way to an abrupt halt, Doyle steps out of the circle, walks over to the desk and puts his glass down and says, “As a matter of fact, I don't.”


Again, as if perfectly timed, the boogie-woogie comes to a halt, ending the celebratory mood and creating an air of suspenseful expectation. Doyle walks into the deep foreground, his sweaty face filling the frame (just as Detective Arbogast's does when he walks into the Loomis Hardware store in Psycho) and drops his bomb. He speaks to the now-auspiciously quiet window and declares flatly: 


“Lars Thorwald is no more a murderer than I am.” 

As are all such lines in a Hitchcock film, Doyle's pronouncement is a huge red flag that the Director was up to some deeper tricks. Just as their suitcases suggest a "secret sharer" relationship between the Thorwalds and the Lisa and Jeff, Doyle now implicates himself in their vortex of shared guilt by equating Thorwald's innocence of the charge of murder with his own. Here's why. As a World War II air force reconnaissance pilot, he was in fact guilty—if only communally, by virtue of his uniform—of murder. Thus, the inverse of his statement will prove to be true: Thorwald is at least as much a murderer as he is! (See also: Rupert's guilt and shame in Rope.

Using little more than their understanding of human nature, Jeff and Lisa surmised correctly that something fishy was going on in the Thorwald home, while Doyle's professional, logical methods caused him to walk right by the evidence without noticing. This, too is a recurring theme in Hitchcock. Think of Spellbound: and Constance Peterson's feminine intuition-based conviction that J.B. was innocent, while her brainiac mentor, Dr. Brulov, was no more equipped to see the truth of the situation than Doyle. The lesson Hitchcock seems to be pointing out is that logic—the supposed apex of human evolutionhas its limits because our humanity resides, not in the head, but in the heart. It is with our hearts that we will solve the problem of good and evil.


Following Doyle's pronouncement, Lisa stops swirling her brandy, its cessation of movement matching the drop in her countenance. Next:


JEFF
You mean you can explain everything
that went on over there -- and is
still going on?


DOYLE
No! And neither can you.
That's a secret and private world
you're looking into out there. People
do a lot of things in private that
they couldn't explain in public.


(Italics added. Again with the masturbation innuendo!) Resentful of Doyle's condescending attitude, Jeff loses his temper and wheels himself over to Doyle. The three share the frame once again, Doyle loving every moment of his victory. The actors are blocked so that Doyle stands tall over Lisa and Jeff. For a visual philip that adds a suggestion of menace to the outburst of hostility, you can see a devil's mask in the background, along with one of Jeff's wartime photos, a picture of the explosion from an artillery shell in Korea. Lisa's glass remains mostly still, while Doyle's continue to rotate—the respective glasses continuing to express their owners’ interior mood.
Doyle moves away from them to take a seat and Jeff wheels in, still angry, cross-examining him. The camera repositions and in keeping with the explosiveness of their emotions, Jeff's photo of an atomic mushroom cloud sits in the background:


DOYLE
I found the trunk -- a half hour
after I left here.


LISA
Of course, it's normal for a man to
tie his trunk up with a heavy rope.


DOYLE
When the lock is broken -- yes.


JEFF
What was in the trunk? A surly note
to me?


DOYLE
Mrs. -- Thorwald's -- clothes. --
Clean -- carefully packed -- not too
stylish -- but presentable.

Doyle begins walking over to the chair.


LISA
Didn't you take it to the crime lab?


DOYLE
I sent it on its merry and legal
way.


Doyle sits down in the deep foreground, stretching back in Jeff's armchair, coolly swirling his drink.


JEFF
Why -- when a woman only goes on a
simple trip, does she take everything
she owns?...
If his wife wasn't coming back --
why didn't he tell his landlord? --
I'll answer it for you -- because he
had something to hide.


(Italics added.) Doyle hesitates a moment and lets his eyes wander and we see a cut-in closeup of the
overnight case with Lisa's lingerie.


DOYLE
Do -- uh -- you tell your landlord
everything?


Doyle's crack further links Jeff with Lars Thorwald and Lisa with Mrs. Thorwald, by means of the secrets they keep, their respective clothes and suitcases, and the appearance of guilt. For the moment, Doyle has vindicated Thorwald and all but accused Jeff and Lisa of a (debatable) violation of 50's-era morality. The irony is that he's wrong on both counts, and his intellectual hubris will nearly cost Jeff his life. After failing to change the subject, he stands and tries to finish off his drink as if it were a straight shot of whiskey. It shoots out of the glass, spurting onto his jacket. In other words, Doyle clumsily shoots his load.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Hitchcock Gets His Hands on Blackmail

“Self-plagiarism is style.”--Alfred Hitchcock

For a full-length series of posts about Dial M for Murder, check out my mondo analysis!

One of my favorite shots in all of Hitchcock's movies appears in his 3D chamber piece Dial M for Murder (1954). Here's the setup: though Margot Wendice (Grace Kelly) killed Anthony Lesgate (Anthony Dawson) in self defense, suspicion has been aroused that she actually murdered him in cold blood. In this shot taken from her point of view, she makes a desperate plea for her innocence, holding out a key to her questioners that should exonerate her, but which, pathetically, does the opposite.


In 3D, her arm appears to float in front of the theater's front row, as if severed from her body. For my money, there are are few other moments in cinema history that telegraph such pitiful hopelessness, winning the audience's sympathyand its dread for her future.

This shot also riffs on the film’s earlier murder where, in the 3D experience, Margot "reaches into the audience,” as if imploring it for help as she gropes for the scissors with which to defend herself:


These two shots are among many in Dial M demonstrating that Hitchcock’s innovative and expressive use of 3D effects is unmatched. Which raises an interesting question: working with a new medium, and with no other filmmaker exploring 3D’s potential with his level of sophistication, where did Hitchcock get his ideas? From himself.

As it happens, versions of those two shots appear in his final silentand first soundfilm (he made two versions), Blackmail (1929). Like Dial M, that movie also explores the guilt of a woman who has killed her attacker in self defense. Take a look at its murder scene:

With the action hidden behind a curtain, we are left to imagine Crewe’s (Cyril Richard's) sexual assault on Alice White (Anny Ondra). (The situation itself augurs Lesgate’s rape-like attack of Margot on the writing desk.) In her desperation, Alice's hand fumbles about, eventually to grasp a bread knife. After her weapon finds its target, Crewe's dead hand then flops out from behind the curtain, completing this stanza of violence, which is mercifully hidden from us. The entire scene is expressed by the movement of hands and and is no less terrifying in its refusal to show us the details of the assault and of Crewe's subsequent death.

Later in the film, in a scene that anticipates Dial M, Tracy (Donald Calthrop), the film’s would-be blackmailer, comes to see that not only will his plot fail, but that he is going to be framed for Crewe’s death. Pleading for his life, he hands the blackmail note to Detective Frank Webber (John Longden), hoping—in vainfor mercy. Note how his hand protrudes in from the side of the frame:



On a formal level, these repetitions add resonance to an otherwise tawdry story. As Sidney Gottlieb noted in his article “Hitchcock’s Silent Cinema,” which appeared in A Companion to Alfred Hitchcock, such shots in Blackmail "establish rhythmic and structural patterns by carefully placed repetitions that create constant echoing effects."

As with Margot, the framing here reinforces what the story is already bracing to tell us: Tracy hasn't got the chance of a sno-cone in a pizza oven. But there is more to this than mere technical film  grammar. Gottlieb adds: "Hitchcock's cinematic ingenuity is no mere formalist exercise but a means to strengthen Blackmail as a provocative critique of the forces of order and authority in society, a disapproving dramatization of how men silence women and attempt to shape them to suit their interests, and a case study in guilt."

Much the same could be said for Dial M. For instance, in the shot of Margot's hand above, the sense is reinforced that her beauty and wealth are no match for the male-dominated world that now casts a hostile eye on herthough in the final verdict, its law enforcement sector, at least, is more benign and prone to justice than that presented in the earlier film, even if its Inspector Hubbard (John Williams) had to go rogue and commit "highly irregular" acts in the service of justice.*

Blackmail was Hitch's farewell to silent movies, and in later interviews, in describing the end of that era, he singled out this shot, whose shadows paint a silent villain's mustache on Crewe's face:


This effect casts a glooming spell on what has up til then been a light mood, wiping the smile off our face with one last joke. While I don't think Hitch did quite the same thing in Dial M, the plot follows a similar arc: for the first part of the film, Wendice's upper crust humor carries the show, rendering his murder plot an intellectual exercise. And then, similar to the shift in mood in Blackmail, the following brief (silent era) chiaroscuro scene abruptly changes everything, as Lesgate emerges from the shadows to carry out his diabolical orders:


There is, however, at least one difference between the two films that I should mention. In Blackmail, these hands extend in from the side of the frame. Not so in Dial M. In that project, Hitch exploited the depth dimension to achieve similar emotional effects, giving those scenes an added subjective boost by placing his action toward the bottom of the frame, where the 3D imagery appeared to mingle with the front rows of he audience, as in this celebrated shot:

In another shot that echoes both the murder scene and Margot's plea for mercy, Inspector Hubbard presents the key that exonerates Margot and convicts the real villain, Wendice.


In order to make Dial M for Murder, Hitchcock rummaged around in a bag of tricks devised a quarter century earlier and adapted them to a new format. Along the way, he added a phrase or two to the language of 3D film and made an enduring favorite in the Hitchcock catalog. People may not be able to explain why a movie like this gets under their skin. All they know is they can't take their eyes off of it.
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*Ever notice that Margot is the only female character to appear in Dial M? Only two other women are mentioned in passing: "poor Miss Wallace," the victim of Lesgate's murderous greed and Maureen, who's "such a filthy cook." By contrast, there are the men of Dial M, whose college breeding and club membership guarantee special privileges. Even sleazy Lesgate and daft Mark Halliday (Robert Cummings) are members of this fraternity of men. It's in this world that Margot must defend her life and honor. In the final reckoning, it takes a near-miracle to save her when Inspector Hubbard rises above class and the rules of the game to make sure justice is served.
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Haven't had enough of Dial M for Murder? Go here.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Michele Bachmann Provokes Spit-Take from the Alfred Hitchcock Geek

Update: I just realized that this whole thing is a satirical joke. (Thanks to "Crispy" below for enlightening me.) Bachmann never actually said any of this. But I'm leaving the post up because I'm not sure which is funnier: Craig's faux interview, or the fact that I fell for it.


"My hero!" -- Michele Bachmann.

Not to politicize this blog or nuthin', but I had to pass this nugget on from the November, 2011 issue of Vanity Fair: In an interview with Craig Brown, Republican presidential hopeful Michele Bachmann listed her top eight heroes. In addition to the usual suspects on such a list (Jesus Christ, Gandhi, MLK), she added our favorite mama's boy:

“#7: NORMAN BATES

Here is a salt-of-the-earth guy who tends to his mom as well as single-handedly running a small family business. A proven thief books into his motel, so he humanely executes her. The guy's a hero. And what do the liberal elite call him? 'Psycho'! can you believe it?”

Make of her selection what you will. I'm sure she's just kidding around. This is, after all, the snooty-snarky Vanity Fair. (Disclosure: I vote democrat.) (Since I'm a Vanity Fair reader, you probably already knew that.) (Just don't hate me for being simultaneously smart and vapid. It's harder to pull off than it looks.) Nevertheless, if she gets elected, just to be on the safe side, we should probably keep all sharp objects out of the Oval Office!

Monday, October 3, 2011

The Re-Premier of Hitchcock's "Lost" Film The White Shadow: A Special Report

Program from the re-premier of The White Shadow. Click twice on this and all subsequent images and make them instantly bigger!

By guest blogger Pat McFadden.

On Thursday, September 22, the recently discovered reels from The White Shadow (1924), a film from Alfred Hitchcock’s days as Assistant Director for Graham Cutts, were re-premiered at the Motion Picture Academy’s Samuel Goldwyn Theatre in Beverly Hills. I was fortunate enough to acquire tickets for myself and a few friends, and had the further fortune of sitting in the front row. (This was somewhat due to necessity, as the entire middle section of the theatre was reserved for VIPs with the exception of the very first row.) Front row at this particular theatre is usually too close – but for this night, with two musicians and a panel of six, I simply could not have had a better position as a non-VIP. I had full view of the stage and could turn around for perfect view of any notable who’d been asked to stand in the audience.

As usual, an extravagant and beautiful program had been printed for the evening, with a paper insert of notes on Hitchcock’s role(s) on the film, and its place in, and effect on, his career, well written by Hitchcock Author David Sterritt.

Randy Haberkamp, the Academy’s Director of Educational Programs, and always an entertaining, witty and knowledgeable Master of Ceremonies at Academy screenings, began the evening asking for a show of hands from those who identified themselves as “optimists.” He went on to correlate this to the fact that they were about to show us only the first half of a feature, and urged us optimists to look at the experience as “half full” and not “half empty.” He then asked some people in the audience to stand so we could gaze at them and applaud, among them were Norman Lloyd and Eva Marie Saint (both of whom would be on the panel later), Ed Lauter (Maloney in Family Plot), Diane Baker (Lil Mainwaring in Marnie), and Veronica Cartwright, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail, just like her younger self as Cathy Brenner in The Birds.

The screening got underway, starting off with two shorts which had also been discovered and rescued, one with Mabel Normand from 1914, the other with Monty Banks from 1923, and then the existing first half of The White Shadow. The amazing Michael D. Mortilla accompanied the entire evening on piano, with an original score that is simply magnificent. Joining him for the feature only was the excellent and lovely Nicole Garcia on violin.

The Film

The original opening credits did not survive (as we were to learn from the discussion later, the first few feet of any reel of nitrate are usually the first to decompose). Therefore the film began with a still shot of one rescued but damaged frame of the opening inter-title – this can be seen on the program cover – followed by a simple list of credits. More may be missing from the opening but it didn’t seem like it could be much, as the story seemed to be in place: Nancy Brent (Betty Compson) meets Robin Field (Clive Brook) on deck of the ship that they are both taking back to London. They get along and plan to meet after they’ve settled back at home. Nancy is welcomed home by her family: alcoholic father, doting mother, and identical twin sister Georgina, also played by Compson. A double was used for some shots, but the many scenes which utilized the splitscreen effect were quite seamless and accomplished for the period. Compson was excellent in both roles, and stunningly beautiful (she would work for Director Hitchcock some18 years later in Mr. And Mrs. Smith, as Robert Montgomery’s bombastic blind date Gertie, the smart-mouthed blonde with the sure cure for nosebleeds).

But we now learn that these identical twins are not at all identical in character, and Nancy is as selfish and wanton as a female character was allowed to be in 1924. She quickly sends her unsuspecting sister to the pre-appointed place that she herself had agreed to meet Robin, for the sole purpose of his being baffled at not being recognized by the girl he thinks is Nancy. Several more episodes at the family’s country manor prove that despite the pleading and placating of her sister and parents, Nancy is rotten to the core. Unsatisfied with her boring life at home, Nancy leaves a short note for her sister and steals away without a trace. Blaming himself, her father, already unstable from too much drink, goes out in search of her; neither are found. After her mother dies of a broken heart, Georgina is now left alone. Reluctantly abandoning the search for her sister and father, Georgina continues to see – and falls in love with - Robin, still letting him believe that she is Nancy.

Nancy, it is now revealed, has become a card playing, smart dressing drinker in Paris, spending her time winning things from men (all implications) in a place of ill-repute called the Café of the Laughing Cat (see picture on page 2 of program – this beautiful set, centered by a man-sized cat statue that brings “The Ten Commandments” to mind, could well have been the young art director’s proudest creation for this project.) In the first of several contrived coincidences, Mr. Brent, the twins’ father, is seen at the same club – now unrecognizable as a wandering tramp who has lost his mind from drink and desperation.

This scene is the most lighthearted so far. A lengthy inter-title card explains the rules of the Laughing Cat Café: As each new person enters, the wild patrons shout "GET OUT!" The persons who don’t run screaming are considered worthy to stay. This was charming British humor in an otherwise serious and engaging melodrama, and suspiciously Hitchcockian.

Back in London, Robin and “Nancy” are engaged to be married – but Robin’s good friend Louis Chadwick (Henry Victor) will soon (coincidentally!) visit the Café in Paris and see the real Nancy holding court. Henry visits Robin, tells him what he has witnessed, and that it would be a disgrace to marry this woman. Unwilling to believe it, Robin dares Henry to take him to Paris and prove it to him. Georgina, overhearing all this, realizes that Henry has unknowingly located her long-lost twin, and she rushes to France as well, hoping to find her there.

We return to the Laughing Cat Café, where all of our major characters are now gathering, and just as good-twin Georgina enters (meaning that Nancy, Robin, and Louis are about to be shocked out of their minds to see her there) -- the reel ended and the curtain closed. There was a huge collective groan from the audience. Chalk another one up for the Master of Suspense, but in a way he never intended.

Eva Marie Saint rushed to the podium on the stage, where, after cheerily muttering “Well, I don’t understand it, but I still don’t understand North By Northwest,” she read to us a synopsis of the conclusion of the drama (from the film’s U.S. Copyright Registration), humorously accompanied by more melodramatic piano and violin.

Eva Marie Saint describes the second half of the film. (Photo credit: Greg Harbaugh / ©A.M.P.A.S.)

“After seeing Nancy enter the bohemian nightclub, Robin bitterly denounces her. In the chaos of the fight, she slips away, followed by Georgina. Georgina tells Nancy of the disappearance of their father and the death of their mother. Nancy weeps but refuses to return home. Her health broken by worry, Georgina goes to Switzerland to recuperate. Robin meets her, and still assuming that she is Nancy, begs forgiveness. Georgina knows that she hasn’t long to live, and she sends for her sister. She persuades Nancy to take her place in the sanatorium and marry Robin. Georgina leaves for Paris, to await the end. After returning to England with Robin, Nancy is summoned to her dying sister in Paris. She arrives just in time to say goodbye. When Georgina dies, her “white shadow” passes to Nancy, who at last has a soul. Mr. Brent resurfaces and finds his way to England, and while walking down a London street, he is hit by a car carrying his surviving daughter. [‘I didn’t write this!’ Saint interjected at this point, stoking the laughter already emanating from the audience.] Nancy rushes him to the hospital. Mr. Brent regains his sanity and returns with Nancy to their country estate. Robin asks Nancy to marry him. Much as she yearns to accept, the white shadow of her sister’s sanity holds her back. When Robin learns the truth regarding the two sisters, Nancy begs his forgiveness. In response, he takes her in his arms. ‘Since you have been brave enough to tell me, I will be brave enough to forget it.’”

Click to enlarge fellow Hitchcock geek David Sterritt's program notes.


The Panel

The Panel (left to right): Randy Haberkamp, actress Eva Marie Saint, actor Norman Lloyd, Leslie Anne Lewis, NFPF Nitrate Consultant for New Zealand Project, Frank Stark, Chief Executive of the New Zealand Film Archive, Annette Melville, Director of the National Film Preservation Foundation, and Michael Pogorzelski, Director of the Academy Film Archive. (Photo credit: Todd Wawrychuk / ©A.M.P.A.S.)

Now the panel gathered onstage to great applause, moderated by Academy Director of Special Projects Randy Haberkamp.

Asked of Frank Stark: "Why does it happen to be New Zealand that so many of these films are being found?"

“The real question is why did they disappear everywhere else?” Frank quipped, and then explained that New Zealand was the end of one of the distribution shipping chains, and after exhibition, rather than shipping the prints back, which was costly, distributors were asked to destroy them. Many of these workers, including some projectionists, secretly stole away with prints, unable to bear with the thought of destroying them, and Frank fancies that many were enjoyed at private collector parties. Thus, a great deal of film has been re-collected over the years.

Annette Melville explained the role of the NFPF as sort of a “match-maker” – they don’t hold films, but they work on behalf of the American archival community to locate and preserve endangered works. The Mellon Foundation gave them a grant enabling them send a two-person team to New Zealand, which has succeeded in identifying over 165 titles, going through 225,000 feet of nitrate film, and that’s just the silent material.

Annette handed the mike over to Leslie Anne Lewis, who held us captive with her fascinating “detective story:” The film was in a couple of reels labeled “Twin Sisters,” but the original credits were gone, and it had been placed in the American section due to the fact that the Selznick logo was on it (every inter-title had “Selznick” at the bottom, as seen in the frame blow-up on the program.) Intrigued by the beautiful images, she concentrated her research one evening on identifying this film. Cross-checking the identified cast members with other clues, she eventually narrowed it down to two possibilities, and since one of them had the Hitchcock name attached to it, began researching what he had been doing at the time. As there is no shortage of Hitchcock-related study on the internet, this led to the happy confirmation of what had been found.

Saving questions for Saint and Lloyd for last, the evening ended with fond reminiscences from both, of working - and eating – with Hitch and Alma. Most of Lloyd’s stories are already known to Hitchcock devotees, but hearing and watching him relate them was worth separate admission: Alma catching Janet Leigh’s subtle swallow in time to cut it before shipping “Psycho;” Ben Hecht viewing the finale of “Saboteur” and telling Hitch “He should have had a better tailor.”

Eva Marie Saint and Norman Lloyd. (Photo credit: Greg Harbaugh / ©A.M.P.A.S.)

Eva Marie told of something that happened during the shooting of the auction scene in “North By Northwest.” Between shots she was drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup. Hitch saw this and took it away from her, replacing it with a china cup and saucer. It just wouldn’t do, he said, for the extras and crew to see this lady in such a beautiful dress drinking from a Styrofoam cup. She loved it – it helped her to stay in character. She also loved that Hitch had his bacon flown in from Denmark, and Dover Sole from England. “I liked all that,” she said. “I was from Albany.”

During this story, when she was about to quote Hitchcock, Saint stopped and asked Lloyd if he would imitate him. “You’re an actor, and you’re a guy,” she said. Lloyd at first waved the microphone away, then suddenly puckered up his mouth, changed his expression and sitting posture, and in pure Hitchcock dialect, slowly warbled “I’m not large enough.” This drew a great laugh, but Eva Marie topped it when she later said “I love my husband, but I have the hots for Norman!”

No questions were culled from the audience, but nobody seemed to mind, and as we filed out, one aisle was clogged by the amazing cluster of Saint, Lloyd, and Baker all chatting together. My hand instinctively reached into my pocket to take a picture, but they just don’t let you do that at the Academy. There are now, however, some pictures available for viewing on their web site: http://photos.presslist.oscars.org/listanevent.php?events=1629&pg=1

My personal assessment of the evening? Perfect. Of the film? Most people seemed to agree with me that what we saw was a first-rate production of a rather silly story. If this first half had been summarized for me, sight unseen, I doubt that I’d have anticipated being as engaged, entertained, and yes, even emotionally involved. It’s impossible to know, but not at all difficult to guess, how much of that was due to accomplished director Cutts, and how much to the hard work of a young and eager assistant director, editor, co-writer, art director, and title designer. So, despite how convoluted the second half sounds, I assume it maintained its dignity, and hope that it might be found in another mislabeled canister somewhere, someday.