Now I've Seen Everything Dept.: Alfred Hitchcock Part V

Alfred Hitchcock—The Master, Compromised

I've been doing most of these "Now I've Seen Everything" posts starting with the earliest work, and working forward in time to the latest films. I can't do that with Hitchcock and feel good about it.* For in the years following Psycho, Hitchcock, certainly one of the top five film craftsmen ever, was having difficulty making pictures. Fact of the matter was, Hitchcock was old, often in ill health, and he was seen by the studios financing his films (primarily Universal under the control of former Hitch agent Lew Wasserman) as something of a has-been, a fogey—someone with old-fashioned ideas who couldn't bring "the kids" into the theaters. He was good for publicity, but they'd rather he just stayed in his bungalow office and didn't make any more movies, and with every mediocre success, his value decreased. After all, in Hollywood you're only as good as your last picture (Billy Wilder's response was "You're only as good as your BEST picture!" but he was having trouble getting financing, too). At times, the big back-lot of Universal must have seemed like a pasture he was being put out to. But Hitchcock continued to make films as long as his stamina held out, though his pace was slowing, and the care he took with planning each film (or planning, then abandoning) stretched his output to six films in fourteen years. Another disadvantage at this time was that the team of artisans he had been working with in the decades at his peak (and had the best communication with) were starting to desert him—whether through disagreements with Hitch, or death. It only added to the compromise that the Master of Suspense had to contend with in the last years of his career.

Nevertheless, a lifetime of making films exploring fears, fetishes, phobias and film-making limitations will still find its way into Hitchcock's films no matter what the circumstances. One can tick them off, as if on a checklist: the vexing mother figure; the innocent, wronged; the struggles over nothing (the McGuffin); the vertiginous angles; the voyeurism; the threatening presence of constabulary; the way architecture informs character; the banality of evil; and finally, the ice-cool blonde with tightly bound hair dressed in a grey suit that barely disguises her seething sexuality. Sir Alfred was one phobic, complex dude. But they informed some of the medium's most thrilling films (in content and construction) while simultaneously being some of the most personal films to be found in any director's career.

WARNING! SPOILERS ABOUND IN THESE CAPSULE SUMMARIES!! WHATEVER YOU DO, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THESE HITCHCOCK FILMS, THEN DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER (By all means, go to the attic OR the basement, take a shower OR a ride on a carousel, wait in a corn-field OR the schoolyard, visit Mt. Rushmore, the Statue of Liberty, the Bates Motel, OR the beach at Monte Carlo, or for that matter, just sit in your room and watch your neighbors, but for the love of an omnipotent uncaring God...) I REPEAT, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!!!
(Thank you and have a nice day)


Alfred Hitchcock's Family Plot ** (1975) There is always some humor to varying degrees in a "Hitchcock film," whether its dark humor, some punning banter, or even merely his playful manipulation of the medium (ie. staging a meeting in North By Northwest in the exact opposite place as the cliched "dark alley"—an expanse of flat prairie in the high-noon sunshine). But Hitchcock hadn't done an out-and-out comedy since Mr. and Mrs. Smith in 1941 (The autumnally sweet The Trouble with Harry doesn't count). But the bizarre Family Plot, reuniting the director with his North by Northest screenwriter Ernest Lehman combines a caper film with a lot of humor as a hapless grifter couple (Barbara Harris and Bruce Dern) get embroiled with some serious bank-robbers (Karen Black and William Devane, who, having just made a splash playing JFK in "The Missiles of October" on TV, replaced Roy Thinnes.). There are trademark touches and some surprising violence that kind of upsets the mood. But one gets the sense that Hitch produced 2/3 of a film. It lacks polish and substance, though the performances can't be faulted. Even a Hitchcock not firing on all cylinders can still design a film with some thrills.

A further, later thought: Family Plot may seem an odd film "to go out on," but, it's always timing in Hollywood. There were two sides to Hitchcock, the dark neurotic one who exploited an audience's (and his) fears, and the one who chortled and reveled over the tricks he pulled, and the puckish one, the one of good humor. Family Plot, like his Mr and Mrs. Smith and The Trouble with Harry, had a light heart, but a dark sensibility. After making his previous film Frenzy (in which he showed that "the old bird" could still shock, appall and "push the envelope," the director probably wanted to make something a bit lighter, although still in the dark shades, along the line of some of the more "twee" episodes of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents." One can't have a steady diet of murder—how much fun would that be? In retrospect, Family Plot may not be a directorial tour de force of suspense, but it couldn't have a more apt image to end the director's career: a "fourth wall" breaking wink at the audience (and Hitchcock is seen in the poster in the same action). Looking at the totality of the man and his work, it couldn't be more perfect.
Cameo: Hitch silhouette behind the "Registrar of Death and Birth" door @ 41:00 in. ***

Hitchcock's "farewell" shot

Alfred Hitchcock's Frenzy (1972) Wow. If the old man had gone out on this one, nobody would have squawked. In it, Sir Alfred goes home to London--not the posh London of Carnaby Street and "Mod," but the squalid London of his childhood. There's even a visit to the Covent Garden market where his father worked...and a particularly evocative overhead shot of an innocent man being thrown into a jail-cell...as was done to young Alfred to teach him "what happens to bad little boys." It's another case of innocence traumatized, and considerably "rougher" than any previous Hitchcock film, with cursing, nudity and very beastly behavior: the neck-tie murderer is strangling women throughout the city and the police are baffled, with bodies turning up in all sorts of unexpected places. An Innocent Man is accused, and must find the killer to clear his name...but said killer has enough knowledge of said innocent man to make sure that never happens. Meanwhile, Scotland Yard's investigator is having issues at home—his wife is learning how to cook french cuisine (with extraordinarily small portions). No matter how heavy the proceedings (and Hitchcock is positively cruel in the depiction—and non-depiction—of the murders), he still inserts moments of levity. Frenzy has a great ending that slams the movie shut like a steamer trunk. The screenplay is credited to "Sleuth" author Anthony Schaffer, but however strong a presence the screenwriter, its Hitchcock's blueprint they're building on.
Cameo: Hitch is not applauding an environmental speaker on the banks of the Thames... seconds before they find something else polluting the river. @ 4:00 in.

After presenting one of the most brutal sequences of his career,
Hitchcock retreats (or recoils?) from the next, leaving the audience helpless.

Alfred Hitchcock's Topaz (1969) I remember Hitchcock appearing on the "Today" show to promote Topaz, spinning yarn after yarn about anything but, then interrupting himself every so often to turn to the camera to say "Topaz, by the way..." Maybe that says something about how the film turned out. Topaz is a curiosity. There are rumors that it was forced on Hitchcock by "the suits" at Universal, but the duplicitous world of spies has held fascination for him before. And one can tell by the many shots of newspaper headlines that it was Hitchcock's intent to tell the story behind the story. There are also rumors that he was foiled from getting an "all-star cast," Or that he was "incensed" at paying Julie Andrews and Paul Newman $750,000 apiece in his previous film. Maybe so. But casting "names" would have distracted from the reality of the story--as it did to a certain degree with The Wrong Man. As it is, Hitch gets good work out of his international cast (John Forsythe, from The Trouble with Harry and several "Alfred Hitchcock Presents..." reunites with Hitchcock and is as close to a name star as the film gets, while Frederick Stafford is a bit of a stiff in the lead role). There are good sequences: everyone remembers Karin Dor falling dead into her dress, and Roscoe Lee Browne's undercover florist picks things up a bit. But Hitchcock never gets too frivolous with the plot--as he points out real lives were at stake, while a clueless public blithely read about it all in black and white, (and, as it is one of Hitchcock's least idiosyncratic movies, it may have been to attract an Oscar--he never won one, but was awarded the Irving G. Thalberg Award in 1967) The film's score by Maurice Jarre is not good, sometimes laughably so, and Samuel Taylor's (Vertigo) script only almost jells.
Cameo: Half an hour in, Hitchcock is wheel-chaired through an airport lobby.

Juanita (Karin Dor) melts into her dress as she dies.

Alfred Hitchcock's Torn Curtain (1966) After Marnie failed at the box office, Hitchcock had some pressure put on him to make a more commercial film, so he went back to a suspense format with spies and spying during the "spy-film" craze of the 60's. Then he cast two of the biggest stars at the time, Julie Andrews and Paul Newman. And he instructed his regular composer Bernard Herrmann to write a more "commercial" score. All for not. Herrmann responded with a dark score, meant to heighten the totalitarianism of the countries behind the Iron Curtain, and when Hitchcock heard it, he fired his longtime collaborator and they never worked again. Newman, a "Method" actor had problems with Hitchcock's "photo-acting" style, and try as he might, Hitchcock just couldn't sex up "Mary Poppins" (after Poppins and The Sound of Music it was impossible for most theater-goers to see Andrews as anything but a plucky care-giver, although several directors with several million dollar projects tried—and failed—to show her range). And for a spy movie, it just didn't have the thrills audiences expected from the current spy formula--the "James Bond" movies (despite the fact that the "007" producers cribbed an awful lot from The Master's play-book, specifically North By Northwest).

There are great sequences: the killing of Soviet "minder" Gromek in a farm-house—done in such a way as to not arouse any noisy suspicion...and to show how difficult it really is to kill a man—is Hitchcock at his practical, gruesome best; and the old saw about yelling "Fire" in a crowded theater (while, in house-of-mirrors fashion, the film is playing in a crowded theater...) is put to Hitchcock's good use as the lovers are separated by a wave of panicked theater-goers.

But despite everyone's best efforts to create a box-office smash, those elements seemed to work against Hitchcock when the film premiered...and it cost him one of his best collaborators. For years on, Bernard Herrmann would be hired to compose scores of dread, like the ones he'd made for the Old Master.**** One of the greatest collaborations in the history of film was no more.
Cameo: Early in the film, Hitchcock can be seen (back to the camera) in a hotel lobby, holding a baby on his knee, then moving the child to the other knee, after an apparent accident.

Sarah and Michael have differences as big as a widescreen frame (1.85 :1 )

Alfred Hitchcock's Marnie (1964) Intended to lure Grace Kelly back to the silver-screen, Marnie is a powerful psychological drama with multiple suspense elements thrown in, considerable acting opportunities, costume changes and "entrances." But when the Princess decided to stay in Monte Carlo (keeping her promise to Prince Rainier to give up her film career), Hitchcock turned to his new "discovery," the blonde willowy 'Tippi' Hedren, another trademarked classy, tightly coiffed "Hitchcock blonde." The role might have been a bit beyond her, but Hedren excelled at playing mysterious behavior, and when she engages in serial kleptomania, the audience is with her—though not sure why, after all, we want to know her secret and to do that she has to be found out. 

As her getting caught by the police would end the movie right away, the investigation falls to the male lead, Mark Rutland (wink, wink) played with a tamped-down smoulder by Sean Connery.***** Rutland is no Hitchcock hero ala Cary Grant. He has more of Jimmy Stewart's aberrant behavior magnified ten-fold: he's a sexual predator with a perverse interest in animal motivations. One follows Rutland's efforts with interest, but the fact of the matter is he's just as screwed up as Marnie with power issues that make her the injured victim. He sexually stalks her, kidnaps and blackmails her, keeps her his prisoner, finally raping her on their forced honeymoon. Some hero. Hitchcock is exploring new psychological territory, but like his Spellbound, it feels a bit forced and false, perhaps because Hitchcock's film language can't communicate it, or the restrictions of the movie industry at the time prevented it.****** It doesn't help that Bernard Herrmann's score, though wonderful, is still in the romantic mode of Vertigo, and love is not what this film is about: obsession is. In the end, Marnie gives off mixed signals. Hitchcock is at the top of his film-making skills and when he explores psychological themes he may do so with some understanding, but he also does so in a highly exploitive manner.
Cameo: Hitchcock is seen (very prominently) exiting a hotel room after the passing of the dark-haired Marnie at @ 5:00.

For Marnie ('Tippi' Hedren), red is not "her" color

Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds(1962) An extraordinarily polarizing film, The Birds is also Hitchcock at his best and his most experimental-- from its stylized Main Titles to its meticulously composited but enigmatic final shot, it is a special effects extravaganza. It also finds all sorts of interesting ways to invoke dread and terror, sometimes with staged practical effects, sometimes with opticals, and sometimes merely with sound (it is the only Hitchcock film to not utilize a musical score, although regular composer Bernard Herrmann worked with early electronic musicologists to "orchestrate" the bird sounds, showing how much Hitchcock trusted Herrmann with the sonic/psychological side of his films—he would change his tune, literally, with Torn Curtain). He has a marvelous cast: Jessica Tandy, Rod Taylor, who with his wry intelligence and physique made a great Hitchcock lead, and Suzanne Pleshette, the dark brooding counter-point to his female star, 'Tippi' Hedren.

'Tippi' appeared to be the perfect Hitchcock blonde—a model who moved well with expressive eyes and an enigmatic smile, Hitchcock was her Svengali (ala Vertigo), training her to act in the Hitchcock manner, with no pre-concieved notions, and whose modelling background made her unfussy about wardrobe (a big Hitchcock concern). The director introduces her in the same way he first saw her in a Sego commercial—with a little boy whistling at her on the street. Hedren never really ingratiated herself with audiences, due, in part, to Hitchcock casting her in somewhat unsympathetic roles that a star with a following—like Grace Kelly—could have risen above. But she's a good actress, capable of the character development her roles required. She does win an audience's respect if given a chance.

But one reason that The Birds might have left audiences and critics unsatisfied was another Hitchcock experiment—a deliberately open-ended and unresolved finale. It's never explained why the birds become so aggressive, and without that, the movie feels unfinished (unlike the extended explanation at the end of Psycho). But dramatically, it is resolved: The now-harmonious Brenner family ******* is allowed to drive off into the dawn with Nature, like them, in a temporary truce. How long that will last is anyone's guess. It could change at any time. What else would you expect from the Master of Suspense?
Cameo: at 02:18, as 'Tippi' walks into the pet store, Hitchcock walks out with two scottish terriers (yes, they were his).

* Also, "I Confess" I haven't really seen everything Alfred Hitchcock has directed--there are a couple of his TV shows I haven't seen.

** The American version of Hitch's films all have titles with the director's name in the possessive. This often led to some amusing juxtapositions when taken with the name, so I've included his name in all the titles, e.g. Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds or Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. Was it intentional to do this? You've seen his movies. What do YOU think?

*** If you want to see all of Sir Alfred's cameos on one page go to this link.

****And usually for Hitchcock disciples, like Truffaut, Larry Cohen, DePalma and Scorsese. Hitchcock hired Henry Mancini to write the score for Frenzy (ironically, as what led to the Hitchcock-Herrmann "break-up" was the studio's desire for the Torn Curtain score to be less symphonic, more "pop" oriented—of the type Mancini was producing at the time, even for Hitchcock pastiches like Charade) which, given the film and the masterful Hitchcock-Herrmann collaborations, he the composer wrote very much in the Herrmann mold that he had admired. When Hitch heard it, he reportedly said, "If I wanted Herrmann, I'd have hired Herrmann" and promptly fired Mancini.

***** At Hitchcock's AFI Lifetime Achievement Banquet, while Connery was was standing up and talking about his time working with Sir Alfred, Hitch pointedly turned to Ingrid Bergman and asked "Who's he?" not recognizing the older, bald and bewhiskered star of his Marnie.

****** One of the more shallow criticisms of Marnie is the obvious use of process shots--a staple of Hitchcock films. Those shots filmed in front of a movie-screen are usually well-considered in a Hitchcock production, not only for the safety of the performers, but also to show the protagonist isolated in their environment. They do serve a psychological story-telling purpose.

******* Maybe, as she's accused in the diner, the disruptive Melanie Daniels really is evil.

Next segment: Alfred Hitchcock, The Master of Suspense Meets his Musical Match!

Now I've Seen Everything Dept.: Alfred Hitchcock Part II

Alfred Hitchcock: Immigrant Worker of Suspense

The first years of Alfred Hitchcock's work in America show the patterns and themes that he'd explored in his German and British periods and would obsess his future films. But an interesting transition occurred between The Paradine Case and Rope. First of all, Hitchcock began working with color film with the same eye to detail he brought to the shadows of black-and-white. Second, with Rope, he began working as his own producer. Such was his success in his first years in America, that soon he left the Selznicks and the Wangers behind, assuming more control over his projects (although he still had to answer to the banks and studios). But there was also a change in the subject matter: while there was still the requisite threat of murder, intrigue and deception (as well as wrong men, false imprisonment and threatening mothers), The Paradine Case was the last Hitchcock film to feature "shame" as a major theme (although it figured in the actions—or more accurately, inactions—of characters in subsequent films). From then on, the world of Hitchcock was filled with more sociopaths and genuine evil that knew no shame, and frequently relished their crimes. The concern with reputation and "what others will think" became irrelevant. From now on, it was a fight for survival. Whether this was Hitchcock's conscious choice, or a result of his work during the war (he worked on documentaries dealing with the German work-camps), or the imposed morality of his producers (or the Breen Code) is hard to say.
WARNING! SPOILERS ABOUND IN THESE CAPSULE SUMMARIES!! WHATEVER YOU DO, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THESE HITCHCOCK FILMS, THEN DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER (By all means, go to the attic OR the basement, take a shower OR a ride on a carousel, wait in a corn-field OR the schoolyard, visit Mt. Rushmore, the Statue of Liberty, the Bates Motel, OR a beach on the French Riviera, or for that matter, just sit in your room and watch your neighbors but for the love of an omnipotent uncaring God...) I REPEAT, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!!! DAMMITT!!!

(Thank you and have a nice day)

Alfred Hitchcock's The Paradine Case (1947) Adapted by wife Alma, but with a script credited to producer David O. Selznick, The Paradine Case was a British court drama, with very few British actors, save for Charles Laughton as a prejudicial judge. Selznick hired his then-prodigy Alida Valli for the role of a woman accused of murdering her blind husband. She goes through the indignities of searches and imprisonment (which must have appealed to Hitchcock), as well as the scorn of Society—seems she was having an affair with her groom played by a not-at-all British Louis Jordan, who looked like he'd never spent any time in a barn. Convinced of her innocence, her barrister (played by the also-not-veddy-British but very stalwart Gregory Peck) struggles hard to win her freedom and preserve her reputation, though he also has fallen under her spell, threatening his marriage—his wife being the object of lust for Laughton's judge who happens to be presiding over the case. You think that's a tangled web? How about the behind-the-scenes stories of the casting! Jourdan was hired to fulfill a contract obligation, Valli for her...relationship with the Producer, and Peck for box-office potential. Anything but story-logic. Peck, with whom Hitchcock had troubles directing in Spellbound, was subject to all sorts of attempts to give him more gravitas, dying his hair gray, and shooting him from below, but at this point in his career, Peck was quite incapable of expressing humiliation, which undercut the entire point of the film. Hitchcock also had to contend with Selznick's customary second-guessing and last-minute re-writes. If Hitchcock had any doubts about producing his own films, the unpleasant circumstances of The Paradine Case would have dispelled them.
Cameo: Hitchcock appears at 36 minutes in leaving Cumberland Station carrying a cello.

Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious (1946) Another of those bench-mark Hitchcock films. Working from a Ben Hecht script, Hitchcock fashioned a nearly perfect spy story involving a love triangle, a woman's degradation, Nazi spies, and a rather fortuitous "MacGuffin." Ingrid Bergman plays Alicia Huberman, daughter of a convicted Nazi agent, drowning her sorrows with a mixed cocktail of fast-living and slow-gin. She's the Lindsey Lohan of the War Years. She is recruited, somewhat improbably, by the government to spy on some of her father's old cronies, fussily plotting in Latin America. Being patriotic, wanting to clear the family name (and falling in love with her "liaison"--in both senses of the term--named Devlin, though Cary Grant pronounces it "Devil-in'") she readily agrees, and before long she has ingratiated herself into their midst, and into the heart of one of them, Alex Sebastian, played with great sympathy by Claude Rains. Soon, Sebastian asks to marry her. Her superiors are overjoyed, Devlin is jealous and torn by duty, and Alicia, seeing Devlin's seeming ambivalence, goes along with it.

For Hitchcock, the story boiled down to "How can a spy organization claim the moral high ground when prostituting someone for information?" In the process of saving her family's reputation, Alicia must destroy her own in the eyes of her lover and their bosses—who seemingly think so little of her that it hardly causes a stir. And Devlin watches the woman he loves marry another man or else compromise the mission.

Bergman is great throughout: depressed as a society floozy, radiantly in love with Devlin, confused and haunted in Latin America. Grant plays Devlin with a facial passivity, never cracking a smile throughout, an operative who keeps his emotions in check. Claude Rains is the smitten Nazi, whose devotion to Alicia makes him a sympathetic villain (he has the trademark Hitchcock overbearing mother, as well), and Louis Calhern is the spy boss with all the charm of a corporate snake-oil salesman.

Much is made of the "MacGuffin" in this one, written a year before Hiroshima. It's described in the script as "some sort of metal ore," a compromise when someone advised Hitchcock not to say the word "uranium." Even that caused enough of a stir that Hitchcock was investigated and tailed for three months.
Cameo: Hitchcock appears at the Sebastian party drinking champagne and quickly departing at 01:04:39.

Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) Hitchcock always has a little bit of a problem translating psychology to the screen--curable psychology anyway, and Spellbound, though it tries very hard to legitimize Freud's treatment of mental illness through dream analysis, makes it look more like a stunt. Especially in a "Dali-esque" dream sequence (because Salvador Dali really designed it!) that when it's explained causes a bit of eye-rolling. Ingrid Bergman plays a psychologist at an insane asylum, where the staff is awaiting the arrival of the new administrator, Dr. Edwardes. When he shows up they are surprised to find him a youngish man (Gregory Peck), who is given to odd reactions when Ingrid makes suggestive marks in a table-cloth, or at other seemingly innocent times. Soon, this wrong man is suspected of killing the real Dr. Edwardes, and it takes the power of dream analysis, and the love of Ingrid Bergman to make everything right again. It's melodramatically crafted (with a script by Ben Hecht and Angus McPhail), but in pushing the love story, they might have taken it too far. Franz Waxman's score, though unconventional in places, evokes hearts and flowers a bit too hard (as does a rather silly impresionistic shot of doors opening) and combined with the very literal dream-work can produce a fit of giggles. Add to that some unconvincing process work in the skiing scenes. They also might be hitting it a little too close to have a shrink straight out of Vienna doing a little analysis on Dr. Edwardes. Unfortunately, Gregory Peck is a bit unseasoned to pull off the complexities of what is asked of him, mostly looking rather vague, while Ingrid Bergman fares a bit better, though one has to wonder about her ability to be impartial, given the way she gets involved with her patient here. The stand-out performance, though, is by Leo G. Carroll in the role of the retiring administrator of the asylum. There is some nice work in this, and one should remark particularly of a Hitchcock surprise--using huge models to keep the foreground and background in focus simultaneously--he also employed this in Dial 'M' for Murder.
Cameo: Hitchcock emerges from an elevator carrying a violin case at 43 minutes into the film.

Bon Voyage (1944) Hitchcock was too old to serve during World War II, obviously, but he asked David O. Selznick for a leave of absence to go back to London to make propaganda films for the British Ministry of Information. Selznick initially refused, but released Hitchcock from his contract for one month (as long as he continued work on the script for Spellbound). At the beginning of 1944, Hitchcock began work on two french-language films, using displaced French actors—with the exception of this film's John Blythe—to be distributed in Europe to encourage Nazi resistance.

The first, Bon Voyage, is the shorter of the two but the most complex. Rather than making a flag-waving propaganda piece, Hitchcock tells the story of a young RAF pilot (Blythe) who has made it it back from a POW camp and tells his story to a couple of intelligence officers. The story tells how he and a fellow escapee crossed Nazi-occupied France with the help of the French Resistance. He now carries a personal letter from his companion to a loved one. When he finishes his story, the officers ask to see the letter, but the young pilot refuses out of duty to his friend. The officers then go through the story again, this time telling him the true story—that his companion was actually a Gestapo agent, charged with finding out who worked in the Resistance and eliminating them...and the letter?

Moral ambiguity does not make for good propaganda in government circles and so Bon Voyage received limited distribution in Europe.

Aventure Malgache (1944) Hitchcock's second thirty minute propaganda film is even further removed from the first. Actor Paul Clarus (real name Claude Dauphin) tells other actors, preparing for a play, of his activities in 1940 for the French Resistance in Madagascar, planning evacuations and running an underground radio station while, in his role as a lawyer, running afoul of the Chef de la Sûreté, Michel (Paul Bonifas), leading to his capture and imprisonment, until the day of liberation when he is set free to broadcast to the entire island not resist the British invasion. In a scene reminiscent of Casablanca, after Michel listens to his broadcasts, he replaces his bottle of Vichy water with scotch and soda and his portrait of Phillipe Petain with one of Queen Victoria. Hitchcock's production is even less elaborate than Bon Voyage with minimal sets spruced up with impressive lighting and hard edits even for the flashback sequences. 

Although Bon Voyage did see some relative exposure in Europe, but Aventure Malgache, with its political cynicism, never made it out of the Ministry of Information and was not seen until the BFI restored it in 1993.

Alfred Hitchcock's Lifeboat (1944) Hitchcock first arrived in America to make a movie about the Titanic, but it was scuttled for Rebecca. This might be classified as a follow-up of sorts to that movie that he never made. Six torpedo-attack survivors of various nationalities and backgrounds must maintain a kind of survival in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean awaiting a rescue that may never come. Think Stagecoach on a raft, rather than out West, or "Gilligan's Island" without the island...or cocoanut jokes. The floaters are made up of a fashion writer, a millionaire, an Army nurse, and an English woman carrying her dead child...the crew-survivors are a black steward, the radio operator, a leftist, and an injured sailor. John Hodiak is the ostensible working-class hero, the imperious Talulah Bankhead is the high society reporter who must adjust to a more primitive lifestyle. The others, including William Bendix and Hume Cronyn, are the shark-fodder in various stages of will-to-live. And then, as the Nazi is Walter Slezak. Nazi? Who said anything about Nazi's?** Well, this was made during war-time, and Hitchcock was really making a movie about the dynamic of "can't everybody just get along?" Well, Ingrid, if everyone got along--there wouldn't be a mooo-vie...In Hitchcock's microcosm of diversity (sketched out by John Steinbeck, and scripted by Jo Swerling, who wrote It's a Wonderful Life and Guys and Dolls), its the drama that results that matters. Contrived? Yes. But there's plenty of Hitchcock in this one, despite having no place to move the camera. And even a lifeboat leaves plenty of room for people to display the best and worst of their natures.
Cameo: In what is probably his most ingenious cameo, Hitchcock shows his newly trimmed form in the "before" and "after" pictures in a "Reduc-o Obesity Slayer" advertisement in a conveniently brought-along newspaper at 25 minutes into the film.

Alfred Hitchcock's Shadow of a Doubt (1943) Though he sometimes denied it, Hitchcock cited Shadow of a Doubt as his own favorite film, partly because of his collaboration with playwright Thornton Wilder (and wife Alma and Robert Audrey, as it turns out), but also because of the immaculate way this combined study of home-town life and a serial killer in the family works so seamlessly.

The Newton family is tinged with a touch of the macabre, but only because their lives and family are so "normal." If they only knew the truth. Oldest daughter Charley hates her normal life in Sant Rosa. She wants adventure, and mystery and romance. She wants something to happen! Better watch what you wish for, kid: Her namesake, Uncle Charlie, is coming to town. And it's not for nostalgia, although Uncle Charlie is all about nostalgia. No, Charlie the elder is coming for a visit because he's on the run from a couple of detectives tracking the "Merry Widow" Murderer. And before you can say "black smoke from a train over-shadowing everything good in town," he's starting to arouse suspicion, especially in his adoring niece.

It's hard to know where to start--Shadow of a Doubt is, like Strangers on a Train, Rear Window, Vertigo, Psycho and YOUR favorite Hitchcock film, the director at his peak. The presentation, the way the film is shot (one of my favorites is a medium close-up of Uncle Charlie nestled in bed, the headboard of which seems to be forming angel's wings...or are they devil's?), how Hitchcock turns the warm, inviting town of Santa Rosa into a threatening hell in the latter half, the way his camera crawls up to Joseph Cotten's face as he starts a tirade about modern times and the idle rich, and when the niece (off-camera) protests, his face swings into the camera and envelopes it (Joseph Cotten was never better than this movie, exploiting his slightly acerbic manner as a kind of pathology, and young Teresa Wright, who would have a long Hollywood career matches him). The family is full of Wilder-Hitchcock eccentrics that to reveal much would spoil the fun, but watch for a very young Hume Cronyn, who was a frequent Hitchcock collaborator (he adapted Under Capricorn for Hitchcock) in a key role. It's filled to bursting with good ideas that warrant repeated viewings.
*** Cameo: Hitchcock plays cards on the train to Santa Rosa at 17:00 into the film. He must have known the picture was going to be good--this is his "gin rummy" hand.

Alfred Hitchcock's Saboteur (1942) Saboteur is, like The Thirty Nine Steps, one of those Hitchcock "Wrong Man on the Run" stories that reached its zenith with North By Northwest. In fact, Saboteur might as well be the blue-print for the Cary Grant film. Robert Cummings (who would show up again in Dial 'M' for Murder) plays a munitions worker who is accused of sabotage and goes on the run to prove his innocence. Dorothy Parker worked on the screen-play and her wit can be seen when Cummings and the inevitable blond accomplice (Priscilla Lane, imposed on Hitchcock by Universal--she gets top billing) hide out in a train-car of circus freaks. But what Saboteur is most famous for is its over-the-top finale. Where North By Northwest used Mt. Rushmore, Saboteur stages its final confrontation atop the Statue of Liberty, when Robert Cummings must help the man who can prove his innocence (a young Norman Lloyd, who would go on to produce "Alfred Hitchcock Presents") from falling from the Torch. Staged in near-silence, without music score, it is one of the most nail-biting sequences any director has put to film. In a movie that deals with the theme of patriotism in time of war, it's a giddily hysterical sequence that still manages to thrill. The effects, for its time, are spectacular as well.
Cameo: Hitchcock stands outside a drug store 60:00 into the film.

Alfred Hitchcock's Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1941) Hitchcock's next film is an anomaly--a comedy with Carole Lombard (who coerced him into directing) and Robert Montgomery. He's a partner at a prominent New York law-firm. She's...incorrigibly cute in a cloying kind of way. When they have a spat they don't go to bed mad. They lock themselves in their apartment--he doesn't go back to work until they're back blowing kisses at each other. During a conciliatory breakfast, this brilliant lawyer makes the mistake of saying he probably wouldn't get married again if something happened to her. Then, conveniently, it's discovered that their marriage wasn't legally binding. Hilarity ensues.

Well, not much. There is a protracted scene that produces well-earned chuckles when the two, now dating separately, end up at the same night club and simultaneously spy on each other and pretend they're having a FAB-ulous time. But that's about it. Hitchcock would flirt with cutesiness later in his career, but he would never again commit himself to a project where the only jeopardy is getting stuck on a World's Fair thrill ride in a down-pour (the 1939 New York World's Fair is only tantalizingly seen). The only "wrong man" here is Robert Montgomery (Elizabeth's Dad) who is so twee in this, he could be auditioning for "Bewitched."
Cameo: Hitchcock walks in front of the entrance to their apartment building at 41:00 into the film. He's moving pretty fast--perhaps he's trying to make a getaway.

Alfred Hitchcock's Suspicion (1941) Hitchcock and Fontaine again, after Rebecca, and with some qualities to the earlier film, but pushed further. This time Cary Grant is the husband for the tremulously suspicious wife Fontaine plays, but instead of having a shady past, she thinks he's a murderer, and that he wants to murder her! Fortunately, she has a good soul-mate in the director, who angles everything in that direction.**** In the most famous shot of Suspicion, Grant walks up from the kitchen to deliver a glass of milk to his by-now paranoid bride. She's sure he's poisoning her, so Hitchcock stages the walk up the circular stairwell dramatically, with a spider web of shadows splayed against the walls, and the glass of milk ominously glowing--Hitchcock put a light bulb in it, and wired it up to beam from the glass. Nigel Bruce (Basil Rathbone's "Dr. Watson") plays friend and confidante, and all the performances are top-notch. Grant and Fontaine make a great screen couple, even if a very dysfunctional one.

Cameo: Hitchcock mails a letter at 45:00 into the film.

Alfred Hitchcock's Foreign Correspondent (1940) Hitchcock's second film in America, and once again, you wouldn't know it. A lot of it takes place in Holland, so of course, you have inclement weather and a windmill figuring prominently in the plot. Reporter Joel McCrea (with the ultra-American name of Johnny Jones) is in Europe following the efforts of a Dutch diplomat carrying an Allied treaty. When the diplomat is kidnapped by Nazi Agents, McCrea shucks off his objectivity and pursues the kidnappers...and the story.

According to Wikipedia, a huge slew of writers participated in the screenplay.***** But despite that, Hitchcock couldn't secure his choice for the lead, Gary Cooper, as he wouldn't stoop so low as to make "a thriller." There are the requisite betrayals and double-crosses. At one point, Joel McCrea goes out the upper-floor window of his hotel to escape his captors and over to the adjoining room, just as Cary Grant would in North By Northwest 20 years later. And there are the Hitchcockian set-pieces: a murder in the driving rain, as we follow the killer's excape through a path of jostling umbrellas; a windmill that reveals its secrets by turning against the wind; and a rather mind-blowing shot of a plane crash-diving into the ocean from the cockpit's perspective, complete with water flooding the chamber violently.

And it ends with a plea for America to get into the fight, as McCrea reports his story in a darkened broadcast booth in London as the bombs begin to fall. 

"Okay, we'll tell 'em then. I can't read the rest of the speech I had, 'cause the lights have gone out, so I'll just have to speak from the cuff. All that noise you hear isn't static - it's death, and its coming to London. Yes, they're coming here now. You can hear the bombs falling on the streets and on the homes. Don't tune me out, hang on a while - this is a big story, and you're part of it, it's too late to do anything here now except stand in the dark and let them come... as if the lights were out everywhere, except in America. But keep those lights burning, cover them with steel, ring them with guns, build a canopy of battleships and bombing planes around them. Hello, America, hang on to your lights: they're the only lights left in this world!"

At our point in history, it is easy to look at Foreign Correspondent with the knowledge of the London Blitz. But for the audiences at its premiere those events hadn't happened yet. The film opened at the time The Battle of Britain was happening in the skies. Three weeks later, German bombs started to fall on London as depicted in the film.

Apparently, Joseph Goebbels admired it as a great piece of propaganda.

And Gary Cooper would later tell Hithcock it was a mistake not to have starred in this movie.
Cameo: Hitchcock walks in front of Joel McCrea reading a newspaper at 11:00 into the film.

Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940) Hitchcock's first film in America, under contract to Über-producer David O. Selznick.****** Hitchcock wanted to film this himself, but couldn't afford the screen-rights and, originally, he was supposed to make a film about the Titanic for Selznick, but when that fell through (or the plans sunk) Selznick suggested the Daphne DuMaurier story, a sort of modern take on a Brontë novel, instead (she also wrote the original story for Hitchcock's Jamaica Inn and The Birds). Despite being his first film in America, the film is as British as British can be--the story takes place in England, the three leads are British, but because Hitchcock had no access to real locations, Rebecca has a remote, fairy-tale quality to it—almost Disney-esque. Joan Fontaine is the unsophisticated girl who happens to fall under the charms of the rather frosty Maxim DeWinter (played with a certain lack of commitment by Laurence Olivier). Following their hasty marriage, he brings her back to the Manderley Estate, where if she isn't her own worst enemy, the staff, especially the creepily engaged Mrs. Danvers, is. Danvers (Judith Anderson) makes no secret of her preference for the deceased former Mrs. DeWinter (the Rebecca of the title--Fontaine's character, significantly, isn't named at all) and it becomes a psychological battle of wills between the idealized past and the haunted present. Hitchcock's first film in America won the Best Picture Oscar for 1941. The award went to Selznick. The award for Best Directing that year went to John Ford for The Grapes of Wrath, his second Oscar of the four he would win in total.

Alfred Hitchcock never won an Oscar for Best Directing.
Cameo: Hitchcock is waiting while George Sanders makes a phone-call towards the end of the film.

Next: Hitchcock Before "Hitchcock"

* There is a spectacular shot in Notorious, during the party sequence, that travels from the second floor balcony and slowly swoops down to an all-important key in Ingrid Bergman's hand. It's an amazing shot filled with suspense of its own accord. Well, Cary Grant kept that key as a good-luck charm for most of his life, but when he heard that Ingrid Bergman had developed cancer, he sent it to her for luck. At Hitchcock's AFI tribute, Bergman, knowing she was dying, gave the key to the frail Alfred Hitchcock, who would only live another year, himself. They held onto each other close, and whispered in each other's ear. It is the most genuine, emotional moment seen in those false-sentiment AFI events.

** This Nazi happens to be one of the crew-members of the U-boat that sank the freighter everyone came from.

*** Hitchcock's granddaughter took a college course studying his films and turned in a paper on Shadow of a Doubt, with the help and advice of her grandfather. When she only got a C+, he replied, "Sorry, sweetheart, it was the best I could do!" 

**** Hitchcock was on loan to RKO, and when one of the executives saw Suspicion, he was so alarmed that he did his own edit and  took out every shot that implicated Grant. The film ran 55 minutes long.  Cooler heads prevailed and the film was released with Grant under Suspicion. 

***** Their list: Robert Benchley (who appears in the film), Charles Bennett, Harold Clurman, Joan Harrison, Ben Hecht, James Hilton, John Howard Lawson, John Lee Mahin, Richard Maibaum and Budd Schulberg. That's quite a list! But Walter Wanger had been trying to make a movie like this since 1936. A lot of writers had a lot of opportunities over the years.

****** Also according to Wikipedia, Selznick's meddling influence informed itself into a couple of Hitchcock's films. Roger O. Thornhill, the protagonist on North By Northwest, at one point mentions that the "O" stands for "nothing." Supposedly, the "O" in David O. Selznick didn't either, Selznick picking the "O" for how it sounded. And suspected-wife-killer Thorwald's attire in Rear Window? Modeled after Selznick.