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Hitchcock’s Suave Villains by Davell Swan
De Niro's Travis Bickle, arguably the greatest anti-hero who ever lived on screen, due to the faulty narrator plot reversal at the end of Scorsese's 'Taxi Driver' (1976). photo: courtesy M. Scorsese
THE HISTORY OF FILM AESTHETICS CAN be connected with an ongoing increase in verisimilitude, to paraphrase critic Siegfried Kracauer.
Per Andre Bazin, sound film, especially when utilizing deep focus and long-held shots, as opposed to twenties'-style montage, allows the viewer to devise their own film, as the eye explores the frame. (Orson Welle's "Citizen Kane" [1941] no doubt would be the best known, textbook example.) And, per Charles Barr, wide screen increases this effect.
Jim Jarmusch's "Down by Law"(1986) ends with his leads going in opposite directions, toward both edges of the screen, forcing the spectator to look toward one side or the other, whichever feels more urgent.
The "open ending," utilized by Francois Truffaut in "400 Blows" (1959), suggests an infinity of potentiality.
Throughout "Mean Streets" (1973), "Taxi Driver" (1976), "Raging Bull" (1980), "The King of Comedy" (1982), "Goodfellas" (1990), and "Casino" (1995), Robert DeNiro, and occasionally Joe Pesci, in close collaboration with Scorsese, produce maddening miscreants, causing the spectator to imagine, with terrible emotion, an interaction with the character—namely that of pleading with Jake LaMotta or Nicky Santoro or whoever to stop saying or doing whatever incendiary, awful thing they feel must.
Another aspect of increasing realism is the wide-angle lens of psychology. Although Hollywood is famous for the romantic happy ending, everyone knows it is more fun to play the villain. But it is also important to write him or her as a full character, not a card board cutout, so that the full effect of cinematic deep immersion can allow us actual insight into the nature of evil.
In 'North by North-West' (1959), Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint struggle on Mt. Rushmore against Hitch's insistence that the hero suffer grieviously. photo: courtesy M. Scorcese
Regarding any Hitchcock film, one doesn't so much observe it, as find oneself confronted by a nearly-living, thinking and responding organism. That it has been "produced," is beside the point.
Some of the techniques described above might be used by Hitch, such as ending "The Birds" (1963) sans a resolution. The ultimate realization of the depth-of-field-focused, long take would be "Rope" (1948), which features real time within its approximately 7 to 10-minute shots.
Many, including star James Stewart and Hitch himself have labeled that film a failure. However, in conjunction with the extreme emotion felt when viewing this complicated mixture of humor and horror, the lengthy takes create a fantastic, experimental yet particularly believable joy ride, that only Hitchcock would've been brave enough to attempt for mass consumption.
The false flashback of "Stage Fright" (1950) has been harshly criticized. Then again, it could be an experimental reality-enhancing device. Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd), the heroine's (Eve Gill, played by Jane Wyman) crush, in his untrue flashback, depicts actress Charlotte Inwood (Marlene Dietrich) after killing her husband, coming to him in a panic. Then him returning to the crime scene, to bring her a dress, replacing the blood-stained one she's in. The maid sees Jonathan and has told the police he's the murderer. Eve believes this lie, as do we, and most of the film's progression is based on it. When she realizes that Jonathan is the actual killer, our shock is nearly as intense as her's. Further, the flashback itself mirrors the interior scene Eve imagines, making us equal to her, inside the story.
Many of the elements Hitch is famous for are ultimately a means to the end of greater realism. The creation of suspense, typical of nearly all Hitchcock projects, being a foolproof method for grabbing the filmgoer.
The director is also known for his villains. They may be charming or good looking and they often possess a suave politeness, causing great consternation as one attempts to unravel the nastiness from their attractiveness and apparent concern for others. Conversely, an ugly or unfriendly heavy will earn our sympathy for their apparent humanity. "Rear Window" (1954) creates great compassion for its un-pretty villain, "Lars Thorwald", certainly one of Raymond Burr's most amazing representations, when near the denouement, he sadly asks Jeffries what he wants and volunteers that he has no money.
Utterly lacking in any form of personal charm, this doomed, wantabe killer of Grace Kelly, tugs at our heart strings nonetheless in 'Dial M for Murder" (1954). photo: courtesy A. Hitchcock
As "Dial M for Murder" (1954) concludes, Ray Milland's character is under arrest and about to be taken away when he inquires if his wife, who he'd failed to have murdered and then executed for his own crime, would enjoy a drink. Upon receiving her confirmation that she's had a rough day, having been brought back home from her death-row cell, for a reason she couldn't grasp, and would appreciate a one, he then prepares such for her. The discrepancy between this loving kindness and his failed plots, along with her matter-of-fact statement as if nothing has ever come between the two of 'em, is so extreme as to cause one's head to throb painfully.
Misunderstood and regularly underrated, "Family Plot" (1976), contains perhaps Hitchcock's most fantastic complex of evil-doers. Each of three couples consists of a law-breaker, who makes a point of bringing their mate, whom to varying degrees is somewhat of a naive, into their quagmire, for a big transference of guilt.
The most productive of this trio is also by far the most charming: William Devane's unctuous and softly well-spoken, beautifully coiffed and sartorially turned-out, Arthur Adamson. Arthur had arranged a fiery death for the foster-parent couple who were sufficiently altruistic to take him in. He accepts rare jewels for the ransom of innocent kidnapees, and quite contentedly will kill any person who coincidentally gets in his way.
Typically, however, having a bishop captive, he sweetly addresses him as "Your Excellency" while providing meals and drink of gourmand quality, and makes good reading material available for his entertainment.
All of this increases the imaginary interaction with those involved. And strangely, sundry are the pundits who will find Hitch's hero to be, at times, less interesting and likable than his opposite.
Robert Cumming's character, in the above-referenced "Saboteur" has been given short shrift in comparison to Norman Lloyd's, pathetic, yet shockingly suave villain, "Fry", by more than one writer. Similarly, Cary Grant's secret agent of "Notorious" (1946), has been negatively compared to his sad counterpart, created by Claude Rains. There are moments when Grant seemingly becomes the antagonist and Rains the protagonist, thus taking us deeper into the story.
Comic criminal relief from two unsuccessful grifters we identify with, in Hitch's underrated 'Family Plot' (1976). photo: courtesy A. Hitchcock
According to Random House Webster's College Thesaurus, synonyms for the term "villain" include: scoundrel, rascal, rogue, knave, rapscallion, varlet, rotter, cad, blackguard, cur and scalawag. Don't these all sound terribly enchanting? Do you believe you'd enjoy their company?? The free thinkers here at CineSource certainly would and we suspect Sir Alfred Hitchcock and his wife Alma Reville might agree.
"Rear Window" functions within the viewer's own consciousness. As we spy on Jimmy Stewart's voyeur, "Jeffries," he's brought to life, not for the five hundredth nor the five millionth, but for the very first time. Often a Hitchcockian lead will wish for excitement or something else, as if willing the antagonist into existence, thereby unleashing an evil that will bite 'em later on. Here, Jeffries is bored, being trapped inside a studio apartment and temporarily wheelchair-bound. So he imagines a murder by a neighbor, that we and he eventually cause.
Other characters are initially disinclined to participate in this game, but each does, until the wife-killing is fact. Unfortunately, the man sees Jeff watching him, and ends up in his apartment, throwing our hero out of the offending rear window, leaving him with two broken legs, instead of one, leading to possibly more boredom-induced adventure. This we are left to ponder, forever.
Or, the protagonist can simply go about their business, only to have the chaos still find them. Either way, this can result in "The Worst Thing In The World" (TW-TI-TW) happening, such as having the bad luck to find first an ex-wife and then a current love killed by a serial murderer; as is the basis of "Frenzy" (1972).
To actually comprehend TW-TI-TW, which occurs regularly within the Hitchcock canon, is to be viscerally moved by the movie. Who can forget realizing that young Charlie's beloved Uncle Charlie is attempting to push her off of a caboose, as "Shadow of a Doubt" (1943) concludes? "Secret Agent" (1936) has our hero and heroine involved in the killing of the ultimate Wrong Man, a German tourist, coincidentally appearing to be a targeted spy. Thanks to the unsentimental but emotionally-moving conceit of inter-cutting his murder, with the victim's dog pathetically whining, the action is gut wrenchingly believable.
Both versions of "The Man Who Knew Too Much" (1934 & '56), feature the couples' child being kidnapped to buy their silence regarding a murder plot. The tension between wanting to report the crime to the authorities thereby saving the future victim, versus keeping hope of getting the kid back, reaches out of the screen and drags us into the situation.
"Scottie", in "Vertigo" (1958), has his paramour apparently fall to her death, sending him to a mental institution. When this happens yet again, because he's suffered through a long process overcoming his melancholy, our horror is intensely felt. The feeling tends to persist, to varying degrees for each viewer, as the movie ends at this point. We're also involved in Scottie's fate. Will he follow his lover to his own death or find the desire to continue living? We're each left to make up our own mind.
"Psycho" (1960) taking TW-TI-TW to its logical conclusion, efficiently builds audience identification with Janet Leigh's "Marion Crane". When she's killed-off relatively early on, leaving a grieving boy friend and sister behind, our surprise is similar to a real life situation, in which the murder of anyone we know would be considered horribly ill-fated.
So often we will read that "To Catch a Thief" (1954) is an extremely enjoyable, beautifully-filmed, light entertainment. This is partially Hitch's fault, as that's how he pitched it, but a single screening will prove otherwise. We believe it to be one of the director's many masterpieces, not only because it exquisitely, physically manifests the overwhelming sexual charge inherent in the act of theft and that surrounding a certain kind of criminal, but because it is also one of his most engaging.
In the beginning, "To Catch a Thief" presents the window of a travel agency. Similar to the two intriguing reflective windows found in Hitch's "Vertigo" (1958), the display glass is alive with movement, but subtly so, and may not be noticed initially. Once one becomes aware of this activity, entering the film is necessary to suss it out.
About one reel in, we trail a cop car Citroen that is racing toward the villa of a former cat-burglar, precious jewel thief, "John Robie" played by Cary Grant. However, the camera evidences a consciousness, and pans away from the vehicle, taking a shortcut to the villa on its own. This exhibition of will, apparently, at a moment's notice, trumps that of the beginnings for "Shadow of a Doubt" and "Psycho", although not the entirety of "Rope".
In these last three cases, a film begins with a determined, arbitrary yet emotional camera that chooses it's characters, thereby bringing them to life (and within "Rope" then snuffing one of them out). In each instance, the Motivated Camera, as our eye, takes us deeper into the fictional world. Countless other of Hitch's flicks also feature this interested camera, beginning with what has been agreed to be the first true Hitchcock project, "The Lodger" (1927).
Hitch makes a movie, not only as a device for giving the spectator thrills and spills, but to get them to buy more tickets, returning again and possibly again, continually finding new aspects of the experience, particularly in finding surplus humor hidden behind the horror. This includes taking a critical look, at the supposed hero while realizing that a film such as "Psycho" or "Marnie" (1964) can also function as a very black comedy.
Filmgoing is ostensibly entertainment, but participation within one of Hitch's productions brings responsibility, with the ever-present transference of guilt theme extending down to us. This is true regarding our helping Jeffries bring wife-murderer Lars Thorwald to life, but eventually the guilt goes back around to our director. "The Bird's" (1963) attacks seems to be caused by the two lead characters' growing relationship, especially connected with other characters' jealousy of this progression, with all of this driving Hitchcock's green envy toward the person his unrequited crush, "Tippi Hedren", is only playing. The film functions as a living thing.
Ultimately, the result is the existence of what must be labeled an actual, ever-changing universe that we all can enter at will-Alfred Hitchcock's Cine-verse.
Davell Swan is a media maven, cultural anthropologist, spoken-word artist and writer living in San Francisco and can be reached .