Hitchcock's Leading Men

by Danielle Newell
Emerson College

John Michael Hayes, certainly Hitchcock’s most abused writer and co-conspirator, redirected Hitchcock’s focus and tone in the middle of the 1950s, giving the films of this period a classier, warmer quality that any before or after. This sabbatical was a refreshing glance at a slightly more human side of the cold, famed profile the world had grown accustomed to. There are many Hitchcock greats, notables like: The 39 Steps, Rebecca, Vertigo, Psycho, etc. However, none are more universally app-ealing than Rear Window. While all of his other films hover around violence, psychosis, and bizarre situations, Rear Win-dow is unique having only about five minutes of suspense in the entire film. Instead, the film revolves around the relationships be-tween the run-of-the-mill characters and their daily stories. Thus, it is the most personable and enjoyable of his features. At the same time, there is an undeniable excitement added to the film because the audience becomes as voyeuristic and involved as Jeffries; we can all relate to spying.

Thematically, I rate this as Hitchcock’s most inspired film. It has always intrigued me to think that each light in each window in the city represents a different life. To know what happens beyond these windows is my favorite mystery. There are actually no less than eight separate plots woven throughout the film – surely a record for a studio movie – because the audience does in fact go beyond the windows. To be able to get so personal with so many strangers is an utterly bizarre concept. For instance no one who watches Rear Window can deny that they understand “Miss Lonely Hearts” any less than the star of the film. Perhaps this is because everything is laid out on the line without pretense. Alone at home, imm-ersed in their private lives, we see the characters behaving openly and naturally. I would venture to say that, as much as this film is about the dangers of things that happen behind closed doors, it equally reflects the idea that you will not know a person unless you see them “through an open window.” As a matter of fact, the door is always closed. People are rarely what they admit to being.

Rear Window is also Hitchcock’s most uniform, concrete film. I find it especially amusing that a window is, literally, the source of everything good and bad that happens in the story. Jeffries keeps himself entertained through it. Jeffries thinks he witnesses a murder through it. Thorwald (the bad guy, so to speak) tries to use reverse psychology by leaving it open during and after the murder as if to say, “It’s open, so there’s nothing to see here.” Lisa climbs through it to get into Thorwald’s apartment. Lisa motions to the wedding band on her finger and allows Thorwald to spot Jeffries through it. Jeffries is shoved through it hanging perilously, until he falls to the ground. Jeffries breaks both legs as a result of falling through it, giving Lisa at least another two months, not that she really needs it at that point, to coerce Jeffries to be hers permanently. Unlike any other commercial film I can think of, one thing, the window, is the complete source of inspiration and action.

Here, too, we see Hitchcock’s use of color and atmosphere reach new ground. Rather than conform to cliches and force the set to parallel the darker themes of the story, Hitchcock floods his set with light and vibrant color, under-stating the evil. Just as Sherlock Holmes in-timated in one of Doyle’s mysteries, Hitchcock confirms that the world’s most hein-ous crimes are committed where the sun is so bright it is blinding. In the end, it is only our innocent, though inquisitive, protagonist who uses darkness, and even then it is to a moral advantage. Jeffries constantly prevents himself from being seen by hiding in shadow and, when Thorwald breaks into his room, Jeffries’ ominous silhouette in the dark room actually intimidates his would-be attacker, making him hesitate. Then, continuing the metaphor, light is used as a protective shield when Jeffries uses his camera to fend Thorwald off by blinding him with the flash. Thus, light and dark switch roles intermittently, from preserving good to bad, throughout the film. This eventually establishes that neither is more or less sinister as long as one is attuned to each. At the same time, the film proves that light and dark are equally deceiving.

Of course, a movie is not great simply because it is smart. The acting, for one, is superb. I love Jimmy Stewart, and he is utterly delightful as the somewhat snobbish, frustrated adventurer who finds himself caged and dependent on other people. Hitchcock always plants himself in a character in each film, in Rear Window it is Jeffries. It is interesting to note that Jimmy Stewart seemed to play characters mirroring Hitchcock, while Cary Grant seemed to play roles that reflected the man Hitchcock wanted to be. Is that why Stewart played the neurotics? Stewart’s artful way with sarcasm and wit shines brighter only in The Philadelphia Story. He is captivating to the point that the single set never loses its freshness, because he is always on it. Grace Kelly, too, plays her part (which seems to be identical to the person her character becomes in High Society, ironically the remake of The Philadelphia Story) perfectly. Insofar as her image went, she allowed Lisa to imbibe these same qualities. How-ever, she also added fearlessness, intuition, and gentleness, matching Stewart’s depth, and purposely exceeding Jeffries’ intelligence, at every turn. Thelma Ritter is absolute dynamite on screen, essential to the formula. Together, she and Stewart juggle dialogue effortlessly in a duel of wits. Ritter’s Nurse Stella is not brainy, but she has got the street “philosophy” and dead-honest approach to match Jeffries every time, not to mention blowing the steam off the movie. Of course our detective, Tom Doyle (the last name possibly referencing the mystery writer), is another of Hitchcock’s aggravating crime fighters. Wendell Corey plays it adeptly and, at least in the end, he is vindicated by genuinely apologizing for his idiocy (which is far more than cops usually get in a Hitchcock film). Finally, and most importantly, the film could not have been half as powerful without the neighbors. Although they have little to no dialogue, these actors embodied city life and played their roles with as much thought and feeling as Stewart or Kelly.

Technically, Rear Window is a cinematic triumph. While Hitchcock contemplated actually filming in Greenwich Village, he eventually decided against it because lighting would be impossible. That meant that the studio had to build a small chunk of New York City, complete with approximately ten finished apartments. There is nothing suspiciously fake, except for the characters’ uncanny ability to climb stairs and circle an entire block in a few short seconds. The lighting, too, is right on the mark, complete with dim twilight and early morning haze. With the grooving sounds of jazz issuing from a portable radio mixing with the inspiration, or lack thereof, of a classical composer, the essence of the city is captured brilliantly – its chaos, its hungry silence. I feel myself transported to the Village each time I watch the film. I would not venture to say that Rear Window is Hitch-cock’s meatiest film, because there are certainly others that deservedly challenge its notoriety. However, it is my personal favorite because it fulfills all of Hitchcock’s whims without being forceful. The audience is not pushed into the film but, rather, drawn playfully into it. The big bay window is as much the movie screen as the actual screen itself, and perhaps, this gives viewers the opportunity to imagine that their lives are less homogenized and more Hollywood than they had ever reason to believe.

“I’ve always wanted to do a chase sequence across the tees of Mount Rushmore,” was Alfred Hitchcock’s wistful remark to screenwriter Ernest Lehman, as the two skirted contractual duties to MGM in order to find a story good enough to override pre-production of a Hitchcock would-be, The Wreck of the Mary Deare*. Those words were enough for Lehman, proving an impetus that would spawn a script far-flung from the director’s original, half-whimsical reckonings. In the true fashion of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes mysteries, the means were derived from the ends or, rather, end.

For Hitchcock, North by Northwest was a respite from the probing psychological journeys he had taken audiences on for several pictures (most notably, the classic brooder Vertigo.) Critics in the late 1950s were quick to point out that Hitchcock seemed to have lost the comedic, ironic flare that had become his trademark. Hitch was even quicker to allay their misapprehensions, producing a film that, while it does not rank as my personal favorite, entertained the world with newly flawless showmanship, thrills, and wit.

North by Northwest is not the best Hitchcock film, yet it may be his best remembered – an undisputed classic. Unlike nearly any other movie exceeding a two hour time frame, there is not a sedentary scene or moment to be found. The action literally gallops across the screen, underscored by the electrifying music of Bernard Herrmann. Contrary to popular belief, Hitchcock had quite a time carving out the picture on the edit room floor with George Tomasini. This certainly does not show. Each scene dives into the next with a focused energy that is rarely matched. Above and beyond the technical perfection, the film is also great fun to watch.

With a personality like Cary Grant buoying a project, it is difficult to have anything but success. His charm and comedic brilliance shines particularly bright, in what one knows was a vehicle built for him. Doubtless, no other actor in Hollywood at that, or any other time, could have gen-erated the won-derful blend of poise and hilarity and mediated be-tween them with such devastating effortlessness as Grant. Wordless, and with-out a chaser, Grant winds a car down a roadside, peering into the night with a stern perplexity and drunken foolishness that makes for one of the funniest moments ever in a thriller. Moments later, he exchanges brazen glances with a deadly blonde, simultaneously peering after angry pursuers. For Grant, there is no such thing as a bumpy transition.

Unbeknownst to many, Grant could identify with the lead character, Roger Thornhill, on a variety of levels for he, too, was the victim of an identity mix-up. Born Archibald Leach, he spent his entire life trying to forget his past and become the man the world would envision, the elusive Cary Grant. Thornhill is his antithesis, a man literally dragged from himself into the form of a man who does not exist. The quest of the movie then, of course, is to recapture self, only to find that it has been revolutionized by dilemma. Therein lies a recurring theme that seems to plague Hitchcock and his films: ordinary life turned suddenly to chaos. It is no wonder that Grant was so easily transformed from Thornhill to Kaplan, for he too was playing a role within a role within a... Where one may see hints of frivolity, I accept it as Grant’s perhaps unconscious desire to mock the myth of “movie star Cary Grant” in a role that so mirrored his own life. I would venture to guess that this was a contributing factor to why the movie is mentally stimulating, without pushing too hard on psychological buttons. Grant knew the game well, and he did not have to dig deep and build an emotional roller-coaster to hit the mark. This makes for a very smooth and entirely convincing performance. The-matically, the film as a whole benefits by these surprising layers.

Grant, however, is not the only stick of dynamite in the explosion. Eva Marie Saint plays her role to perfection. From her role in On the Waterfront, she was able to make a brilliant leap from mousy girl in drama, to glamour girl in comic thriller. Her withering, seductive gazes and saucy intimations are executed with a cold perfection that must have stretched the censors to their limits in 1959. James Mason, likewise, is ideal in his role as the suave bad guy. Mason takes a relatively short, though significant, part in the film and juices it up with all the thought and feeling that one word or a glance can yield. He creates a definitive and intriguing personality on screen.

North by Northwest brilliantly manipulates its audience, and perhaps this is the ultimate goal of directors like Hitchcock, heightening reactions of suspense and fear. It does not, however, break new territory or enlighten. It caters to the audience to a degree that, to some, may seem degenerative and superficial. I willingly admit these hilts, yet Istill attest to the greater strengths of the film’s attributes. The performances are impressive; the sets grand and carefully arranged enhancing the story and clueing the viewer; the effects are as exciting today as they were forty years ago; and the script, too, is very ambitious. One of the greatest thrills of cinema from its start through 1970 is the way in which filmmakers fought the censors and filled their films with gentle, yet decidedly raunchy, innuendo. Now, censorship is so neglected that a certain spark seems to have been snuffed from the screen that once radiated with rascally cleverness. North by Northwest is one of those old films with a fiery spark. Here too, Hitchcock’s use of the ever intangible “MacGuffin” (begun with The 39 Steps and named for the object of a strange anecdote a friend told him) is best employed. Thus, where the script may lack emotive qualities, it makes up for it in sentient, fearless intelligence and integrity. Above all, it entertains.

Hitchcock invented his own distinct genre. Within it, North by Northwest remains a nearly perfect example of the director aspirations. However, it is not the quintessential Hitchcock simply because the namesake had reached a short-lived, contented, psychological lull when it was filmed. As in all of his movies, the mood reflected the man. He was at his most provoking when he was at war with himself, as is true of so many artists. Tension and enjoyment climb to their highest peak in North by Northwest, and it is we who are afforded the glorious view.