Blog Prompt #10 – North by Northwest

In a short piece titled “The Trouble With Alfred Hitchcock”, cultural critic Terry Teachout claims that North by Northwest has “no more content than a ride on a roller coaster”. That is to say: “The dialogue is sophisticated, the acting immaculate, the wide-screen cinematography gorgeously resplendent, while the film’s near-total absence of dramatic logic is rendered irrelevant by the fact that the plot is a mere pretext for the jewel-like visual vignettes that are strung on it.”

He then goes on to say that “[t]his lack of content defines the nature–and the limits–of Hitchcock’s artistic achievement…” These limitations of which he speaks have to do with the fact that Hitchcock was so consistently working within the thriller-horror-murder narrative, telling “twisted tales wrenched from the psyche of a man whose experience is unrecognizably idiosyncratic.” Teachout concludes, “[w]hile [Hitchcock’s] other key films are unfailingly involving and at times quite beautiful, their cramped emotional scale deprives them of the power of transcendent illumination without which no work of art can be truly great.”  In other words, he believes that Hitchcock is overrated.

What are your thoughts, either on Teachout’s opinion of North by Northwest, or his opinion of Hitchcock’s work as a whole?

Blog Prompt #9 – Frenzy

In her book, The Women Who Knew Too Much, Tania Modlieski writes:

“Some critics have looked at the increasing use of graphic violence in Hitchcock films as evidence of a rather sick mind. For example, in his biography of Hitchcock, Donald Spoto has documented Hitchcock’s obsession with filming a rape/murder and has condemned the director as something of a dirty old man. The way the biographer tells it, Hitchcock’s career may be seen as one long frustrating bout with cinematic impotence until he finally managed to achieve full orgasmic satisfaction with Frenzy: ‘Unable to realize a rape in No Bail for the Judge he had hinted at it in Psycho, metaphorized it in The Birds and, against all advice, included it in Marnie. Now at last–encouraged by the new freedom in the movies–his imagination of this sordid crime could be shown in all its horror.'”

What are your thoughts on this?

Blog Prompt #8 – The Birds

The recurring question in relation to Hitchcock’s The Birds is:  What do the birds mean?  Inherent in this question is, of course, the whys and hows, the unanswered questions about what’s going on throughout the film.  It would be easy to say that the birds are simply getting revenge on us for all the things we’ve done to them, or that they are rising up on nature’s behalf to put humans out of business, but I think there’s more going on than that.

What do you think The Birds is about?  Feel free to consult your assigned reading (John P. McCombe’s article “‘Oh, I see…’  The Birds and the Culmination of Hitchcock’s Hyper-Romantic Vision”) for ideas.

Prompt #6 – Shadow of a Doubt

Perhaps Shadow of a Doubt is not Hitchcock’s greatest film, but it is certainly one of his most interesting.  What I find particularly worth comment is the film’s jaundiced view of family relationships, small towns and “normal life”.  What do you think so-called normal life means within the world of this film?  Is this the world that we live in?  Is it a world we would want to live in?

By the way, it might be tempting, when thinking about Hitchcock’s “normal”, to speculate about Hitchcock’s family life growing up, to wonder what made him come to be the person he was.  At this point, I recommend that we try to avoid poking at his biography and just concentrate on the ideas reflected in a film made by the adult Hitchcock, whether or not they were his own personal beliefs.  The “Hitchcock” we are most interested in is a quasi-fictional public persona, the artist in history whom we can look back at and talk about without necessarily knowing who he really was.

Prompt #5 – Psycho

So much has been written about Psycho as a film but I have to say, what has always interested me most about it is the way that it affected the audience. I’ve heard many stories of people being afraid to take a shower afterwards–for months, years even! Even if there’s a certain amount of colourful exaggeration involved, there seems no doubt that people were suitably freaked out. Knowing this, I always want to try to somehow put myself into the headspace of a person in 1960, seeing Psycho in a packed theatre, and to feel the suspense. It seems impossible, because we have seen so much more, so much worse in our movies. I imagine it must have been something like when I went to see Paranormal Activity. It felt like the entire audience (and it was a full house) went in aware of the hype and ready to be scared. I hid behind my own fingers and behind my friend. I had trouble sleeping that night, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch any of the sequels. I might if I can find someone to watch them with me.

Can you put yourself into that original Psycho headspace? Can you feel the movie the way an audience member in 1960 could have felt it?

Prompt #4 – Vertigo

 

There is reason to believe that as he was making the film Vertigo, Hitchcock felt that he was doing something special and very personal.  People on the set observed that there was a rather strange, serious atmosphere.  As we know, we can’t assume we know Hitch, the man, but I believe, based on what I do know, that Vertigo was important to him, that he really felt he was doing his best work (at least up to that point).  And then, when Vertigo premiered, it was rather a flop.  It was not well-regarded by the critics.

It must have been a personal blow.  In the film Hitchcock (which you may or may not have seen) the word “vertigo” was something of a synonym for Hitchcock’s failures.  By the time of the Truffaut interview (1964), I think he had a bit more perspective, but they don’t treat it like a “great film” in their discussion.  They touch on certain parts, certain decisions Hitch made, and move on. It wasn’t until the late 60s and 70s that opinions began to change, and only in more recent years have critics begun to see Vertigo as one of the greats.  In the celebrated Sight & Sound critics’ poll of 2012, it was appointed the greatest film of all time, having gradually risen through the ranks of critical opinion over the preceding 30 years.

This story of Vertigo‘s critical fortunes raises interesting questions about what it means to “appreciate” and what the role of film criticism is, or should be.  There are other films that have gone through similar re-evaluations (Blade Runner and Peeping Tom come to mind), and one is always tempted to believe that it’s a simple case of critics getting it wrong at first and eventually coming to their senses.

But some will take such stories as a sign that there is no such thing as a good film or a bad film, just personal opinion.  Yes, there is no question that everyone is entitled to their tastes.  We like what we like and there is nothing wrong with that.  But there is a difference between “liking” and “appreciating”.  To appreciate means to be informed, and to understand many things about a film…even if you don’t like it.  To appreciate means to become a critic in your own right, to enter into a conversation in which we are, for better or worse, concerned with questions of “good” and “bad”.  Speaking from a position of appreciation, I say that Vertigo is a good film, a great film.  It always was and always will be.

Of course, I could just be gratifying my own tastes, secure in the knowledge that some snobby critics agree with me.  But I think that when the chips are down, we ALL, every one of us, have an investment in the notion that there are ways to tell good art from bad art, good films from bad films.  Even if we don’t have consensus on what those criteria are, we all (secretly, perhaps), believe that they exist.  For this reason, we owe it to ourselves and others to really engage in a conversation about good and bad (to appreciate), not just talk about what we liked or didn’t like.

For the record, I absolutely believe there is a place for conversations about what we like… just not right now, in this blog.  And, at the risk of being labelled a snob myself, to engage meaningfully in such a conversation necessitates a certain degree of education about film, culture, and history.   I don’t think I am a snob, though.  I think that one of the most difficult things a film maker can ever do is to create a story that, from start to finish, is well-constructed, well-characterized, touches on interesting and important things, is beautiful to the eyes and ears, and at the same time commands an audience’s attention.  This is why I worship Hitchcock: He wanted to tell important stories and experiment with film form but he never, never would sacrifice the entertainment of the audience to these desires.  The fact that he managed to do all of this so masterfully is what makes him, in my estimation, brilliant.  I also happen to think that Vertigo was his very best effort at this.

Now I’m sure people will disagree with me.  They may say that Vertigo was not all that engaging or that it doesn’t have anything very deep to communicate.  You may be one of those people.  But if you engage in this conversation and truly make an informed argument, you will still be appreciating the film.

In responding to this prompt, you can go more that one way.

1)  Appreciate Vertigo.  Tell me what is good about it.  Or great.  Or not so great, but whatever you choose to say, make a case for it beyond personal taste and feeling.  Even if you think the film is boring, you can present informed reasons why this is the case.

2) Take the meta approach as I have done and reflect on the meaning of “criticism” or “appreciation”.  Why did the critics get Vertigo so wrong?  How can this happen?  What does it say about critics?  Do you have a reflection on how to distinguish between personal taste and true appreciation?

I look forward to your responses.

Blog #2 – Rear Window

Many critics of Rear Window have observed that Jeff (Jimmy Stewart) can be viewed as a stand in for Hitchcock himself.  He is the director of his own little movie, examining the world around him through a camera lens and finding meaning in his life via the stories those images tell.  If this is the case, what is Hitchcock trying to tell us about himself, especially about love, sex and marriage?  Is he presenting us with a version of himself with which we can identify?  Is Jeff “likeable”, or is Jeff someone of whom we are expected to be critical?

(Hint:  John Fawell has plenty of ideas about this)

 

Blog Prompt #1 – Strangers on a Train

So we’ve watched our first Hitchcock! At this point in the course, I’m just generally interested in what sorts of ideas or feelings you experienced while watching the film. Did you feel the suspense? Was there anything about the movie that really surprised or amazed you?

I’m also interested in your thoughts on the “plausibility” of the story.  I’m sure that some of you, at some point, found yourselves thinking, “This would never happen in real life.”  This raises the whole thorny issue of “realism”.  Hitchcock, to be frank, was not much interested in realism as it is usually defined.  He wasn’t interested in telling “plausible” stories.  But this does not mean that there is nothing truthful about his work.  Reflect on how Strangers on a Train, despite its fantastical plot, demonstrates things from real life.  (Note:  You might find something useful in your reading for today).