Classic Films in Focus: ROPE (1948)

Rope (1948), Alfred Hitchcock's first color picture, is a twisting, carefully orchestrated thriller with a deceptively simple title, one that is as much about the killers as the murder weapon they wield in the film's opening shot. There's no air of mystery hovering over the claustrophobic confines of the single room where the action unfolds; instead, this story revels in the audience's full knowledge of the crime, tormenting us with information we possess but cannot share with the party guests drinking their champagne over the corpse of their murdered loved one. The film's gruesome appeal depends mainly on its theatrical visual style and the tightly wound performances of John Dall and Farley Granger as the handsome young killers, although James Stewart gets top billing as their former mentor and increasingly suspicious house guest.

The story opens with Brandon (John Dall) and Phillip (Farley Granger) strangling their classmate David (Dick Hogan) and then hiding his body in a large trunk in the middle of their living room. Eager to prove their intellectual superiority and gloat over the crime, Brandon insists on hosting a party immediately following the murder, with David's friends and family in attendance. David's father, Mr. Kentley (Cedric Hardwicke), and girlfriend Janet (Joan Chandler) grow uneasy over David's uncharacteristic absence, but only the boys' old house master begins to grasp the horrible truth.

Dall and Granger work the queer subtext of their relationship with tremendous skill, with Dall's Brandon very clearly the leader of the couple and Phillip only slowly coming to realize the nature of the monster he loves and obeys. Does Brandon love Phillip in return? Is Brandon capable of such a human emotion? Both actors are fascinating to watch as they reveal their characters' psychological states. The subtext implies that Brandon also has a particular connection to Rupert Cadell, presumably romantic in nature, but here the casting of James Stewart throws a spanner into the works. I've always felt Stewart to be miscast in the role, and that continues to be my view after my most recent return to the movie. Hitchcock's later collaborations with Stewart brilliantly evoke the actor's capacity for darkness, but this first outing shows the limits of Stewart's ability. Even Stewart felt he was out of place in the part, although he said he didn't think he was credible as an academic, not that he couldn't imagine himself as a closeted gay man who had indulged in a romantic tryst with one of his students. I think that an actor like George Sanders, Claude Rains, James Mason, or Cary Grant (who was Hitchcock's first choice for the role) would have made a more interesting and believable Rupert, but the role certainly had an impact on Stewart's later career. For more observations on that topic, read Chloe Walker's 2023 Paste article,  "Rope Was a Cruel, Prickly Turning Point in Jimmy Stewart's Career."

The single set and real-time pacing of the picture are the other noteworthy elements for discussion, with long takes that heighten the feeling of watching a stage play rather than a movie. These techniques intentionally make us feel trapped in the room; we can't get away from the chest and its terrible contents, and neither can Brandon and Phillip, as much as they might talk about their plans to leave town as soon as the party ends. Psychologically, neither of them will ever be able to leave that room, and when the truth comes out the other party guests will forever be haunted by it, as well. We might think, at the beginning, that the murder is the worst possible moment, but for everyone except David it's the aftermath that really turns the screws. Every time Phillip sees the rope again he comes a bit more unglued, but Brandon can't resist the urge to flaunt their crime, practically daring Rupert to confront them. Each reappearance of the rope symbolizes another bit of the crime being let out, until the murderers finally offer enough to hang themselves. It's both terrible and fascinating to watch, thrilling even though so little actually happens onscreen.

Hitchcock's later work with James Stewart in Rear Window (1954), The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956), and Vertigo (1958) would give the actor some of the most iconic roles of his long career, and Farley Granger also gets another outstanding role from Hitchcock in Strangers on a Train (1951). John Dall is particularly remembered as half of another murderous couple in Gun Crazy (1950), although his screen debut in The Corn is Green (1945) earned him an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor. If you enjoy the limitations of the single set approach, be sure to see Hitchcock's earlier film, Lifeboat (1944), which traps all of its characters at sea in a small, cramped boat.

Book Review: THE HITCHCOCK HOTEL (2024)

I recently devoured Stephanie Wrobel's new mystery novel, The Hitchcock Hotel, and, as its name implies, this is a fantastic book for fans of Alfred Hitchcock's films. I picked up the ebook based solely on its title and promo blurb, not having read anything by Wrobel before, and I was hooked as soon as I started reading. In addition to the titular hotel and its macabre collection of Hitchcock memorabilia, the novel features plenty of homages to the iconic auteur and his work, particularly Rope (1948), Vertigo (1958), Psycho (1960), and The Birds (1963). If you're looking for a twisty, character-driven thriller tailored to the tastes of classic movie fans, The Hitchcock Hotel should be your next read.

The novel alternates third-person perspectives between a group of former college friends reunited for a weekend at the Hitchcock themed hotel recently opened by Alfred Smettle, who was part of the tight-knit gang in school until a shocking event senior year tore them apart. More than fifteen years later, Alfred still blames his old friends for the downward turn of his life, and he envisions the weekend get-together as a way to settle some scores with the assistance of his elderly housekeeper, Danny, while also drumming up publicity for the hotel. Attending the gathering are overachiever Grace, alcoholic Zoe, peacemaker Samira, rich playboy Julius, and secretive bodyguard TJ, all of them nursing their own guilt and resentment. When old wounds are re-opened and old sins resurrected, the weekend goes violently awry.

I came for the Hitchcock connections, of course, and on that front I was not disappointed, from the aviary full of crows to the hotel decor and the way the plot wove through the plots of the films, especially the less familiar Rope. (If you haven't seen Rope before, watching it prior to reading the book will enhance your appreciation, but it's not absolutely necessary). A repeated tribute to Suspicion (1941) was also great fun, as was the creepy evocation of Norman Bates in Alfred's relationship with his late mother. Wrobel plays with favorite Hitchcockian themes like paranoia, surveillance, sexual frustration, revenge, and obsession, with particular emphasis on the idea of the perfect murder as presented in Rope, Shadow of a Doubt (1943), and Strangers on a Train (1951). Reading the book reminded me of the delicious thrills of the films and made me want to revisit them, which I hope to do over the next several weeks.

Beyond the classic movie angle, however, I very much enjoyed the novel's exploration of the way time changes friendships and even forces people to question why they forged those relationships in the first place. The friend group in this story has not really kept in touch since graduation, and they mostly only know about each other's lives through their social media feeds, but when they reunite they quickly fall back into their old patterns of behavior with one another. Some of them harbor resentments, while others yearn for a return to the camaraderie they believe they shared in their youth. I'm still in regular communication with my group of college friends from 30 years ago, but it's not the same as it was in our school days, when we ate and lived and studied together. In the novel, dark secrets cloud the friends' reunion, but their nostalgia for their shared youth feels terribly familiar to me. I still think fondly of days spend reading Shakespeare on the quad and nights in the secret garden behind the library that we claimed as our private gathering space. Of course, as far as I know, none of us has ever been involved in a murder, but we did once end up in traffic court.

The Hitchcock Hotel is Stephanie Wrobel's third novel, following her debut, Darling Rose Gold (2020), and This Might Hurt (2022). You can learn more about her at her website. For more mystery novels with a classic movie connection, I recommend the Toby Peters series by Stuart M. Kaminsky, but if you like books that really play with a particular classic celebrity's legacy, you can revel in the love for Vincent Price that haunts Kate Racculia's 2019 novel, Tuesday Mooney Talks to Ghosts.

 

Looking for full reviews of Hitchcock's films? Here are a few!

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951)

STAGE FRIGHT (1950)

SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943)

PSYCHO (1960)

VERTIGO (1958)

SUSPICION (1941)

Five Favorite Directors: Classic Horror

Even people who don't care for classic horror movies have probably heard of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Vincent Price, but behind every horror classic there's also a director asking for heavier fog, more menacing closeups, and louder screams. Alfred Hitchcock, although not primarily a horror director, might be the most familiar to modern viewers thanks to Psycho (1960) and The Birds (1963), and more recent masters of the genre include George Romero, John Carpenter, and Wes Craven, but my personal favorites tend to be the earlier icons whose work influenced everyone after them. Most of the films from these directors are light on gore and heavy on atmosphere, which is how I like my creepy midnight thrills, and many worthy contenders aren't listed here only because I limit myself to five. These are the directors I most often turn to when I want something spooky to send a shiver down my cinematic spine.

Tod Browning

Browning is best remembered today for two horror classics, Dracula (1931) and Freaks (1932), but his directorial career started with silent shorts in 1915, and he helmed a number of notable silent horror pictures before his date with Dracula. Browning's movies with Lon Chaney, "the man of a thousand faces" and a master of silent horror, are especially good; try The Unholy Three (1925), The Unknown (1927), and West of Zanzibar (1928) for a sense of Browning's work before Dracula.

James Whale

Like Browning, James Whale is best remembered today for his iconic Universal monster movies, including Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), and Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Whale's work combines the usual elements of horror with a very dark sense of humor that sometimes tips right over into black comedy, especially with Claude Rains in the lead role for The Invisible Man. In between these more famous films Whale also directed The Old Dark House (1932), a wonderful spooky house picture with his usual flair for mixing giggles with screams.

Jacques Tourneur

As the son of French director Maurice Tourneur, Jacques Tourneur grew up in the movie making business in both France and the US; his career really took off when he teamed up with RKO horror boss Val Lewton for films like Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), and The Leopard Man (1943). Later Tourneur would make memorable pictures in a number of genres, but he returned to horror for Night of the Demon (1957) and The Comedy of Terrors (1963). Cat People is justly celebrated today for its moody ambience and loaded subtext, but I'm also very fond of I Walked with a Zombie for its imaginative revision of Jane Eyre.

Robert Wise

Like Tourneur, Robert Wise enjoyed a fruitful collaboration with Val Lewton early in his career, even though he later became more famous as the Oscar-winning director of musicals like West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965). His work in horror remains an important part of his oeuvre and the genre as a whole, with early Lewton projects like The Curse of the Cat People (1944) and The Body Snatcher (1945) laying the foundation for the horror masterpiece, The Haunting (1963), which is so good that it alone justifies Wise's place in this list. Watch it with the lights out and the sound turned up, and you won't sleep a wink.

Roger Corman

Roger Corman directed more than 50 movies, many of them low-budget shockers and now cult classics, and Corman has lived long enough to see himself become a true Hollywood legend. As much as I enjoy a really ridiculous B-movie romp like Attack of the Crab Monsters (1957), my favorite Corman horror films are the Poe adaptations he made with Vincent Price, some of them more faithful than others but all of them very entertaining. House of Usher (1960) kicked off the series, but two later entries, The Masque of the Red Death (1964) and The Tomb of Ligeia (1964) are probably my top picks for being less campy and more evocative of Edgar Allan Poe's works than a picture like The Raven (1963), even though that one is also a lot of fun.

Looking for even more classic horror directors? Try F.W. Murnau, Mario Bava, Mark Robson, and Terence Fisher for additional thrills and chills. 

See also: "The Kiss That is the Kill: Sex and Death in Three Classic Vampire Movies"

Classic Films in Focus: THE HORRIBLE DR. HICHCOCK (1962)

I'm a sucker for early 60s Gothic horror, whether it's Corman, Hammer, or Bava, which means my opinion of a picture like Riccardo Freda's The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962) is inclined to be positive in spite of its shortcomings. Yes, it's about a necrophiliac surgeon who like his bedmates totally incapacitated, and the dubbing is pretty ridiculous, as well, but it has that lurid charm that Gothic horrors of the period so often possess, plus there's Barbara Steele starring as the hapless second wife who little suspects her husband's sordid appetites. Suffused with references and allusions to the work of Alfred Hitchcock, as one might guess from the title, The Horrible Dr. Hichcock provides the viewer with ample entertainment and plenty to parse in terms of its relationships to other films.

Robert Flemyng plays Professor Bernard Hichcock, a London surgeon with a secret passion for dead women. His wife, Margaret (Maria Teresa Vianello, credited as Maria Fitzgerald), accommodates his desires by allowing him to anesthetize her before sex in a boudoir made up like a funeral chamber. Unfortunately for Margaret, Hichcock overdoses her one night and then leaves the country shortly after her interment in the family vault. Twelve years later he returns to London with his new wife, Cynthia (Barbara Steele), and resumes his medical practice as well as his lust for corpses. Cynthia soon suspects that Margaret is haunting the house with sinister plans for her replacement, but when Bernard discovers the truth about Margaret he makes lethal plans of his own to restore his first wife to her former place and beauty.

As Budd Wilkins observes in his Slant review of the film's Blu-ray release, The Horrible Dr. Hichcock borrows heavily from Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940), with nods to Suspicion (1941) and Vertigo (1958), as well, but there's also a strong connection to 19th century literary works like Robert Browning's "Porphyria's Lover" and Edgar Allan Poe's "Ligeia." (For a discussion of Gothic texts and the theme of necrophilia, see my essay, "Gothic Angels: The Good, Dead Girl in Robert Browning's 'Porphyria's Lover' and Alice Cooper's 'Cold Ethyl'.") Bernard's obsession with beautiful corpses is the logical, if extreme, endpoint of the Victorian fantasy of the angel in the house. Margaret is more than happy to play this role for him, while Cynthia resists it, which puts her in danger of being made a corpse for real by the forces that seek to uphold the patriarchy's rule that women be utterly passive. While Cynthia has a bad habit of fainting every time something interesting happens, she is nonetheless determined not to succumb to the threats around her without a struggle, and the audience's sympathy lies entirely with her.

As is often the case with horror, the villain has the best role, and Robert Flemyng makes Hichcock an intriguing study in masculine selfishness, self-loathing, and irresistible sexual desire. The best scenes are the ones where Hichcock struggles against his urges but inevitably yields to them, drawn like a moth to a flame whenever a beautiful corpse lies nearby. He's the quintessential Victorian gentleman of horror, all propriety in public but pulsing with depravity in private, a Jekyll and Hyde figure whose hidden nature Cynthia doesn't suspect until it's almost too late. As the film opens we see him ruthlessly assault a grave digger in order to molest the body being buried; later, he performs surgery to repair the damage done to the very same man, with admiring proteges and a grateful family never dreaming that the same hands both harmed and healed. His duality makes him fascinating, though not particularly sympathetic, since even at his best he's a condescending, patriarchal ruler who expects everyone around him to obey his commands, whether they be student, servant, or wife. When Cynthia tries to tell him about the mysterious presence in the house he gaslights her and says that her nerves are coming undone, but once he knows it's real he just intensifies the gaslighting to keep Cynthia from realizing her peril. That alone makes him a monster, but his mad plan to restore Margaret at Cynthia's expense shows just how unbalanced he becomes by the film's fiery conclusion.

Director Riccardo Freda, who often worked under the name Robert Hampton, also made Lust of the Vampire (1957), Caltiki, The Immortal Monster (1959), and The Ghost (1963). Don't miss scream queen Barbara Steele in Black Sunday (1960) and Pit and the Pendulum (1961); she also stars - this time as a character named Margaret Hichcock! - in The Ghost, which makes it an obvious second choice for a Freda double feature. You'll find Robert Flemyng in Funny Face (1957), The Deadly Affair (1967), and The Blood Beast Terror (1968).

Classic Movie Style: Cary Grant's Sunglasses

On my way home from a trip to the UK last week I happened to flip through the Holland Herald on our KLM flight from Edinburgh to Amsterdam, and I was delighted to find this little article about chic sunglasses inspired by those worn by Cary Grant in the 1959 film, North by Northwest. Cary Grant is still a style icon, and Oliver Peoples is celebrating his timeless cool with these classy glasses. You can find the glasses in both regular optical and sunglasses versions on the Oliver Peoples website. Unfortunately for us classic movie fans who aren't as rich as a Hollywood mogul, the glasses run from $380 to $475, but they'll look fabulous on anybody who can afford them.

Oliver Peoples also offers eyewear inspired by other style icons and classic Hollywood stars. There's a pair of glasses created in collaboration with the Peck Estate celebrating Gregory Peck's signature style in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), so you can wear spectacles just like Atticus Finch if you're so inclined.

Sadly, I didn't see any glasses designed for women with classic Hollywood connections, but I'd love to find a pair inspired by Edith Head's iconic eyewear or those worn by Marilyn Monroe in How to Marry a Millionaire (1953). What other stars or characters in glasses would you like to see celebrated? Maybe Ingrid Bergman in Spellbound (1945) or the fabulously four-eyed Dorothy Malone in The Big Sleep (1946)? They definitely make glasses look good!

Classic Films in Focus: STAGE FRIGHT (1950)

Released just before the wildly successful Strangers on a Train (1951), Stage Fright (1950) ranks among the minor entries in the Alfred Hitchcock canon. It lacks the screw tightening suspense of the best of the director's pictures, and its humor, while engaging, never reaches that pitch black, twisted level that fans adore in the most iconic Hitchcock films. That said, Stage Fright offers an assortment of entertaining performances from its cast, especially a collection of delightful character actors in supporting roles. Jane Wyman and Marlene Dietrich carry the lightweight murder plot, such as it is, but the scene stealers here are Alastair Sim, Sybil Thorndike, Kay Walsh, and Joyce Grenfell, each playing the sort of offbeat character you'll remember long after you forget the details of the fuzzy central narrative.

The film opens with aspiring actress Eve Gill (Jane Wyman) trying to help Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd) escape a murder charge that he claims to have gotten mixed up in on behalf of the seductive stage star Charlotte Inwood (Marlene Dietrich). Charlotte's husband has been killed, with Cooper spotted leaving the scene by Charlotte's maid, Nellie (Kay Walsh). Eve enlists her father, Commodore Gill (Alastair Sim), as a confederate in hiding Cooper from the police, including the charming Detective Smith (Michael Wilding), for whom Eve rapidly develops some very inconvenient feelings. Determined to expose Charlotte as the real killer, Eve disguises herself as a mousy dresser named Doris, but her efforts are complicated by the constant appearance of people who know her as Eve.

Several elements make this movie a less than successful Hitchcock production. The most glaring is the flashback used at the beginning to create a set of expectations for both Eve and the audience. There's something not quite right about it, as later events prove. There's also not much suspense in the way that the action unfolds. Eve's deceptions provide plenty of comedy, but it's more straightforward than perverse, and she never encounters any seriously dangerous situations until the very end of the film. Contrast the pacing and mood here with those in Shadow of a Doubt (1943), for instance, and it's easy to see that Stage Fright wanders a bit and lacks real teeth as a proper thriller. More might be made of the uncertainty the audience feels about Cooper, who exploits Eve's unrequited affection to save his own neck, but Richard Todd's perfectly acceptable performance is overshadowed by the livelier character actors and the very engaging Dietrich, who makes a far more interesting murder suspect as the selfish, glamorous star.

What it lacks in suspense and narrative thrust, Stage Fright makes up for in the little things, and it's still a movie worth seeing if you're a fan of English character actors. Alastair Sim and Sybil Thorndike are delightful as Eve's eccentric, estranged parents, with Sim getting an especially juicy role. The scene in which Cooper asks to spend the night at Eve's home gives the pair a great scene together; watch their expressions and body language as they discuss where everyone is going to sleep. Kay Walsh is pricklier but no less engaging as the scheming dresser, Nellie, who lets Eve bribe her and then demands blackmail money to continue their ruse. She and Sim get big laughs when he brings the required funds to the garden party but fails to recognize their intended recipient. Joyce Grenfell, billed in the credits as "Lovely Ducks," has only one scene, but it's a corker, a sublime example of feminine physical comedy. Just watch how she fumbles and chatters her way through an attempt to load the Commodore's gun. Speaking of characters with limited scenes, be sure to note the director's daughter, Patricia Hitchcock, as Chubby Bannister, one of Eve's friends from the drama school.

With its English setting and characters, Stage Fright hearkens back to the films Hitchcock made before his move to Hollywood. Try The 39 Steps (1935) and The Lady Vanishes (1938) for a sense of that phase of the director's career. Jane Wyman won the Oscar for Best Actress for Johnny Belinda (1948); you'll also find her in The Yearling (1946), The Glass Menagerie (1950), and Magnificent Obsession (1954). Marlene Dietrich's other films from the 1950s include Rancho Notorious (1952), Witness for the Prosecution (1957), and Touch of Evil (1958). Catch Michael Wilding in Torch Song (1953), and see Richard Todd take a more saintly turn in A Man Called Peter (1955). Although he appeared in more than fifty films, including Green for Danger (1947), An Inspector Calls (1954), and School for Scoundrels (1960), Alastair Sim is best remembered today for his performance as Ebenezer Scrooge in the 1951 adaptation of A Christmas Carol.

Classic Films in Focus: STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951)

Strangers on a Train (1951) brought Alfred Hitchcock back to box office success after the lull that followed Notorious (1946), and today it remains a favorite with the auteur's fans. Hitchcock presents a deliciously twisted thriller in this tale of murder and blackmail, with Farley Granger returning after his performance in Rope (1948) for a second outing with the director, but it's the creepy appeal of Robert Walker that makes Strangers on a Train such a macabre delight. There's nary a blonde in sight, but Ruth Roman, Laura Elliott, and Hitchcock's daughter, Patricia, all give memorable performances as the younger women, while Marion Lorne and Norma Varden provide some delightful comic relief in their smaller roles.

Granger plays tennis star Guy Haines, who meets a fan named Bruno Antony (Robert Walker) while on a train. Bruno knows all about Guy and his personal problems, especially that Guy can't be with his new love, Anne (Ruth Roman), until his wife (Laura Elliott, aka Kasey Rogers) gives him a divorce. Bruno proposes to kill Guy's wife while Guy kills Bruno's hated father, but Guy doesn't take him seriously until it's too late. When Guy refuses to commit Bruno's murder in return, Bruno sets out to frame Guy for his wife's death, forcing Guy to dodge the police and resort to drastic measures.

Like a lot of Hitchcock's protagonists, Granger's Guy quickly finds himself deep in a situation beyond his control, and the stress pushes him outside the comfortable norms of polite behavior. He becomes secretive, driven, and tense, but we get hints of his inherent darkness early on, when he argues with his faithless wife and then tells his girlfriend that he could strangle the uncooperative woman. Guy never seems especially upset that his wife is dead, just unhappy that he's the most obvious suspect. Granger is solid in the role, but the real star of the picture is Walker, whose talkative, unstable Bruno drives the action throughout. He's a weirdly likable killer, devoted to his mother and rather desperate for Guy's approval, and he's shaken enough by the act of murder to develop a kind of PTSD in response to it. Bruno's scenes with his mother and Mrs. Cunningham, played by Marion Lorne and Norma Varden respectively, show his ability to endear himself to older women through his "naughty" sense of mischief; in some ways he's the opposite of Joseph Cotten's homicidal Uncle Charlie in Shadow of a Doubt (1942). The role ought to have been a comeback moment for Walker, who had struggled with alcoholism after being left by his wife, Jennifer Jones, but the actor died tragically just months after finishing the film.

Hitchcock engages in his usual visual tricks to crank up the suspense, and the amusement park setting of the murder gives him with plenty of striking images to use. Bruno pursues Miriam Haines through the Tunnel of Love in a boat named for Pluto, the god of the underworld; she constantly looks back at him as she romps through the carnival, never recognizing her seeming admirer as a figure of Death. We see Miriam strangled in the reflection of her own glasses, and afterward the glasses worn by Barbara (Patricia Hitchcock) cause Bruno to relive the murder, complete with echoing carnival music and a spinning sense of vertigo. A thoughtful viewer might pause a moment to wonder why Hitchcock would cast his own daughter as someone the antagonist wants to strangle every time he sees her, but the scenes are certainly provocative. The director also has fun with the tennis matches, where the spectators watch the back-and-forth between the players just as we watch the deadlier match being played by Bruno and Guy. The climax, back at the amusement park, delivers a hair-raising finale on a runaway carousel, as well as a wonderfully vicious little scene in which Bruno loses the cigarette lighter that he needs to frame Guy.

Strangers on a Train picked up only one Oscar nod, for Best Cinematography, but it's certainly a picture every Hitchcock fan should see. The director followed this film with I Confess (1953), Dial M for Murder (1954), and Rear Window (1954). You can see more of Robert Walker in Since You Went Away (1944), Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944), and The Clock (1945), while Farley Granger has memorable roles in They Live by Night (1948), Side Street (1949), and Senso (1954). Look for Ruth Roman in The Window (1949) and The Far Country (1954). Patricia Hitchcock, who is still living at this time, appears in two other Hitchcock films, Stage Fright (1950) and Psycho (1960), and she acted in numerous episodes of the Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV series.

PS - If you want to know more about Robert Walker, you can read a thorough discussion of his life and career at The Lady Eve's Reel Life.

Classic Films in Focus: SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943)

Alfred Hitchcock called Shadow of a Doubt (1943) his favorite of his own pictures, and there's certainly a lot to appreciate in this smart, dark thriller about a young woman who suspects that her beloved uncle might not be what he seems. Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotten give riveting performances as the two central characters, both called Charlie, who rightly claim that their relationship goes far beyond the typically avuncular. While much of the really daring subject matter remains in the subtext, Shadow of a Doubt stirs up quite a psychological hornet's nest with its conflicted young heroine and her charming but deadly relative, and for fans of character actors the film also delivers plum performances from Henry Travers and Hume Cronyn.

Wright plays the younger Charlie, who pines for something to shake up her family's boring routine in Santa Rosa, California. Her prayers seem to be answered when her Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) arrives for a rare visit, bearing gifts and smiles for everyone, but especially for Charlie and her mother, Emma (Patricia Collinge). Soon, however, young Charlie learns that her uncle is being pursued by two men who suspect him of committing terrible crimes, and Charlie herself begins to think that Uncle Charlie might actually be the Merry Widow Murderer for whom the police have been searching.

Young Charlie makes for an unusual Hitchcock protagonist if we think of the kinds of characters who take center stage in his most popular thrillers, where James Stewart and Cary Grant play very grown-up men embroiled in mystery and violence. Teresa Wright's heroine is, by contrast, not only female and innocent but also childlike in her initial view of the world and its inhabitants; in a modern remake Charlie might well be played by a fifteen year old, and the chaste romance with Detective Jack Graham (Macdonald Carey) could be dispensed with altogether. Despite her youth and girlish attitudes, Charlie proves to be a resourceful, strong-willed heroine, who has to confront her uncle on her own and then survive the consequences of knowing too much. Only Charlie manages to uncover the truth that eludes the police, and only Charlie can defend herself against her uncle's lethal intentions.When the climactic moment comes, nobody can save young Charlie but herself, and, in the end, she has to carry a burden of knowledge and sorrow that she rightly judges to be too much for her loving family.

In addition to its intriguing young heroine, the movie offers a mesmerizing study in duality. Two suspects elude the police, one in the west and one in the east. Two detectives pursue Uncle Charlie from place to place. Two train trips frame the action; one brings Uncle Charlie to town, and another carries him away. Most importantly, two Charlies stand at the center of the story, linked by blood but separated by it, too. Uncle Charlie is himself another example of duality, with one charming persona for company and a hidden, deadly side that he keeps secret at all costs. The extensive doubling also turns up with young Charlie's father (Henry Travers) and his friend, Herbie (Hume Cronyn), a strange pair of would-be murderers who constantly imagine ways to kill each other. Their macabre fantasies contrast with the real murder attempts taking place in the family's own home, but they never suspect a thing. Only Emma, Charlie's devoted older sister, ponders the significance of the two strange "accidents" that befall young Charlie and almost take her life. A subtler pairing occurs between Uncle Charlie and Detective Graham; both of them want young Charlie's loyalty and love, and it's only after the romance between the two young people flowers that Uncle Charlie turns violent. Does he view Graham as a romantic rival as well as a threat to his freedom? There's an incestuous undercurrent in the relationship between the two Charlies, hinted at and suggested in the ring that he gives her and the fact that he's sleeping in her bed. Think about it hard enough and Shadow of a Doubt more than lives up to its ominous name.

Gordon McDonell's original story for Shadow of a Doubt earned the movie its only Oscar nomination, but Teresa Wright had already won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress the previous year, for her performance in Mrs. Miniver (1942). The young actress also picked up nominations for The Little Foxes (1941) and The Pride of the Yankees (1942). Joseph Cotten is probably best remembered today for his performance in Orson Welles' Citizen Kane (1941), but he also stars in Gaslight (1944), Portrait of Jennie (1948), and The Third Man (1949). Shadow of a Doubt marks the screen debut of Hume Cronyn; see more of him in Lifeboat (1944), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), and Brute Force (1947). For more Hitchcock heroines, try Sabotage (1936), The Lady Vanishes (1938), and Rebecca (1940).

Classic Films in Focus: THE LADY VANISHES (1938)

Like his earlier film, The 39 Steps (1935), Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes (1938) straddles the line between mystery thriller and screwball romance. The sinister elements of this disappearing act staged on a moving train are matched, if not outweighed, by a pair of bickering amateur detectives and a cast of wildly comical passengers, particularly the vanishing lady herself, played by the delightfully dotty Dame May Whitty. Margaret Lockwood and Michael Redgrave deftly manage both laughs and thrills as the picture’s leads, holding their own against the scene-stealing antics of Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne. Filled with Hitchcock’s sly humor but still capable of real suspense, The Lady Vanishes is a highlight of the director’s British career and a must-see film for fans of his later work in Hollywood.

Margaret Lockwood plays Iris, a spoiled socialite who befriends an elderly governess, Miss Froy (Dame May Whitty), while boarding a train filled with British tourists leaving a continental holiday. When Miss Froy suddenly disappears, Iris finds that nobody will admit to having seen her, and a doctor (Paul Lukas) insists that Iris imagined the whole encounter. With the help of a good-humored music scholar named Gilbert (Michael Redgrave), Iris searches the train for her missing friend, but nefarious forces conspire to prevent Miss Froy from being found. Meanwhile, the other British passengers have their own reasons for hindering Iris’ investigation, some more innocent than others.

The picture opens with a comical scene involving a holiday hotel overwhelmed by delayed train passengers, and this sequence sets the tone for the rest of the narrative. The major characters are arranged like chess pieces, or perhaps dominoes, in these introductory segments, each with defining characteristics that will play into the larger plot. Iris and Gilbert clash in their initial interaction, and their energetic attempts to irritate one another prove that they are destined to become a couple. Most of the other passengers appear in pairs or small groups: we have the adulterous lovers traveling as the Todhunters, the suspiciously foreign Signor and Signora Doppo, along with the formidable Baroness, and the cricket mad tourists Charters and Caldicott. Aside from Miss Froy, who spends much of the movie missing, the most memorable of these are the cricket fans, who impede Iris’ search for Miss Froy only because they fear that stopping the train will make them miss a much-anticipated test match back in England. Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne walk off with the picture every time their hilariously obsessed characters turn up, but their best and most scandalous scenes take place early on, when they are forced to share the maid’s bedroom in the overcrowded hotel.

As funny as the movie is, it doesn’t forget that it also has a mystery to solve. Miss Froy’s disappearance propels the initial suspense, but the plot gets thicker as time passes, ultimately evolving into a tangled web of political intrigue and espionage. Paul Lukas gives his brain surgeon, Dr. Hartz, a condescending air that the audience sees as suspicious right away, which builds the dramatic irony when Iris and Gilbert keep turning to him for assistance. The foreigners also give viewers the willies with their staring eyes and repeated insistence that Miss Froy does not exist, but Iris becomes suspicious of them much sooner. Magic tricks, a nun in high heels, a mysterious patient wrapped in bandages, and a dramatic finale all keep the plot twisting and turning right up to the end, when the gathered passengers get the chance to prove their mettle.

Be sure to note well-known British actress Googie Withers in a small role as one of Iris’ friends. For more of Alfred Hitchcock’s British films, see The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), The 39 Steps (1935), and Sabotage (1936). You’ll find Margaret Lockwood in Susannah of the Mounties (1939) and Night Train to Munich (1940). The Lady Vanishes is the first screen appearance of Michael Redgrave, whose later career includes The Importance of Being Earnest (1952) and The Innocents (1961). Don’t miss Dame May Whitty in Suspicion (1941), Mrs. Miniver (1942), and Gaslight (1944). Paul Lukas won the Oscar for Best Actor for his performance in Watch on the Rhine (1943), but he also appears in Dodsworth (1936), Strange Cargo (1940), and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954). Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne were such a hit with audiences that they went on to reprise their roles as Charters and Caldicott in Night Train to Munich, Crook’s Tour (1941), and Millions Like Us (1943).

The Lady Vanishes is available on Blu-ray and DVD from Criterion; the special features include Crook's Tour for those smitten with Radford and Wayne's comical duo. You can also see The Lady Vanishes on Hulu Plus, as part of their collection of Criterion releases.

Classic Films in Focus: PSYCHO (1960)

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) marks the arrival of the slasher genre on the Hollywood horror scene, and today it retains a powerful hold on the public imagination, even though the movie itself is quite tame by modern standards. Because the picture has become so familiar, even to people who aren’t necessarily fans of old movies or Hitchcock, it’s almost impossible to watch Psycho now without knowing all of its major twists and turns. We can’t recapture the suspense of seeing it the way audiences did in 1960, but we can still appreciate its iconic Bernard Herrmann score, its diabolical cinematography, and the absolutely brilliant performance of Anthony Perkins as one of cinema’s most dangerously devoted sons. It isn’t Hitchcock’s best or smartest picture, but Psycho remains essential viewing for all serious cinephiles, especially those interested in the history of horror.

Perkins plays the boyish Norman Bates, an amateur taxidermist and the proprietor of the largely empty Bates Motel. His establishment attracts Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a Phoenix secretary who has skipped town with $40,000 of her employer’s money and is on her way to find her divorced lover, Sam (John Gavin), whom she hasn’t been able to marry because of his alimony payments. Marion’s sister, Lila (Vera Miles), and a private detective (Martin Balsam) both set out to track Marion down, and their investigations lead them to the Bates Motel, where Norman’s mysterious mother seems to be the key to finding out what has become of Marion and the missing money.

Much has been made of the brevity of Janet Leigh’s screen time as the picture’s ostensible leading lady, but from the moment he first appears Psycho is really Anthony Perkins’ movie, and his performance gives the film its chilling appeal. His Norman is so vulnerable and eager to please, but the intensity of his personality lurks just below the surface of his puppyish amiability. With Perkins’ assistance, Hitchcock lures us into liking Norman and sympathizing with him, even after the first murder takes place. Norman’s efforts to clean up Mother’s mess reveal his revulsion at the sight of blood, his discomfort with a naked woman’s body, and his determination to protect the object of his adoration, no matter how badly she treats him. Madness or monstrosity by themselves are mere bugbears; Norman’s fragile, sensitive humanity makes him fascinating and, ultimately, all the more disturbing, because we find ourselves sharing his perspective. The final, shocking scene jolts the audience by revealing just how deranged that perspective has become.

As a technical accomplishment, Psycho demonstrates the ways in which camera angles, editing, and scoring help to create effective horror and suspense, especially in the infamous shower scene, where viewers often imagine seeing a lot more than is actually on display. It would be naive, however, to claim that Psycho is a perfect movie. The menacing Bates house, so much more evocative than the bland motel, is rather underused, and the psychiatrist’s scene near the end drags on like a high school lecture. With only two murders in the entire movie, the second one might have benefited from a little more time and attention, even if it doesn’t provide the salacious voyeurism of the first. Finally, Vera Miles and John Gavin are not especially interesting as Lila and Sam; they don’t have any chemistry with each other, and their mundane, middle-class American characters leave us unconcerned for their welfare. They’re just cogs in the plot machine, like so many characters in later and lesser slasher films, and we know that Hitchcock could have done more with them than that.

Psycho earned four Oscar nominations, including a Best Director nod for Hitchcock, but it went home empty-handed in a year dominated by Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960). For contrast, read the original novel by Robert Bloch or endure the generally panned 1998 remake starring Vince Vaughn. Anthony Perkins starred in a couple of Psycho sequels and never really escaped the typecasting that followed the role, but you can see him in a different light in Friendly Persuasion (1956), Desire Under the Elms (1958), and The Trial (1962). Catch Janet Leigh in Touch of Evil (1958), and look for more of Vera Miles in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). See Shadow of a Doubt (1943) for an earlier Hitchcock foray into serial killer territory.

LEGO My Hitchcock

This is the sort of thing that happens when my two hobbies - classic movies and LEGO - collide. I give you LEGO Tippi Hedren, being terrorized in Alfred Hitchcock's THE BIRDS (1963).

Here's another shot from further out - 

You can visit my photostream over on Flickr if you want to see more of the LEGO photos. I do a lot of this sort of thing. It's a little like art, and a little like therapy.

Classic Films in Focus: VERTIGO (1958)

Alfred Hitchcock's films have been the gateway drugs for many a classic movie addict, and of all of his best-known thrillers, Vertigo (1958) is certainly the trippiest, a mind-blowing overdose of deception, desire, and betrayal. Set against the gorgeously atmospheric background of San Francisco, the film twists and turns as much as the city's famed Lombard Street, and the real scope of its perversity may require multiple viewings to appreciate fully. As black-hearted as the grittiest film noir, Vertigo is all the more sinister for its civil, romantic disguise; it unfolds slowly at first, seducing the viewer with its promises of redemption, but the finale reveals its true nature with one vicious, shattering blow.

Jimmy Stewart stars as John "Scottie" Ferguson, a former police detective whose fear of heights has resulted in the death of a fellow officer and Scottie's own resignation from the force. An old college friend named Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore) turns up and asks Scottie to tail his wife, Madeleine (Kim Novak), who has been drifting around town like a sleepwalker and doesn't seem to know what she does or where she goes. Gavin thinks she might be possessed by the spirit of a suicidal ancestor, and Scottie soon uncovers clues that suggest that a supernatural influence might be at work. He also falls in love with Madeleine, much to the dismay of his pining sometime girlfriend, Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes). Unfortunately for Scottie, the truth about Madeleine Elster turns out to be far more complicated than a mere ghost story.

Stewart gives a great performance as the damaged protagonist, and his nice guy persona makes an excellent disguise for the twisted heart that lies within Scottie Ferguson. His own perversion is merely hinted at in the early scenes with Midge, where he lounges about her apartment utterly oblivious to her misery and love. When he eventually meets up with Madeleine's double, Judy Barton (also played by Kim Novak), the real ugliness of his nature comes out. He twists and shapes her to suit his obsessive desire, ignoring her pain and her pathetic attempts to make him love her as herself. Kim Novak is actually more interesting as the brassy Judy than as the strangely wooden Madeleine, but Scottie's inability to appreciate that is just one of his many failings. Barbara Bel Geddes is absolutely heartbreaking as Midge, the only really likable character in the whole story and of course the one woman who can't get Scottie's attention for a minute. Her disappearance from the film before the final act signals the death of any hope that this story can end well; she walks out down a darkened hallway with terrible resignation, leaving Scottie to his ghosts, his madness, and his doom.

Aside from the wild camera work that dramatizes Scottie's vertigo and his moments of guilt-induced psychosis, we get stunning images of the city of San Francisco, sunnier and seemingly warmer than it is in real life but filled with angles and dips designed to make the most of Scottie's fear of heights. In many ways the city functions as another character in the film, one with its own secrets and desires. San Francisco has always been a cinematic town, but Vertigo capitalizes on its full potential as a setting for both romance and danger. All the best landmarks get their moments onscreen, and viewers might well lose their hearts to the fabled City by the Bay before the end credits roll.

Hitchcock also made Rope (1948), Rear Window (1954), and The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956) with Stewart. In the same year that they appeared in Vertigo, Stewart and Novak made Bell, Book, and Candle, a romantic comedy in which Novak's character really does turn out to have supernatural charms. For more Stewart hysteria, you might also try The Naked Spur (1953), a very Hitchcockian Western from director Anthony Mann. Vertigo was nominated for two Oscars in 1959 but was considered a failure at the time of its release. Luckily, time has proven a better judge of the picture's merits. In 2012, voters in the Sight & Sound poll actually selected Vertigo as the greatest film of all time, dethroning the long-standing champion, Citizen Kane (1941).

An earlier version of this review originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.

Classic Films in Focus: REBECCA (1940)

Rebecca (1940), adapted from Daphne du Maurier's hugely successful novel, looks like it ought to be a winner, given that it was directed by Alfred Hitchcock, produced by David O. Selznick, and performed by Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine. Indeed, it was a winner at the 1941 Academy Awards, where it snagged the Best Picture prize from contenders as worthy as The Philadelphia Story, The Grapes of Wrath, and Kitty Foyle. It boasted a total of eleven nominations, including a second win for Best Cinematography in a black-and-white picture. Still, there's something missing from Rebecca, something essential that would have made it truly a great film and not merely a great success. Despite its excellent pedigree and shower of nominations, it disappoints; one wants to like it, and there are clearly some fine things in it, but as a whole it lags, drags on, and shuffles its feet until the delirious Gothic tension of the original novel is all but lost.

The screenplay sticks remarkably close to the original material. A nameless young woman (Joan Fontaine), the paid companion of a disagreeable old busybody (Florence Bates), falls in love with Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), a wealthy but emotionally withdrawn widower. Maxim marries the girl and carries her away to his fabulous estate, Manderley, where she encounters the lingering presence of the previous Mrs. de Winter, Rebecca, throughout the house, particularly because Rebecca's insanely devoted servant, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), runs the place as if Rebecca were still there. Little by little, the new Mrs. de Winter uncovers bits and pieces of the first Mrs. de Winter's story, leading to a dramatic revelation from Maxim about Rebecca's true nature and the circumstances of her mysterious death.

The film's fidelity to the novel was something that Selznick insisted upon; the opening credits even identify Rebecca as a "picturization" of the novel. It was a source of conflict between the producer and his director, and it affects the whole film. Hitch wanted to capture the mood of the literature without slavishly recreating it, but Selznick pretty much got his own way, and Rebecca suffers because of that. It is much too long, with too many shots of Joan Fontaine crying and wringing her hands helplessly, and not nearly enough of Mrs. Danvers, who is absolutely the best thing going on in the whole picture. The novel's tension and insidious power stemmed from its deeply subjective, interior perspective of the heroine's thoughts, something that could not be translated onto film. In the novel, the spectral Rebecca exists solely within her replacement's imagination, but there she takes insidious shape, almost possessing the heroine at times. In the adaptation, Rebecca lacks this power; we see her initials and her things, but we don't feel her the way that we do in du Maurier's text. If Selznick had allowed Hitchcock to recreate that delightful paranoid sensibility by changing the screenplay more, it would have made a better movie. As it is, watching Rebecca is a lot like viewing a series of illustrations for the novel; you see the scene but miss what's going on behind it.

None of this is really the fault of the performers, but it limits what they can do. Olivier is too distant and cold by half; he had reportedly wanted Vivien Leigh for the heroine's part, and perhaps his coldness is as much toward Joan Fontaine as it is toward her character. Fontaine's heroine spends most of the movie in tears, cringing awkwardly at every social encounter and adoring Maxim with the irritating enthusiasm of a puppy. It's never clear why we are supposed to believe that Maxim loves her, except perhaps in that she is the opposite of Rebecca. I much prefer Fontaine as the tougher title character in Jane Eyre (1944), an interesting casting choice since the novel Rebecca was itself a revision of Charlotte Bronte's Gothic masterpiece.

In the supporting cast, George Sanders gives a good show as Rebecca's too-intimate friend, Jack Favell, and Florence Bates is perfectly horrid as the heroine's awful employer. The most stirring performance of the whole movie is given by Judith Anderson as the villainous Mrs. Danvers; the terrible light that comes into her eyes when she speaks of the dead Rebecca is truly chilling, and the final scene of Mrs. Danvers in the burning Manderley is terrific, even if it doesn't appear in du Maurier's novel. Anderson's performance helps to set the tone for many Gothic housekeepers to come, and you can definitely see her influence in Rosalie Crutchley's turn as Mrs. Dudley in The Haunting (1963).

Many classic movie fans adore Rebecca, and I'll admit that my familiarity with the novel might be a major factor in my own less enthusiastic response to the film. If you're looking for more Gothic romance, try Dragonwyck (1946) with Gene Tierney and Vincent Price. See more of Joan Fontaine in The Women (1939), Suspicion (1941), and Ivanhoe (1952). Olivier is best remembered today for literary films like Wuthering Heights (1939), Pride and Prejudice (1940), and Hamlet (1948). For more of the great Judith Anderson, try Laura (1944) and The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946).

An earlier version of this review originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.

Classic Films in Focus: SUSPICION (1941)

Alfred Hitchcock had broken into the American movie-making scene with Rebecca in 1940 and then quickly turned out a number of additional films, including the 1941 romantic thriller, Suspicion, which reunited the director with Rebecca star Joan Fontaine. This second outing with Hitchcock would win Fontaine an Oscar for Best Actress, and she certainly does have an intriguing role to play as a heroine who is simultaneously consumed by both passion and paranoia. With Cary Grant making his first of four career appearances in Hitchcock films, Suspicion offers plenty of classic Hollywood appeal, although its premise may tug at the conscience of the astute modern viewer.

Fontaine stars as Lina McLaidlaw, a "carefully brought up" English girl who falls for rakish Johnnie Aysgarth (Cary Grant) and elopes with him after a whirlwind romance. As it turns out, she knows very little about him, and his inability to manage or earn money begins to cast a shadow over their marriage, especially because he habitually lies to his wife about their finances. Johnnie then cooks up a real estate scheme with one of his pals (Nigel Bruce), but it begins to look like murder might have been Johnnie's ultimate plan, and Lina suspects that she herself will be his next victim.

Hitchcock has a great talent for bringing out the darkness in the usually genial Grant, and Suspicion uses that side of his persona to great effect. As Lina grows increasingly uneasy about her husband's true nature, we see the camera focus more and more on Johnnie's tightly controlled expressions whenever he stands behind her. What is he thinking? We are kept on edge about his intentions, and the suspense winds the audience just as carefully as it winds the anxious heroine. The ambiguity in Grant's character allowed the director to make changes to the plot of the film as it went through production, and it really is impossible to predict the ending from the earlier scenes. One of the best and most famous moments is the shot of Johnnie carrying a luminous glass of milk up a flight of dark stairs. The lit glass glows eerily in the frame, suggesting a hidden, sinister nature. Is it poisoned? Will Lina drink it, anyway?

That question brings up the biggest problem with the film. Murderer or not, Johnnie is a rotten husband, a liar and a swindler from the start, yet Lina loves him so helplessly that she melts every time she gets the slightest sign that he might really care for her. Watching Fontaine's heroine is almost painful at times because she not only tolerates but even seems to take pride in suffering Johnnie's lies and temper. There's a classic "Dear Abby" letter hidden somewhere in the subtext of the film, and it seems doubtful that marital counseling could solve the issue at hand, although a good divorce lawyer and a restraining order might be about right. Perhaps it's one of the ways in which the film shows its age, but the sexual politics that underlie the story might be the most horrific part of the whole picture.

Suspicion earned three Oscar nominations in all, including a nod for Best Picture, but Fontaine scored its only win. Look for English character players like Cedric Hardwicke, Heather Angel, and Dame May Whitty in the supporting roles along with Nigel Bruce, who is best remembered today as Basil Rathbone's bumbling Watson in a series of Sherlock Holmes films. If you like Hitchcock's early Hollywood work, be sure to see Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Lifeboat (1944), and Notorious (1946). For more of Joan Fontaine, try Jane Eyre (1943). You'll find Grant teaming up with Hitchcock again in Notorious as well as To Catch a Thief (1955) and North by Northwest (1959).

An earlier version of this review originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.

Classic Films in Focus: THE BIRDS (1963)

The Birds (1963) was Alfred Hitchcock’s next theatrical project after the popular success of Psycho in 1960, and like Psycho it delves more thoroughly into the horror genre than the director’s earlier pictures. Although some of its special effects show their age, The Birds remains one of Hitchcock’s best known films, in part because the deranged title creatures have become such a commonplace in modern popular culture, with references and allusions everywhere from High Anxiety (1977) and The Far Side cartoons to episodes of Animaniacs (“The Boids”) and even Arthur (“The Squirrels”). Based on a story by Daphne du Maurier, The Birds is also famous for its introduction of Tippi Hedren as one of Hitchcock’s most inscrutable icy blondes, but its real appeal lies in its unnerving depiction of a natural world in revolt, a theme that would be picked up in countless horror films that followed.

Hedren stars as Melanie Daniels, a mercurial socialite who meets Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor) in a San Francisco bird shop and decides to pursue him to his home in Bodega Bay. There she meets Mitch’s former girlfriend, Annie (Suzanne Pleshette), whose own feelings about Mitch complicate the development of a friendship between the two women. Melanie’s arrival in the community coincides with the beginning of a series of deadly bird attacks, and she eventually ends up barricaded inside Mitch’s home with his mother, Lydia (Jessica Tandy), and young sister, Cathy (Veronica Cartwright). As the birds violently descend on the house in repeated waves, the survivors’ nerves weaken, but there appears to be no cause or explanation for the assault.

The human performances are solid in terms of building our own anxiety about the unfolding events, with Jessica Tandy especially good as Mitch’s needy mother. Hedren plays Melanie as a generally unlikable character, but if we liked her too much we would not perversely root for the birds to get her. The famous closet scene is really about giving the audience what it wants, which creates a different and more subtle kind of horror if we stop to think about it. Pleshette’s Annie strikes a more sympathetic chord, which the director promptly plucks in the most disturbing manner, while Taylor’s Mitch wrings our pity as the only level-headed man surrounded by all of these hysterical women. He brings new meaning to the term “hen-pecked” as he tries to wrangle his flock of helpless but emotionally demanding biddies.

The actual birds represent the upheaval of natural order, a theme with a long history going at least as far back as Shakespeare and the Elizabethan world order. In the modern context, however, we see nature as inherently rebellious, liable to rise up and strike without warning or obvious reason. Natural order simply collapses, and our delusions about being the dominant species are laid bare. Hitchcock provocatively uses the birds to create a visual vocabulary that presages things to come, particularly the rise of the zombie as popular culture’s most horrific symbol of nature out of joint. The birds have a great deal in common with the zombies in George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), which would arrive just five years later to define the conventions of its specific genre. Watch the sequences in which the birds attempt to break through the barriers into the Brenners’ home, for instance, or the moment when Mitch has to reach out through the window while the birds mass around it, viciously pecking his vulnerable flesh. Hitchcock seems to be trying to give birth to the zombie movie without realizing that one might actually use zombies to do it.

You’ll never look at pigeons in the park in quite the same way once you’ve seen the film. See more of Hedren with Hitch in Marnie (1964), and catch Rod Taylor in The Time Machine (1960). Oddly enough, Taylor also provides the voice of Pongo in the Disney classic, 101 Dalmatians (1961). If you want to explore the diverse range of animal attack movies, you might try fan favorites like Jaws (1975), Cujo (1983), and The Ghost and the Darkness (1996), or even cult classics like Them! (1954) and Night of the Lepus (1972).