THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #24 Rear Window

With Vertigo recently topping Sight & Sound’s poll of the greatest movies ever made, Alfred Hitchcock is back in the news. Along with Christopher Nolan, he’s the most represented director in the IMDB Top 50 and, to my great pleasure, Rear Window is his highest placed film.

Starring the brilliant James Stewart and beautiful Grace Kelly, Rear Window is set in a sweltering New York housing block. Stewart is housebound photographer LB Jeffries – a prisoner in his own home after an incident with a racing car left his left leg encased in plaster all the way up to his hip. He spends his days being massaged by an acerbic insurance company nurse, Stella (Thelma Ritter), waiting on visits from his girlfriend Lisa (Kelly) and spying on his neighbours.

Like many of Hitchcock’s films, Rear Window is hugely voyeuristic. Initially, Jeffries’ preoccupation with his neighbours is light-hearted in its nature as he smiles wryly at their foibles and eccentricities: a couple who sleep on their balcony to avoid the building’s oppressive heat, a dancer who wiggles around her apartment in her underwear and a small dog enters and exits the block via a basket lifted and lowered by his owners.

Gradually, though, Jeffries’ interest becomes unhealthy – an obsession which coincides with some darker episodes in the building. Chief among these is the disappearance of Mrs Thorwald from the opposite apartment. Her husband’s increasingly bizarre behaviour and collection of saws hint at the disposing of her body – and Jeffries is duly worried.

The women in Jeffries’ life attempt to inject some commonsense into proceedings, with nurse Stella stealing all the best lines in her cynical world-weary attempts to becalm him. Grace Kelly is a picture of poise and elegance – a fine contrast with Stewart’s portrayal of the increasingly irritable and frustrated photographer. Eventually, however, all three become exactly the kind of peeping toms Stella was so quick to criticise.

Hitchcock treats the audience as unwanted interlopers, too. The film’s claustrophobic feeling comes from its uneasy proximity to the characters. Every scene is set in Jeffries small apartment or is shown from his point-of view – and as the film progresses this viewpoint is increasingly supplied via a camera with a huge zoom lense which Jeffries peers through. Like a cinema audience, Jeffries sits in the dark peering into other people’s lives.

Hitchcock was, of course, a master of suspense. Here, that tension is created through mystery – it’s unclear whether Thorwald really did kill his wife until the very end of proceedings. As a result, we share Jeffries’ suspicions and frustrations – not least in an almost unbearably tense scene which sees Lisa enter Thorwald’s apartment to gather evidence whilst he’s out, only for the ‘killer’ to return unexpectedly. Jeffries squirms impotently, able to see everything but unable to influence anything.

The film ends with a brilliant twist of stunningly subtle simplicity which serves to hammer home a point which Hitchcock knew only too well: less is more.

Check out this amazing time lapse compilation of what LB Jeffries sees as he peers through his window - it's stunning!

THE IMDB Top 50 Challenge #30 Psycho

Before reading any further, be aware that this article will contain huge spoilers which might ruin the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it!

A friend of mine recently described Psycho as ‘the only perfect film ever made’. He might be right.

Ask anyone about Psycho and they’ll be able to tell you all about the shower scene: quick-fire editing, screeching violins, a screaming Janet Leigh, wounds you never see and blood swirling down the plughole. Probe a little further and they might be able to name the Norman Bates or identify the oedipal complex at the film’s heart. But there’s so much more to Hitchcock’s suspenseful masterpiece...

Psycho can be cleaved neatly into two distinct acts, separated by cinema’s most famous murder scene. Prior to Bates’ bathroom knife attack, the film concentrates solely on Marion Crane (Leigh), a legal secretary suffering from an extreme lack of excitement in her life. Her clandestine love affair is fizzling out and her lonely existence is dragging her down. But an opportunity to change this arises when a leering tycoon leaves a cash deposit of $40,000 in her office which she is entrusted to deliver to the bank.

Of course, she doesn’t do this. Instead, she jumps in her automobile and heads out of town with an envelope full of bank notes and a head full of voices. Hitchcock’s mastery of narrative is perfectly displayed as the car interior is flooded with Marion’s inner monologue in a stiflingly claustrophobic scene. An ice-cool highway patrolman turns the screw on Marion still further as she struggles with her conscience before eventually pulling off the road during a fierce storm – only to find shelter at the eerily quiet Bates Motel.

It is here that Hitchcock shows his real skill: he completely subverts audience expectation in a number of ways. Firstly, the villain of the piece is introduced as a kind, bumbling and awkward character. Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) is shy, friendly and affable – and impossible to dislike. He shows Marion great kindness and she warms to him instantly – he’s the antithesis of the male characters presented to that point and it’s subsequently a huge shock when his intentions turn out to be far more cruel and perverse than any of the other men in Marion’s life.

Within minutes of their meeting, Marion is being wrapped in a shower curtain, dumped in her car boot and sunk in a swamp – the character around which the whole narrative was built is killed off less than an hour into proceedings. And with the sinking of Marion’s corpse, so comes a complete shift in the film’s focus.

Psycho’s second act concerns Marion’s sister Lila (Vera Miles) and her determination to unravel the mystery of her disappearance. Cleverly planted clues are revealed, demonstrating Hitchcock’s ability to construct a tightly plotted narrative, whilst the director intercuts the investigation with scenes of Bates’ strange relationship with his mother – culminating in an unforgettable cross-dressing climax.

Arguably the first ever ‘slasher’ film, Psycho remains the finest: its brave structure, villainous heroine, sympathetic villain, psychological twist and deliberate lack of gore ought to be a lesson to creators of modern horror movies. Sadly, Psycho’s originality and skill have been abandoned in favour of uninspired found-footage flicks or torture-porn by numbers. Sometimes, less is more.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #38 North By Northwest

Alfred Hitchcock is arguably the greatest director of all time and features more than any other in the IMDB Top 50. His four entries (Vertigo, North By Northwest, Psycho and Rear Window) are amongst the most highly regarded films ever made. Although Rear Window is my undoubted favourite (thanks largely to my enduring man-love for Jimmy Stewart), North By Northwest is considered by many to be his most tightly plotted and accomplished masterpiece.

Sadly, it’s not a view I share. At times the contrivances and plot-holes are almost inconceivable in a tale of mistaken identity characterised by a baffling laid-back performance from Cary Grant. He plays Roger Thornhill, a Madison Avenue ad-man who is mistaken for international spy George Kaplin in the movie’s opening moments. From there, his life is turned upside as he is kidnapped, almost killed and framed for murder – although he still finds time to seduce a beautiful blonde on an overnight train. It is, of course, all part of a shadowy conspiracy which only Thornhill can unravel – provided he’s not murdered or arrested first.

Grant is preposterously laid-back in the lead role, barely ruffling a hair on his suavely coiffed head as he quickly adapts to the most outrageous circumstances. Roger Moore’s James Bond certainly owes a debt of gratitude to Grant’s performance here as he quips and seduces his way out of the most dangerous situations. He’s a likeable presence, of course, but Grant’s easy manner prevents the audience ever feeling that Thornhill is in genuine peril.

A number of memorable set-pieces are superbly executed, not least the iconic scene of Thornhill being attacked from above by a swooping aeroplane. Taking refuge wherever he can, the scene concludes with a huge fireball – all shot in glorious Technicolor and with no CGI. It’s impressive stuff indeed, but my preference is for Hitchcock’s smaller scale movies: a chance meeting on public transport becomes Strangers On A Train; something that might have been seen from an apartment building becomes Rear Window; a creepy man with mother issues becomes Psycho.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #49 Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo

Released in 1958, Vertigo received a lukewarm reception from the critics. The fact that it is now regarded as one of Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpieces reflects the content of the film: the focus on obsessive voyeurism and psychological illness seems more relevant than ever before.

Opening with a rooftop chase, policeman Scottie Ferguson (James Stewart) sees a colleague fall to his death. Racked with guilt and unable to control his vertigo, Scottie takes early retirement from the force. But when a wealthy friend asks him to keep an eye on his wife’s suspicious behaviour, Scottie decides to take the job.

She is Madelaine (Kim Novak), a beautiful blonde obsessed with her great-grandmother, Carlotta Valdes – a woman who killed herself exactly a century ago. Madelaine’s obsession seems to see her adopting parts of Carlotta’s personality and appearnce – as well repeatedly visiting her grave and suicide spot.

As Scottie trails Madeliane around San Francisco he becomes increasingly fascinated by her – eventually saving her life after she takes a plunge into the bay. Sadly, Scottie’s affection for Madeliane cannot last. But when he comes across a similar looking shop girl, his own obsession grips him and Scottie attempts to reinvent her in the image of his lost love.

It’s a brilliant performance from Stewart, who in the middle years of his career casts aside the genial charm which made characters like George Bailey so warm and sympathetic. Here, he’s slightly creepy and, at times, downright cruel. For a man who worried constantly about his relevance and employability as an actor, it’s a brave turn which risked alienating his fans. Of course, it did no such thing and he remains one of Hollywood’s most beloved stars – and he’ll crop up repeatedly in the IMDB Top 50 Challenge.

The real star of the show, however, is Hitchcock’s direction. Although elements of the film look slightly dated now, back then they were innovative and original – it’s impossible not to admire them. Special effects such as the vertigo-inducing zoom shot which opens the film have become commonplace and the surreal animation was years before its time.

Bang in the middle of his most impressive period, Vertigo demonstrates Hitchcock’s absolute confidence in his own abilty. Despite being deliberately slow and occasionally repetitive, the film is never dull. Instead, the pace and content reflect the growing obsessions of the main protagonists, drawing the audience deeper into the action and creating a cloying sense of claustrophobia.

Having first seen Vertigo as a film student over ten years ago, i was surprised that the film seems to have improved in the interim. The passage of time, an increase in my maturity levels and an appreciation of the subtleties of Hitchcock’s craft has ensured that my second viewing was an infinitely more rewarding experience than the first. Recommended.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #50 Fritz Lang’s M

Made in 1931, Fritz Lang’s M is a film which has, unlike many of the same period, aged rather well. Coming just years after the advent of ‘talkies’, its dialogue is remarkably well written and performed. Similarly, the themes explored in the movie are just as relevant today as they were upon M’s original release.

Set in Berlin, the story tells of Peter Lorre’s unnamed child-killer. Despite having killed at least eight young children, the police have no concrete leads and are stretched to capacity. With swarms of officers combing the city for the murderer, organised crime syndicates and brothels are forced to quell their activities, severely disrupting their capacity to earn money. As a result, one crime-clan decides to take the law into their own hands and catch the killer themselves.

Lang sets the scene with predictable Teutonic efficiency. As children sing nursery rhymes about the murderer, his next victim innocently bounces a ball against a poster detailing the killer’s crimes. Just seconds later, he abducts her.

Even more impressive is the way the director creates his panicked city. Through a combination of short scenes and voiceovers he depicts various raids, avenues of investigation and encounters with the prickly and frightened public. Everyone is implicated and yet nobody is prosecuted: the investigation is a shambles. Thankfully, the criminals are more resourceful than the police, recruiting the local beggars as spies. This information network quickly reveals the identity of the killer – thanks largely to a creepily whistled musical motif.

It’s at this point that M gets really interesting. Whilst its theme of moral panic still resonates with a modern audience, it’s the idea of vigilante justice which remains most relevant. The murderer (probably the first psychopathic serial killer scene on film) is brought in front of a kangaroo court to plead for his life.

It’s a stunning set-piece. Peter Lorre’s acting looks a little dated now, but still packs a weighty emotional punch – as well as posing some serious moral questions. Lang’s direction and cinematography here are glorious: the assembled crowd are shot as a grotesque gallery leering at their prey, yet he still manages to create a sense of ambiguity about which way their decision will go.

It’s a shame that the rest of M doesn’t quite match its amazing ending. At time the pacing is a little pedestrian. Over the years there have been various restorations made to the original print which have added to the running time – perhaps Lang’s more compact cut was a snappier production. There are some scenes which could certainly have been lost with no effect on the narrative. Many of these have no sound whatsoever – this could be a hangover from the recent ‘silent’ period, but more likely the sound simply didn’t exist when restoring the print.

It’s slightly churlish to complain about such things, however. If Lang had concentrated solely on advancing the storyline, he wouldn’t have given us some of the beautiful cinematography he produced here. Poetic cutaways of a child’s ball and a balloon trapped in power lines have become iconic, but it’s the expertly framed shots of geometric shapes (buildings, windows and staircases particularly) which stay lodged in the mind.

Various filmmakers owe a debt of gratitude to Fritz Lang and his influence has been enormous. For students of cinema, M shows exactly why. Although aspects of his masterpiece have dated, it’s still a movie with interesting things to say about cinema and, more importantly, society.