B&W, 1935, 86 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Starring Robert Donat, Madeleine Carroll, Lucie Mannheim, Godfrey Tearle, Peggy Ashcroft, John Laurie / Written by Charles Bennett / Music by Hubert Bath / Cinematography by Bernard Knowles
DVD - Criterion (MSRP $39.95)
Richard Hannay (Robert Donat), a Canadian staying in England, escorts a frantic, mysterious woman (Lucie Mannheim) back to his flat. She tells him that she is a spy being pursued by an organization called The 39 Steps, led by a man missing a finger from one of his hands. That night, the woman turns up in his bedroom with a knife in her back, and Hannay goes on the run to avoid arrest for her murder. Thanks to a number of tense and sometimes amusing complications, he winds up manacled to a beautiful, icy blonde (Madeleine Carroll) and runs through the Scottish countryside as he attempts to find the villains and clear his own name.
An excellent example of how to pace a film, The 39 Steps contains no dull moments along the way and packs a number of surprises into its brief running time. While some Hitch fans prefer The Lady Vanishes from the director's British output, this film offers far more substance and technical innovation (such as the now legendary shock cut from a screaming landlady to a rushing train). While Hitchcock may not have had much regard for his actors ("cattle"), Donat and Carroll make one of the most fetching couples in film history and give the film much of its necessary weight. Their witty, banter-filled dialogue perfectly mirrors their flight across the countryside, making this one of the earliest and best "road" movies.
Anyone unfortunate enough to sit through Criterion's laserdisc edition of The 39 Steps (or even worse, the countless wretched public domain editions over the years) will be in for a very pleasant shock upon seeing their restored DVD transfer. To say that this is like watching an entirely new film is an understatment, and in its own way, this is as revolutionary as Universal's DVD overhaul on the 1931 Frankenstein. Every existing video edition of 39 Steps until now has been blurry, flat, and plagued by audio drowned in hissing and crackling. The plentiful extras on the DVD include the 1937 Lux Radio Theatre broadcast (with Robert Montgomery and Ida Lupino), which owes far more to Hitchcock's film than the Buchan novel, and a 1970's educational film produced by Janus, The Art of Film: Vintage Hitchcock, a study of his British suspense period. A good introduction for the uninitiated, the half hour film contains nothing groundbreaking but gives a nice thumbnail sketch of his filmmaking techniques, with Young and Innocent receiving most of the screen time. For some reason, the films are also covered out of sequence, with 39 Steps appearing last. The only disappointment is academian Marian Keane's audio commentary, which comes off as a recited lecture, recapping the onscreen action with some not terribly gripping observations about Hitchcock's visual placement of characters and dropping of clues. Otherwise, a job well done.
B&W, 1945, 111 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Starring Ingrid Bergman, Gregory Peck, Leo G. Carroll / Produced by David O. Selznick / Music by Miklos Rozsa / Cinematography by George Barnes
DVD - Anchor Bay (MSRP $24.95)
Dr. Constance Peterson (Ingrid Bergman, looking quite lovely but studious) has earned the respect of her peers despite her status as a woman in a profession dominated by males. To paraphrase one of her colleagues, women generally make the best psychoanalysts until they get married, at which point they make the best patients. Her life carries on normally at an institute in Vermont until she encounters John Ballantine (a boyish Gregory Peck), a disturbed young man suffering from amnesia. Constance is intrigued by his case, particularly when he reveals an aversion to parallel lines on white surfaces. Of all the Hitchcock films, Spellbound contains perhaps the greatest potential to make a truly spectucular special edition on home video. Aside from the obvious sociological and psychological aspects which could be explored, the film also boasts a memorable dream sequence designed by none other than the master of surrealist art, Salvador Dali. Though striking in its current form, this sequence originally ran about twenty minutes and, according to Bergman, features a sequence in which she turns to stone, is cracked open, and finds herself covered in swarming ants. Whether any of this footage still exists is anyone's guess, but a visual study of this sequence would be very welcome. Furthermore, the film contains the genesis for numerous ideas explored in other Hitchcock films, particularly the concept of past traumas burying themselves in someone's subconscious and emerging in radically different forms (see Marnie for a fuller extension of this idea). Sadly, we'll just have to keep on waiting, as Anchor Bay's DVD presents the film with no extras at all, as with the other ABC-licensed titles. The transfer by and large is excellent and improves tremendously on the soft, washed-out laserdisc released by Fox several years ago. Much of the film uses rich, pitch black shadows for a nice chiaroscuro texturing effect which becomes much more prominent here. Unfortunately, Anchor Bay dropped the ball on one nifty Hitchcockian touch which has remained intact in all other recent prints, including the laser and the versions screened on FXMovies and AMC. Not to give too much away, but during the climax when the gun is pointed at the screen and fires, the black and white film contains two red-tinted frames at the moment of the bullet's explosion. Though subliminal, it's a nice effect; too bad the folks who prepared this DVD didn't do their homework (ditto for the Anchor Bay DVD of The Paradine Case). However, this loss has no serious detrimental effect on the film itself, and the DVD makes for a fine presentation otherwise. Strangely underrated even now, Spellbound holds up very well aside from Bergman's occasional silly lines evoking Freud as her personal gospel. Even aside from the dream sequence, numerous eccentric and gimmicky moments provide a grand entertainment with some hefty psychosexual subtext thrown in for good measure. Not terrifying or suspenseful in the usual Hitchcockian sense, Spellbound should nevertheless have little trouble living up to its title in viewers' minds.
B&W, 1940, 133 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Starring Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier, George Sanders, Judith Anderson, Gladys Cooper, Nigel Bruce, Reginald Denny, Leo G. Carroll / Produced by David O. Selznick / Music by Franz Waxman / Cinematography by George Barnes
DVD - Anchor Bay (MSRP $29.95)
A young woman (Joan Fontaine), whose name is never given, meets the brooding, attractive, and wealthy Maxim De Winter (Laurence Olivier) while serving as a paid companion on the Riviera. Much to her employer's disapproval, our heroine takes off with Maxim and becomes his second wife; apparently, the first Mrs. De Winter, Rebecca, died in a mysterious boating accident. Upon her arrival at Manderley, the De Winter home, the second Mrs. De Winter receives a cool reception from the main housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson, walking off with the film in her pocket). Apparently Mrs. Danvers had more than a slight obsession with Rebecca and takes every opportunity to remind the new wife of her inferiority in every possible respect. However, a few less than pleasant skeletons in the closet begin to emerge, and the newlyweds find their happiness and even their lives in jeopardy as the ghosts of the past begin to return with a vengeance.
Fontaine's performance, beginning as nervous and submissive but gaining confidence as the dark events begin to unfurl, provides the emotional anchor for what could have been a routine Gothic potboiler. Everyone involved lifts this tale to the highest notch of slick professionalism, ranging from Franz Waxman's beautiful, eerie score to Hitchcock's subtle manipulation of spatial relationships and decor details (note Rebecca's embroidering). Though Rebecca is naturally deceased before the film even begins, her presence consumes the entire film and channels through the unforgettable Mrs. Danvers, leading to the memorable and often imitated fiery climax. While Olivier does a fine job doing a rich twist on his tragic hero persona from Wuthering Heights and George Sanders provides his usual sardonic and nasty wit, the women both seen and unseen definitely carry this film, establishing most of the central conflicts along the way.
Anchor Bay's transfer of Rebecca corrects most of the damage done to this gem over the years, with most of the image meticulously restored and featuring a more robust contrast scale than even the prior Criterion laserdisc. As far as presentation, which is the most important thing, this is an essential purchase for Hitchcock buffs. Unfortunately, as with all Anchor Bay titles licensed from ABC Video (Straw Dogs, Spellbound, etc.), no extras could be added to the film, so laser buffs with the deluxe Criterion version would be wise to hang on to it. The sound has also been noticeably cleaned up, with the opening musical strains freed from background noise and hiss. While a special edition of this on DVD may occur sometime in the distant future, this will do just fine for now. Note: Rebecca was Hitchcock's only Best Picture Academy Award winner, though at the time only the producer received the award. Thus, Hitch would have to wait until his honorary Irving G. Thalberg award before he could have a statuette of his own.
PSYCHO B&W, 1960, 108 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Starring Anthony Perkins, Vera Miles, John Gavin, Janet Leigh, Martin Balsam, John McIntire, Simon Oakland, Patricia Hitchcock / Music by Bernard Herrmann / Cinematography by Robert Burks
Letterboxed (1.85:1) / Dolby Digital Mono
VERTIGO Color, 1958, 128 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Starring James Stewart, Kim Novak, Barbara Bel Geddes, Tom Helmore, Henry Jones / Music by Bernard Herrmann / Written by Samuel A. Taylor & Alec Coppel / Cinematography by Robert Burks
Letterboxed (1.85:1) / Dolby Digital 5.1
ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS B&W, 1955-59, 102 mins. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Format: DVD - (MSRP $74.98)
The restoration of Hitchcock's Vertigo has already been covered exhaustively, even with an entire book devoted to the subject, but simply put, the film has never looked better than it does here. The eye-popping hues and exquisite cinematography easily shame the earlier MCA laserdisc, though a few quibbles can justifiably be made with the tampered "restored" soundtrack which amplifies new sound effects like crumpling paper and footsteps to a distracting degree. On the other hand, Herrmann's score sounds terrific blasting from every available speaker instead of the old mono mix, and the plentiful extras cover everything you could want to know about the film. The entertaining and informative restoration documentary (commissioned for AMC) features several interviews and behind the scenes nuggets of information which are carried through to the other supplements, including stills, ad art, and the notorious alternate ending which was mercifully left on the floor over the years. So does the film itself merit all this attention? Absolutely. A fetishistic masterpiece, Vertigo concerns "Scotty" Ferguson (James Stewart), a police detective whose involvement in the death of a fellow officer has left him cursed with an acute fear of heights. An old college chum, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), hires Scotty to follow Elster's wife, Madeleine (Kim Novak, never better), who may be possessed from beyond the grave by a distant relative. To reveal more, of course, would be heresy. Steeped in the obsessions which flicker through the rest of Hitchcock's work, Vertigo remains an achingly personal statement on the human instinct to reshape others into our own fabricated images and the consuming nature of passion even beyond death. Stewart, brilliantly cast against type, delivers a gutsy, terrifying performance unlike anything else he ever attempted. The film's relative failure at the box office at the time is understandable, as the film is about as anti-'50s as one can imagine, but its acceptance now in more jaded, self-analytical times seems highly appropriate. A film completely steeped in its own iconography, Psycho forever changed the face of American horror and has become such a familiar part of our cinematic language that it rarely scares anyone now. The radical techniques on display here from the first frame to the last (Hitch often insisted it was a comedy!) actually seem quaint now, but even without the shriek value it once possessed, Psycho remains a crucial film - not as personal as Vertigo by any means nor as gloriously entertaining as Rear Window, but an icy, perfect jewel nonetheless. Universal's new transfer of Psycho is generally first rate, marred only by overmatting (according to the hard matte always visible in the shower scene, it should be around 1.66:1). This glitch aside, Psycho looks quite sharp and clean, while Herrmann's "black and white" string score sounds robust and absolutely chilling. Anthony Perkins' portrayal of Norman Bates, the mother's boy motel owner who encounters fleeing embezzler Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), remains one of the cinema's definitive performances (just check out Gus Van Sant's disastrous color remake to see how difficult this role is to pull off). So many scenes have become classic: the parlor talk between Marion and Norman, the shower sequences, the ascent (and descent) of Detective Arbogast (Martin Balsam) on the Bates stairs, and of course, the utterly creepy subliminal final shot. The DVD also sports a number of extras including an exhaustive one hour documentary (though the "censored scene" bonus is a bit of a joke), trailers, and assorted production notes and tidbits. Given the treatment of these two films, the future for Hitchcock at Universal looks quite promising.
The set's trump card, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, contains polished new transfers of four episodes widely available on video through the years. The most popular, "Lamb to the Slaughter," features Barbara Bel Geddes as a snubbed wife whose crime of passion requires some quick thinking around the investigating police. In "The Case of Mr. Pelham," the title character discovers he has a doppelganger tampering with his life, a development which drives him to unexpected extremes. In "Banquo's Chair," the title reference to Macbeth takes shape when a dinner is set to unmask a murderer by having his "victim" show up at the table. Finally, "Back for Christmas," another morbidly witty piece, features John Williams (Dial M for Murder) as a man digging his wife's grave -- err, a wine cellar -- whose plan may be too perfect to go along without a hitch. All of these episodes represent the series well, though many more are equally deserving (some of the Cornell Woolrich adaptations in particular). With any luck Universal will try to preserve a few more of these and not be content to simply reissue prepackaged catalog titles, though admittedly the results here are much better than the old video versions. Black and white TV productions have rarely looked so beguiling, and Universal's preservation efforts so far on television series like Thriller, Night Gallery, and this one are definitley to be commended.
The richest film from Hitchcock's British filmmaking period, The 39 Steps loosely adapts John Buchan's classic novel into a prototypical "wrong man" scenario with an innocent hero chased across the English countryside by police and villains alike. Though recently neglected (especially by film schools) in favor of Hitch's productive Hollywood period, The 39 Steps represents the first developed version of "the Hitchcock formula" at work and, along with North by Northwest,
remains one of his best mainstream thrillers.
Thanks to what appears to be a lot of effort, the film now looks virtually as good as new. Countless levels of clothing detail, facial nuances, and landscape features are now visible, as if a thick fog has suddenly been swept away from the camera. The sound now unfolds with amazing clarity, and the quiet portions are actually quiet. A few of the exterior shots during the Scotland section look a bit rough around the edges, apparently a flaw in the original source materials that could not be avoided, but otherwise, Criterion has for once completely justified its hefty price tag on this one.
Even more than most Alfred Hitchcock films, the 1945 psychological thriller Spellbound seems like pure glossy entertainment on the surface but becomes increasingly weird under closer scrutiny. Loosely derived from Francis Beeding's novel The House of Doctor Edwardes, the film assumes (rather implausibly now) that all of Sigmund Freud's theories of psychoanalysis were absolutely correct and could unlock any key to the human mind. Hitchcock's treatment adopts these Freudian techniques to a twisty murder plot, but more intriguingly for film buffs, he also throws in some nifty visual gimmicks indicative of what he would later achieve in his more extreme work beginning with Vertigo.
Evidence begins to surface that Ballantine may have been involved with the mysterious ski slope death of Dr. Edwardes, the former head of the institute, but Constance believes that John is innocent and possesses the key to the mystery inside his tortured mind. The two become lovers and go on the run, though Constance realizes her new beau might not be too trustworthy, especially when he's prone to walking around at night with a straight razor in his hand. Of course, nothing is as it seems, and after much tortuous mental probing, Constance finally discovers the true sequence of events which led to the doctor's violent death.
Following his less than warmly received 1939 adaptation of Daphne Du Maurier's Jamaica Inn, Alfred
Hitchcock surprisingly chose another of the esteemed mystery writer's novels for his first American project under the supervision of David O. Selznick. The result, of course, became one of the Master of Suspense's most enduring and popular creations, though it's rarely cited as a good representative of his style. Perhaps the "woman's picture" stigma associated with this genre has prevented this film from the historical recognition of Psycho or Rear Window, but in terms of both storytelling and technical craftsmanship, Rebecca can scarcely be faulted and has aged as magnificently as any Hollywood product.
Part of the growing (but so far hit and miss) box set trend in
the DVD market, Universal's The Alfred Hitchcock Collection immediatley disappointed many consumers who found out that it simply contained repackaged editions of two films already on DVD, Psycho and Vertigo, in addition to a four-episode platter of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, available exclusively in this edition. Quite simply, at this price tag, anyone who doesn't have the two films would be well advised to pick this one up, while Hitch fanatics who already have the films will find this far too steep to buy simply for four episodes already released before on laserdisc and VHS. The packaging is better than Warner's Kubrick box set but still inconsistent, with the TV episodes packaged in a plain silver design that clashes with the more gaudy and gold-striped format of the other two discs. Hopefully Universal will take another stab at a Hitchcock collection once they have remastered more of the Master's films in their possession (where's The Birds, guys?), and then fans will really have cause to celebrate.
A magnificent film, definitely worthy of the multiple viewings and intense study it has finally received in recent years.
