Hitchcock

Call me Hitch, Hold the Cock

Hitchcock. Find me a person who doesn't recognize that name. Many probably haven't seen a single film from arguably the most renowned director of all time, but they sure do recognize that name. Known the world over as the "master of suspense," Hitchcock directed over fifty films in a span of nearly as many years. While he never won an Oscar for Best Director, many of his films, from Rebecca to Vertigo (which now tops the critics' Sight and Sound Poll 2012) to The Birds are now considered classic films in the pantheon of history.

Given such an auspicious subject matter, it is a shame that Hitchcock, directed by Sacha Gervasi, is so devoid of the master's characteristic suspense, so decidedly opaque. When I first saw a picture of Anthony Hopkins in make-up as the titular filmmaker, I was filled with glee. One of the best British actors portraying one of the best British directors with some impeccable make-up in a film about the making of his Psycho. It's hard not to be excited about that. Imagine my disappointment about fifteen minutes into Hitchcock, realizing that I was watching a film that could clearly not live up to expectations.

Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh

I remember first seeing Psycho. Probably about five years ago now. Of course, by that time, everybody knew the ending. No surprise there. But it also strikes me as a very dated film; a film for which, I think to truly appreciate, you had to be there in 1960. No doubt, I can appreciate it on many levels; innovative editing, bold story-telling, and its status as the spark of the slasher film. Conversely, segments feel silly and dated; the infamous reveal itself was greeted by numerous guffaws throughout my film class. I suspect more wanted to laugh, but held it in because, you know, you can't laugh at a classic film in film class (after all, what kind of person would you be for exercising your own criticism of a movie?).

The story opens shortly after the release of North by Northwest in 1959, to much acclaim after the commercial failure of Vertigo the previous year. Hitchcock (Anthony Hopkins), never much taking a break from work, now searches for his next project. And he finds it, in Robert Bloch's horror novel - Psycho. Urged to consider other films, Hitchcock is undeterred; Psycho must be his next film. At his side is his wife, Alma Reville (Helen Mirren), whose influence and involvement in Hitch's films is greater than most people likely realize.

The first act is the most successful. It regards Hitchcock's looming self-doubt in the face of suggestions that it might be time to retire, meshed with his immovable determination and frank honesty. He is not a particularly humble man, but neither is he a secure one. Many of the film's later developments revolve around his suspicion and distrust of Alma, which is perhaps related to his deep-seeded insecurities surrounding women. It is well-known that the director was incredibly controlling of his female actresses. Hitchcock attempts to study his obsession with women (particularly blondes), but the film is so imbued with a sense of self-importance and grandiosity that it fails to see the forest through the trees.

Perhaps the largest detriment, the most obvious hindrance to an emotional connection between Hitchcock and the audience, is the performance of Hopkins. Sir Anthony Hopkins - the Brit who's played a psychopathic cannibal, an American president, John Quincy Adams, to name a mere few of his better performances. With his embodiment of Hitchcock, Hopkins delivers one of the most monotone, invariable, occasionally grating performances in recent memory. Yes, the real Alfred Hitchcock was a man of few mannerisms, wearing a seemingly perpetual frown, but anybody who's seen interviews of the man will recognize a peculiar lack of humanity in Hopkins' manifestation. Contrariwise, Mirren's incarnation of Alma Reville is profoundly affecting. As a devoted, loving woman, she is, while hiding it with uncanny ability, deeply wounded. You can sense that she understands Hitchcock's love for her may never match his love for film. Mirren boils the character down to a quintessence of love, admiration, dedication, neglect, and longing. She is unveiled as both the film and the man's greatest assest.

At the times of its release, Psycho may well have been the most transgressive motion picture to see the inside of the theatre. The film accurately and keenly depicts that. It is, however, unfortunate that a film so clearly committed to exploring the dark side of the director is emphatically tame. Even more distressing, when you consider it, is that Hitchcock's own film, Vertigo, is more telling of his nature than a film deliberately devised to probe such trenches. This is not a expressly bad film. It just isn't a very good one. Especially when you consider what the subject deserves.

2.5/4