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| Vertigo (1958) |
A Little on Hitchcock and This Film
Aside from Hitchcock being a master storyteller, a pioneer of film grammar, and an all around genius, I also like to remember him as the creepy and obsessive womanizer that he was. There was literally something mentally wrong with him, which is very unsettling when seeing how posh and composed he was in interviews and promotional material for his films.
And for me, personally, that's part of what makes his films so great and fascinating. I've been reading Sidney Lumet's autobiographical novel, Making Movies, and in it, he rants about how form follows function. Style is never separate from content. Yet he goes on to also say that in Hitchcock's case, he often handpicked stories to serve his particular style. I'm no pedigreed film scholar (yet), and I'm no Hitchcock expert, but I always get the sense of his personality when watching his films. I think they embody his persona as well as his inner darkness.
His films are made so masterfully with so much subtlety and detail, but also very structured and deliberately, much like like Hitchcock's very proper and calculated mannerisms (just watch any one of his Alfred Hitchcock Presents intros). Then, underneath, there is always some type of horror, menace, sexual deviancy, and dark humor confronting the audience. And while Vertigo, for me, is kind of just an okay film on its own, it's so much fun to think about afterwards. Because Alfred was kind of a sicko. And he knew it.
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Most people have seen the film, so we all know it's about Jimmy Stewart, or John Ferguson-- a detective who leaves his retirement (having retired after a traumatic incident that gave him a fear of heights, and the fear gives him vertigo) to follow his friend's wife, who is apparently possessed by her great grandmother.
The traumatic incident that caused all his fear and ineptitude was watching his partner fall from a high rooftop onto a green screen background to his death.
And, of course, we know all this because Jimmy Stewart is kind enough to barrel out every piece of information in expository dialogue.
One thing of interest-- John is shown later to be wearing a corset and using a cane. I guess he fell, too, and the shitty partner cushioned his fall.
So he follows Madeline Elster, the wife of his friend, Gavin Elster, to see what her deal is. And he follows her really badly. Like, constantly behind her wherever she goes. Whenever I'm driving, someone only has to make two turns after me to make me think I'm being followed. People were more trusting back then.
Anyway, it turns out she's pretty much got split personality disorder, sometimes assuming the identity of her deceased great grandmother who killed herself at 26. The fear is that Madeline will attempt to do the same thing.
It's all SPOILERS from here on out, so be cautious.
John falls in love with Madeline in the process of spying on her, and they form a relationship after John saves her from jumping into the San Francisco bay to her death. They kiss a lot by smashing their faces together.
One day, they go to the country, near an old church (the setting of Madeline's nightmares about death), as a form of therapy. She runs up the church tower, and while John tries to pursue her, his fear of heights and resulting vertigo stop him. She jumps to her death. John is cleared of any blame, but not before the biggest douchebag judge in film history belittles him and makes him feel completely to blame. He even says that he "allowed" the death of his partner. But, clearly, the partner didn't get his proper footing before going to help Johnny-O. Rookie mistake.
He is plagued by guilt and nightmares wherein he becomes a spooky batman villain.
He meanders around most days afterwards, in a vacant and melancholic state. Then he meets a girl named Judy who looks like Madeline. Unbeknownst to him, Judy is Madeline, or rather, Madeline is Judy. It turns out Judy was hired by Gavin to pose as his wife and pretend to be unstable, so that he could kill his real wife and make John a witness to her "suicide".
John and Judy begin a relationship again, and he starts making her dress exactly like Madeline and get her hair done the same way as well. He realizes that they are one in the same when he sees her putting on some jewelry that belonged to Madeline.
So he takes her back to the church and confronts her, making her ascend the bell tower once more. At that moment, a meddling nun comes up and scares Judy/Madeline so bad that she actually falls off the tower and dies. John steps to the edge and looks down at her body in horror.
So it's actually a happy ending, because he got over his fear. Gavin was just trying to help him after all.
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| Good Guy Gavin- Kills his wife to help his friend get over his fear of heights. |
Significance
There are several reasons that I would guess it's on here. The most obvious would be that it's one of Hitchcock's most popular and recognizable films. Although for me, personally, it isn't his best. I have some problems with it.
First of all, it's a bit of a snooze for me. The master of suspense doesn't keep me in enough suspense. The following scenes just go on and on and on.
But I think the greatest source of disappointment for me is the lack of Midge.
That's Midge. She's introduced early on as John's friend, confidant, and former fiance. To me, she's the most interesting character in the film, and yet she's totally underused. I have to just admit here, I don't know why they wrote her in.
She has this friendly, yet sort-of-but-not-really romantic relationship with him, and we know that they used to be engaged. She helps him find out some things about Madeline and her great grandmother, Carlotta Valdes, because she knows everyone in town. She even tries to help him cope after his second traumatic incident.
She's this incredibly engaging, likeable, and mysterious character, but she just gets left to the side. We never really find out the significance of her and John's relationship and it is never resolved, either. The only benefit I can see from her presence in the film is to show that John is a failure at love, and that his obsession with Madeline/Judy results in the alienation of his only loved one (she is last seen leaving the mental facility he temporarily stays in, essentially giving up on him).
And while that gives her some kind of explanation and function, it just isn't enough for me. I want more. I want a whole movie about her.
Despite my qualms, with the film, though, I still have respect for it. And I understand why it's on the registry (while I'm sure I'll find others that I think shouldn't be on there). I don't want to talk forever about Hitchcock, because that would take so much time and effort. I'll just point out one or two of the major things it has going for it.
It's, of course, just a well made and well put together film. Hitchcock has a wonderful sense of mise en scene (and I'm still not sure what that exactly means).
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| I know it must mean this. The repeated square patterns on the walls, the constantly moving construction in the background, the overwhelming presence of red, and the constant trading of sitting and standing positions between Gavin and John all come together to create a tense scene where it feels like one is trying to trap the other, and that some kind of greater plan is at work. |
I also think the trickster, Alfred Hitchcock, is a guy with a sense of humor. He's tremendously cruel to his characters, such as placing John, a man with a fear of heights, near tall structures constantly. This type of thing is what one would call "hitchcockian". And the constant exploitation of a character's flaws is something that occurs in a lot of his films, especially in this one.
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| No big deal, I only watched my partner die in a cramped alley. |
Like I said, Hitchcock's style tells us about himself. The film, for it's time, is pretty risque in portraying relationships and lust. John is nothing short of a mad, horny dog for madeline, and both of them are able to betray Gavin in some way in order to have each other. John and Hitchcock, while being strict and professional, also make some pretty bold moves and have some pretty dark instincts.
Like this. John completely undresses Madeline while she sleeps. It's sort of violating. At this point in the film, he is still, more or less, a normal guy. Yet that elephant in the room, that he drove her to his house and undressed her instead of taking her to a hospital, starts peeling away at his facade of normalcy.
Later, because she lied to him, he forces her up the bell tower again, and he's extremely threatening the whole time, like he wanted her to fall, almost. I get the feeling that it's both John and Hitchcock punishing her.
It portrays this very bizarre power dynamic between the two. John has power over Judy because she loves him and wants to make him happy. So she dresses up like Madeline for him. Yet in a way, she has power over him, too, because she represents his desires. She can manipulate him by simply existing.
And I think this very upfront, complicated sexual power dynamic was pretty new at the time. And both the structured and calculated personality given to John mixed with the chaotic, raving mad, sexual, and insidious underbelly that he hides is one of best examples of Hitchcock's form following his content, and perhaps revealing a bit about the filmmaker as well.
Hitchcock was a weird dude. And this is one of the best showcases of that.
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