I am an honest man when I ain't lying

[sovay]

I don't know if Alfred Hitchcock is one of my favorite filmmakers. I have seen twenty of his films,* which is probably more than I have by anyone who didn't direct for television; if he doesn't make me seize strangers' lapels and proselytize like Powell and Pressburger, I know I don't dislike him. Some of his movies, from acknowledged masterpieces like Notorious and Vertigo to lesser lights like Suspicion, I could watch over and over. To this number I can now add The Man Who Knew Too Much, which I saw a few nights ago—not the more famous version which got "Que Sera, Sera" stuck in everyone's head, but the 1934 original with Leslie Banks, Edna Best, and Peter Lorre in his first English-language role. It surprised me. I have the impression I saw the remake at some point in my childhood, although I can remember no details—I understand now that Foul Play (1978) is riffing off the assassination plot in both versions—but I have a hard time believing I would prefer it. Even more so than The Lady Vanishes or The 39 Steps, The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934) jags unpredictably from coziness to chilling realization, horror to humor with liberal eccentricity throughout; you never know which way the narrative is going to jump. I didn't expect a turnabout of gender roles from Hitchcock—diffident and sometimes clumsy as he is, the leading man isn't a silly ass, but neither does his homespun detecting metamorphose him into an effective man of action; his wife is the sharpshooter, familiarly blonde, but no cool and alluring foil: she is the mother of a kidnapped daughter and when the police hang back from shooting an assassin for fear of hitting the kid, she seizes the rifle and dispatches him herself, like the narrator's mother in Angela Carter's "The Bloody Chamber." The villain is not a mastermind, but a conversational anarchist, quite friendly with the Lawrences when he meets them in Switzerland, amused at the altered roles of all concerned once the wrong information has changed hands; he will not scruple to kill a twelve-year-old girl, but he is not a sadist. And yet he laughs so mercurially, with an elm-streak of white in his hair; it's funny until it's not and then it's funny again. There's an interlude at the dentist's. There's an interlude with a cult. The stakes are high, but no one hangs off the Statue of Liberty or Mount Rushmore—the police don't even carry guns until someone fetches them. It's a short-story movie and I do not disdain those, especially when they are such tonally shifting sand that the viewer can't even conjecture who's going to make it to the end credits, even among the protagonists. (We never even learn the motives behind this attempt on a foreign diplomat's life. The British government wants the man alive and well and politically active, but who knows? We might side with Abbott and his gang.) I have run out of intelligent things to say, except why has Criterion not put this film out on DVD? I will have to think about it more when I'm awake.

* The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), The 39 Steps (1935), The Lady Vanishes (1938), Jamaica Inn (1949), Rebecca (1940), Suspicion (1941), Saboteur (1942), Lifeboat (1944), Spellbound (1945), Notorious (1946), Rope (1948), Under Capricorn (1949), Rear Window (1954), To Catch a Thief (1955), The Trouble with Harry (1956), Vertigo (1958), North by Northwest (1959), The Birds (1963), Marnie (1964), Torn Curtain (1966). I realize there are some odd gaps in this list; probably the ones I want most to see at the moment are Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Strangers on a Train (1951), and Frenzy (1972), but I'll take recommendations.

Comments

[teenybuffalo.livejournal.com]

I'll try both; he's just so much fun to look at. He was Pistol in the Olivier version of Henry V, though I didn't really go for his interpretation--he seemed trying too hard to be funny. (Speaking of which, that movie also had Ernest Thesiger as the Dude Who Brings The Tennis-Balls. All thirty seconds of his screen time were excellent.) I'm curious what you thought of Robert Newton as Long John Silver, too.

Aha! Niagara isn't by Hitchcock; it's probably just beside the Hitchcock films on the shelf at my friendly little rental. (By the way, they have a poster on the wall at the video store. It shows a large tattooed construction worker and a very conformist-looking teenager standing at the counter in a video store, saying in unison, "But don't you have any Fellini, Bergman or Kurosawa?!") Sabotage was forgettable, frankly (and I can't recommend Niagara either, though that's not the issue in hand. It did have Marilyn Monroe, but all she did was stand around and be zaftig).

And, my gosh, I walk right by The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp whenever I go in that store. Thank you! I'll check it out sometime. You speak so highly of A Canterbury Tale that I want to seek it out. I guess I just wasn't that into old movies, back in 2007. (I don't know what was wrong with me, but I'm better now.)

[sovay]

Speaking of which, that movie also had Ernest Thesiger as the Dude Who Brings The Tennis-Balls.

I know! And I think Max Adrian was the Dauphin: there were some seriously random people in that film. Fluellen, however, was Esmond Knight, a Powell and Pressburger regular. Transitively, I am fond of him.

I'm curious what you thought of Robert Newton as Long John Silver, too.

The same day I saw Treasure Island, zeborahnz remarked, "Latin would be a whole lot easier if it didn't pick up its longest noun phrase, toss it through a blender, and scatter its shredded constituents over the rest of the sentence like a garnish." That was kind of what Robert Newton did to the scenery. It was a very good time.

(I don't know what was wrong with me, but I'm better now.)

". . . I got better."

Enjoy!