2012 has seen two screen depictions of the so-called
Master of Suspense. First Toby Jones took the role in the BBC’s The Girl and now Anthony Hopkins tries
his hand in Sacha Gervasi’s simply titled Hitchcock,
allowing us a sneaky peephole look at the build up to, production of and the
reception to, Alfred Hitchcock’s game changing horror film Psycho.
The film does not waste any time with
suggesting its motifs. In a film about such a wonderful crafter of story and
cinema, you could be forgiven for expecting subtlety to be at the forefront of
Gervasi’s mind. Sadly not- the first act is as subtle as a breadknife in
pointing out all the obvious characteristics we should be looking out for with
Hitchcock and his ‘new’ film. Yes he had an obsession with blonde leading
ladies. Yes he drank a lot. Yes Psycho was
influenced partly by the real killer Ed Gein. It should not have taken awful
sexualised puns with Janet Leigh, and an almost farcical first scene in which
Hitchcock speaks to us directly while standing next to the Wisconsin killer on
which Norman Bates was slightly based. And they unfortunately lower both the
tone of the film and the audience’s expectations rather quickly. From there on,
the film becomes a well-cast but ultimately messily handled drama about this
period of Hitchcock’s life.
But even within the tight confines of
looking at Hitchcock at one point in his career, at one movie he made, there is
still too much going on for a film that runs only just over the ninety minute
mark. Should we focus on his domestic relationship with wife Alma Reville, as
she sneaks off to spend time with a younger writer, Danny Huston’s Whitfield
Cook? I hope not: these scenes are more painful than being stabbed to death in
the shower, playing out like a poor American soap opera. Instead, maybe we
should turn our attention to Hitchcock’s inner struggle with the film at hand,
while he navigates actors, self-finance and visits from serial killers in his
dreams. But while the latter is slightly more interesting for the audience and better
crafted by the director, the former seems to take first place in terms of screen
time. By the conclusion of the film, the two trains of thought come together,
and Alfred and Alma’s marital subplot has enough weight to carry what turns out
to be an enjoyable and rewarding ending, but until then we simply seem to be
biding our time. And not in the classic Hitchockian sense of the phrase.
As Hopkins keeps his head as Hitchcock
(although slightly lacking the creepiness that Jones played so well) it is his
supporting cast that catches the audience’s eye. Scarlett Johansson is
excellent as Janet Leigh while Helen Mirren plays the torn and tormented Alma
brilliantly. James D’Arcy’s Anthony Perkins and Jessica Biel as the almost
ignored Vera Miles are also worth a mention.
Hitchcock is an interesting, easy to watch, insight into one of Hollywood’s
greats, both in terms of the film it depicts and its maker. However, my advice
to anyone with only time to watch one of the two: choose Psycho any day and imagine for yourself the behind the scenes drama
if you so desire.
