ROPE (1948), dir. Alfred Hitchcock

Another Hitchcock film, another nefarious act taken place in seemingly-mundane surroundings: this time, a pair of upper-crust, New York City-types murder their friend in their own apartment, hide the body in a large trunk, and in a sick twist, host a dinner afterward using the trunk as a serving table.

Why commit such an appalling deed in the first place? According to Brandon (John Dall), murder should be reserved for the intellectually and culturally-superior. Given his and fellow perpetrator Philip’s (Farley Granger) refinements – as opposed to their victim’s, who had been an underachieving heir – the act itself was justified. Meanwhile, since they are so smart themselves, they should be able to get away with the crime, even if the trunk has a broken lock making it easy to open.

“Rope” was released in 1948; I don’t know if the source material, a play by Patrick Hamilton, had been a reaction to the mass killings of Jews by the Nazis, but the movie’s message does seem like an appropriate response to the Holocaust. As Brandon and Philip’s former prep school teacher, a character played by James Stewart, asks them, “Did you think you were God?” Do mental, financial, or cultural advantages entitle anyone to deprive another of the right to live and be happy?

Along with being relevant for its time, “Rope” is worth watching just as an exercise in style, as Hitchcock manages to take a screenplay restricted to a single set and wring plenty of tension out of it. Beginning with the murder, moving forward to the dinner party, and ending with Stewart’s detective-like turn, the filmmakers forgo much editing, which makes the movie feel like it’s progressing in real time. Indeed, despite the 80-minute running time, I only counted a handful of clear cuts; otherwise, the camera tracks restlessly around and between rooms in the apartment, and between the foreground and background to keep the experience from stagnating.

By shooting in what seems more or less like real time, however, Hitchcock does the opposite of boring the audience: he raises the tension. Indeed, during the dinner party itself, the camera circulates like another guest, observing the others – a list that includes the victim’s parents, some mutual friends, and the aforementioned former school teacher, who once espoused the same theory that inspired his ex-charges to murder – as they grow increasingly agitated waiting for the heir to arrive, and at not knowing exactly what the dinner party is commemorating. The viewer spends enough time around these characters that their emotional changes feel genuine, from the deceased’s girlfriend’s growing strain at being confronted by an ex-beau, the parents’ mounting worry, Stewart’s character’s growing suspicions, and one of the murderer’s slowly cracking under the strain of guilt.

Hitchcock also throws in a few great camera flourishes, including one shot that uses both foreground and background in tandem: Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, walks back-and-forth between the kitchen located at the back of the frame and the serving table at the front. The viewer is invited to watch as she slowly clears away candelabras, silverware, and other items, teased by the knowledge that, once she has finished with those, she’ll put the plates in the trunk, where unbeknownst to her the body is hidden.

Another notable moment is when the camera switches from third-person to first-person, reflecting James Stewart’s perspective as he imagines what Brandon and Philip did with the corpse. In a neat twist that not enough modern directors try, he doesn’t say exactly what he is thinking, not being sure what his former students are capable of, and because he’d rather give the murderers enough of the titular item to hang themselves with. In fact, the ending reinforces the notion a guilty conscience wants to be found out, which may have nothing to do with how intellectually or culturally well-bred one is.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

VERTIGO (1958), dir. Alfred Hitchcock

This has been referred to as Hitchcock’s definitive movie, and having seen it, I think I can understand why. It’s a mystery, which the director was already adept at making, but also a tale of obsession, a theme that resonated throughout his career.

And above all, “Vertigo” is pure cinema, a film that glides along by the sheer power of images and sound. Hitchcock, in top form as both an artist and craftsman, paces the movie to reflect the glacial rhythm of a dream, which is fitting given the plot. Ostensibly, upper-crust wife Kim Novak has become obsessed with the life of her dead ancestor, and spends her days walking around San Francisco in a trance. As Hitchcock draws us into this unusual dilemma, via a retired policeman (Jimmy Stewart) with the titular condition, he frames Novak in establishing shots that feel spare and still to the point of eeriness.

This is a film that really must be experienced. I could describe it in further detail, but I would be required to give away either too much or too little information. I must not do that. All I will say is that “Vertigo” seems to have two halves, which are unified by a sense of romantic helplessness that is heartbreaking. Several writers reportedly worked on the script before Samuel Taylor’s version earned Hitchcock’s approval. The extra care certainly shows; there is great dialogue and a plot twist that, though unexpected, makes sense dramatically as well as thematically.

Finally, one cannot say enough about Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, who rose to the challenge of extremely versatile roles. If there are two movies in “Vertigo,” there are also two characters in the script for both leads. Novak gets to play the requisite icy blonde, but also appears as a non-blonde who may be less enigmatic, if perhaps just as mysterious as her doppelganger. Stewart, meanwhile, is a more surprising double-dip; as expected, he portrays the everyman that viewers readily identify with. Gradually, however, his Detective John “Scottie” Ferguson starts transgressing a few moral and psychological boundaries, becoming someone just as recognizably human, though audience members may choose not to admit it.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)