Vertigo (1958)

reviewed by
Ian Low


 VERTIGO
Fragments Of An Obsession
by Ian Low

In the pantheon of film making, there are undoubtable classics that stand out as monumental artifacts of this art form. Some of these remain the standards where new films are measured against and even imitated upon. Citizen Kane, Casablanca and Lawrence of Arabia are such examples of a great tradition of movie making that have been widely praised, liked and even analyzed upon in countless books and articles. Yet, legendary as these films are, there is one motion picture that has reached the heights of such similar classic status, but still remains as one of the least conspicuous among its more illustrious peers. I am referring to Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo.

Released to muted reviews and disappointing box office receipts, Vertigo has since gained much respect and admiration from all aspects of the film community. Ranging from film historians to the casual fan, Vertigo has now deservedly taken its place among Hitchcock's other classic films as one of the most intriguing of all thriller movies. And certainly, one of the most personal films ever to have emerged from arguably, the best director in this business. Beginning with this movie, Hitchcock managed to create a trilogy of films in successive years that is perhaps, the most remarkable ever attempted by any director. North By Northwest, Psycho and Vertigo feature frequently among critics' best of lists and represents the culmination of Hitchcock's prowess, as well as showcasing his brilliant skills as a film-maker and his extensive knowledge of the language of the cinema.

Part of the mystique of the movie stems from the fact that it is misleading the viewer right from the beginning, the plot seemingly about how James Stewart's character, Scottie Ferguson tries to prevent "Madeline", played by Kim Novak, from succumbing to a supernatural force that threatens to possess and ultimately, overwhelms her. This deception is carried on brilliantly by both the performances and the usually taut direction that Hitchcock imposes on the entire picture. It is not until the middle third of the movie, that Hitchcock surprisingly reveals the mystery in a fashion that completely catches the viewer off guard. From there on, the film shifts to a more personal tone of undesirable and questionable obsession on Scottie's part to transform Judy back into his dream woman that was "Madeline". Yet, the "Madeline" that he seeks never existed at all. It is this irony that provides this film with its unique, almost surrealistic tone and among Hitchcock's works, this is the film that is at once darkly depressing as it is revealingly autobiographical.

Jimmy Stewart has always been known to play the charming and effervescent American ordinary everyday guy, a role that is similarly typified by Tom Hanks today. His winsome smile garnered him with his only Academy award in The Philadelphia Story and his even more famous turn as George Bailey in Capra's It's A Wonderful Life cemented Stewart as the quintessential American hero. A face and a style that any American and even non-American can identify with. But since he began to work with Hitchcock, Jimmy Stewart began a series of roles that played him against type and character.

In Rear Window, Stewart's L.B. Jefferies's character begins the film as a restless voyeuristic photographer. But by the end of the movie, one tends to forget this questionable aspect of his character as he manages to solve a murder mystery in the process. In Vertigo, however, Stewart plays a character that displays even more flaws then the Jefferies character could ever have. At the beginning, he faces seemingly increasing difficulty in overcoming his fear of heights that was triggered off by his guilt towards causing the death of a fellow police officer. Hitchcock then pulls off an incredible delusion to the audience by deliberately misleading us into thinking that Scottie Ferguson will conquer his fear by falling in love and by resolving the mystery that surrounds "Madeline".

For all his reputation for suspense and thriller films, Hitchcock's ultimate masterpiece does not focus on those two aspects as he does on the personal aspects of his two main characters in the picture. We are allowed a glimpse into the director's mindset and dare I say it, his emotions as he molded Scottie and "Madeline" into human beings that seem at once, frightfully true to life and yet, almost dreamlike in pure visual terms. As the audience, we can certainly identify with Scottie's pursuit of his perfect woman as at one time or another, each one of us had probably wanted to find that same person who can fulfill our ultimate fantasies. The difference is, Scottie manages to come close.

Only close, because his fantasy woman is after all, a masquerade fabricated by his longtime friend Gavin Elster to deliberately lead Scottie into his murderous scheme as an unknowing accomplice and also, as a convenient scapegoat and alibi. Judy, the woman who plays the role of "Madeline" is nothing like the "Madeline" that Scottie envisions. The real Judy is a more earthly woman that seems at once materialistic and bubbly, which contrasts strikingly with the icy cold blonde that is "Madeline", who simply emanates with stylish sophistication. But Scottie is never let into this revelation as early as the audience, so from the moment the truth is made known to the viewer, we are made to observe and follow his emotional trauma in losing "Madeline" and then the joy of rediscovering her in the form of Judy.

The beauty of the picture lies not in watching it for the first time, but from subsequent viewings, when the audience has the intimate knowledge of what has happened. The first half of the movie then takes on multiple layers of meanings and and it becomes a responsibility for the viewer to understand how difficult it is for Kim Novak to play Judy who herself is playing "Madeline". Her movements and gestures are even more impressive with the realization that she herself is putting up an act of deception and deceit. Yet, from the moment Scottie fishes her out of the waters of the Golden Gate bridge, the audience can almost identify with the extreme restraint that is evident in Judy's eyes and that keeps her from revealing herself to Scottie.

Later in Scottie's apartment, we are already well aware of the ruse that Judy is putting up for him. It is convincing to the point that the first time viewer is totally taken in by the deception. You could believe that she was suffering from amnesia, seemingly possessed by a "supernatural spirit" that guides her through the various locations of San Francisco. But seeing it the second time, notice how Novak manages to "act" surprised and shocked in waking up naked in Scottie's room. But for all intents and purposes, she "lets" him bring her there and even "lets" him undresses her in a deliberate attempt to delude him. Throughout the whole charade, Scottie is completely oblivious to the fact that she "knows". It is this idea of irony and deceptive role-play that gives this film an unusual aural of mystery and surrealistic romantiscm.

This is a romance that is unlikely, yet when it does finally occur, at the cliffs where Judy almost overacts her part, we are already under the impression that Scottie is in love with her. Simultaneously, we are equally convinced that Judy, masquerading as "Madeline" is also falling for him. The Hitchcockian touch at resolving this romance is sheer genius as it breaks new ground in the way it treat film lovers on screen. Electing not to provide an avenue for the doomed lovers to escape from, he decides to end the picture almost abruptly at the infamous bell tower scene. It is the same exact spot where earlier on, Scottie first witnesses the "suicidal" fall of Elster's real wife. The same exact scene where Scottie relives his guilt at being unable to prevent a certain death due to his vertigo.

A guilt which is unfairly burdened upon him the second time round as he is only playing a pawn in the midst of a greater murderous scheme. A scheme that involves Judy as "Madeline", a common girl hired by Elster because her looks probably resemble that of Elster's wife. A guilt which would be further complicated by the realization that Judy would herself find herself falling hopelessly for him. At the end of the picture, Hitchcock has to submit Scottie to one last trauma at the bell tower. Right at the moment when Scottie is faced with the most difficult decision of his life, of whether or not to bring Judy to justice or simply carry on the deception and let the past slip by. The appearance of the nun at the top of the bell tower is an inspired decision, a decision apparently made by Samuel Taylor, the main scriptwriter for the film.

A nun represents God, and if the ending is abrupt, the resolvement of Judy's involvement in the murder of the actual "Madeline" is to symbolize the cliched notion that criminals may escape the hands of the law, but not from the hand of God. Her apparent accidental fall may be even more symbolic in the sense that she is re-enacting what she was asked to do by Elster, to pretend to fall to her death to mask the death and murder of his actual wife. The terrific irony here again is she is not acting, but really "doing" it this time. Falling to her own death, which is as real as Elster's wife death was. With that, the film concludes with the everlasting image of Stewart's Scottie standing at the bell tower, looking down on the lifeless body of his de-mystified obsession, a woman who never existed for him. A woman who was manufactured for the purpose of a diabolical crime, and a woman who was in turn, re-manufactured by the very same man she was supposed to deceive.

The re-fashioning of Judy into "Madeline" is itself, worthy of much discussion. The main focal point becomes that of Judy being willing to subject herself to a second of time of role-playing. But whereas the first was due to financial and material benefits, possibly from Elster himself, the second was unquestionably due to the purpose of pleasing Scottie. For by the time she was "rediscovered", the audience can sense her love for him. This is most clearly demonstrated in her reluctance to leave him a goodbye note explaining the whole crime, and willing to play a second round of charade with Scottie. And even after voicing her objections to being remodeled, she eventually subjects herself to Scottie's almost unhealthy desire to see and possess "Madeline" back in the form of another woman who "happens" to look like her. This possession obsession at one time becomes almost surreal. Look at the scene when she finally emerges from the bathroom as the completed "product".

Roger Ebert calls this the single best shot or sequence that Hitchcock has ever done, and I am very inclined to agree. The ghostlike green glow serves as a haunting, almost hallucinating background to Novak's "Madeline" as she proceeds with almost torturous pace towards Scottie. Their eyes locked in almost twin emotions of elation and pain. Elation because both have ultimately satisfied each other's desires. She, because she believes he will finally accept her, and he, because the woman he thought he had "lost" so dramatically and tragically has finally returned. In a scene where there is no background or ambient noise, just images and Bernard Herrmann's stirring and hauntingly romantic score, it is the ultimate piece of pure cinema anyone has since or will ever conjure up. The moment the two tragic lovers lock and embrace, the camera circles around the both of them, and as it does so, images of San Juan Batista emerge from behind them, as if to indicate that the past has caught up with the present, and later will engulf them to a powerfully emotional and tragic end. Yet, Scottie clings on to her as if he never has lost her, and he is at once willing to believe that she is the same "Madeline" that he has fallen for during the first part of the film. He hesitates only for a brief moment, but once he is convinced that she is "genuine", he embraces her with the utmost of passion that has yet been captured on celluloid.

Perhaps, the optimist would have hoped the film should have ended there. But then, there is always the moral issue of not letting characters getting away with blatant crime, especially when it involves murder. For us, for Hitchcock, the resolution of this film represents one of the best climatic endings to a motion picture. Dark, emotional, tense and frightful, these are the emotions that one goes through together with the two leads as they ascend the steps of the bell tower. Of course, the innovative "Vertigo" shot heightens the tension and gives us a visual simulation of what Scottie is feeling as he looks down towards the depths of the stairs. As Scottie unravels the truth, a truth where Novak's character and the audience are already well aware of, we see his expression of anger and of passion at the same time. Emotions which would have been overplayed by any other actor, Jimmy Stewart manages to convince us equally of his confusion, his guilt, his hurt and his ultimate love for a fabled "woman" from which there is no turning back from. As he reaches the top, he is ultimately faced with his own strong belief of upholding the law, and his equally passionate feelings for a woman who has deceived him and yet, now offer the only real hope of redemption and his only compromised opportunity for a perfect love. And as he contemplates his decision for either justice or love, he is cruelly robbed of that decision as Judy accidentally plunges towards her own demise, a justice meted out by perhaps, in equally "supernatural" manner.

As a motion picture, Vertigo possesses all the necessary technical credentials for a 1958 film. George Tomasini's taut editing, Robert Burks's elegant cinematography, Saul Bass's innovative and hypnotic title designs and of course, Herrmann's score. The importance of how music affects a film has never been understated. Yet somehow, Herrmann's musical soundtrack manages to bring images that Burk's camera could not even capture. The haunting title theme elicits both terror and romance simultaneously, and it is this musical picture that gives the audience a glance into the movie's contents right at the beginning of the credits. Coupled this with the eerie logos supplied creatively by Bass and extreme close-ups of the woman's lips and eye, Vertigo manages to evoke the entire atmosphere of the film in the first few minutes. Herrmann's score is never catchy or tuneful, just long stretches of mesmerizing moods and ambience that complements both story and performances to perfection. At times overbearing, at times tender, this is music that lives up to the high expectations of the director and his actors. Pure cinema such as this could not have been created without the musical strains of Bernard Herrmann and the striking photography of Burk and Hitchcock.

Artistically, films like Citizen Kane and A Birth Of A Nation may have displayed much more cinematic invention in terms of camera techniques and other technical innovations. Vertigo however, propels the film medium further by taking the established cinematic approaches and transcends them by exploring the human emotion on celluloid. To accomplish this requires a director of immense knowledge and skill, and a touch of brilliance. Further, a set of actors who are able to translate the written script into film and then expand on it by giving their own unique touch of humanity and expression. Alfred Hitchcock, James Stewart and Kim Novak together with Samuel Taylor and the crew of Vertigo created a cinematic milestone in 1958 and like the aforementioned film classics, it ranks as a motion picture masterpiece worthy of the highest accolades. In generations to come, Vertigo will only serve as a reminder to the art of the motion picture ... or in Hitchcock's preference, the art of pure cinema.

Ian Low
9th September 1999

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