Left Field Cinema

The Director: One of the worlds most prolific and successful film makers and arguably the greatest film maker that the UK has ever produced (although not by my own reckoning). Alfred Hitchcock enjoyed a privileged status held by few directors (along with Steven Spielberg and possibly James Cameron) he is a household name. Virtually everyone in Europe and North America knows of Hitchcock and even if they haven’t seen any of his films, they will still be familiar with some of the iconic moments he largely responsible for – the shower scene from Psycho being a prime example.

With his first films being made in the 1920’s, his last in the 1970’s, and over sixty titles to his name it is an impressive catalogue. Hitchock’s most successful work came in the middle of his career towards the end of the fifties with Vertigo, North by Northwest, and Psycho released over a period of two years all of which are generally praised highly by the critics (although this was not always the case in the past). Personally I adore Psycho for its mood, find Vertigo to be bloated and overly melodramatic and find North by Northwest almost unwatchable due to its nonchalance and misplaced comedy. On the whole I find his earlier works far more compelling, films like the Sabotage from 1936 sinisterly reflect modern day terrorism with London under seize from a terrorist bombing public transportation, or his 1939 film Jamaica Inn which features the great Charles Laughnton lording it up to brilliant effect in a tale of cross and double cross in 19th Centaury Cornwall, or the classic The 39 Steps from 1935 which was a highly entertaining spy thriller and at just eighty-odd minutes bristles past without any pretentiousness, even Hitchcock’s very early films like the silent thriller The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog from 1927 shows more flair and restraint than his later works like the mind-numbingly dull Topaz from 1969 or the messy horror film Frenzy from 1972. Most critics find it difficult to fault Hitchcock, however if there is any to be found it is his treatment of a film makers most important asset – the actors. Famously referring to them as “cattle”, and then later clarifying the statement: “they should be treated like cattle”. Hitchcock never really addressed the issue of performance, allowing the actors to find the characters themselves, thus creating the problem that if an actor wasn’t self-sufficient then this area of his films would often fail leaving the audience disconnected from the characters. The better examples of Hitchcock films are those with naturally strong actors who do not rely on dedicated character direction to bring great performances to the screen – Psycho remains arguably Hitchcock greatest American film for this very reason, combining his technical wizardry with Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh’s natural acting talents. Hitchcock’s fatal flaw can be seen most clearly in his 1948 film Rope, one of his stronger outings where Jimmy Stewart continues to shine as the naturally talented performer he was without the need for direction or character work and his less experienced co-stars John Dall and Farley Granger falter and let the film down.

The Film: Set in the fictional country of Bandrikan, the story begins with a group of tourists stranded in a hotel as their train is delayed by an avalanche. The first thirty minutes in the hotel clearly establish the majority of the key players and our protagonist, we meet our heroine Iris Henderson (played by Margarete Lockwood) who has been on a long trip with her two friends and is about to head home so that she can be wed to a man she is “fond” of but clearly not impassioned about, soon after we also meet our hero Gilbert (as played by Michael Redgrave) who irritates Iris by playing music and composing a folk dance in his room which is situated above hers, when she gets the manager of the hotel to throw Gilbert out a confrontation ensues and they begin their relationship antagonistically, “You're the most contemptible person I've ever met in all my life! “ Iris sneers at him; Gilbert replies with a smile “Confidentially, I think you're a bit of a stinker, too.” Their trading of insults doesn’t stop there and continues into the subsequent train journey; Iris complains at one point that something fell on her head, Gilbert sharply replies: “when, in infancy?” But of course as the narrative develops the pair grow to like and eventually love each other as is the predictable development for a film of this sort. Other characters are also introduced including a man and a woman having an affair away from their spouses who are still in Britain, and a pair of atypical English gents who are more concerned with finding out how the cricket is going than anything else which occurs around them. Then there is the titular vanishing lady, Ms Froy, a governess who is retiring after six years in this country to return home. After a series of comedic shanigans in the hotel, a darker tone is taken as a musician playing a song outside Ms. Froy’s window is strangled and killed by an unseen assailant, although this event has no immediate consequence we know that danger is lurking nearby unbeknownst to the tourists who all set off on the next train the following day. Before boarding the train Iris knocks her head and Ms. Froy helps her aboard and enjoys a cup of tea with her. Iris takes a nap and when she awakens Mrs. Froy has vanished, this event takes place exactly thirty minutes into the film and indicates the end of the first act and the inciting incident of the films plot. All the witnesses to Ms. Froy’s presence in their compartment deny that she was ever there, and Iris must set about finding the mild mannered Ms. Froy and her noisy neighbour Gilbert is the only man willing to help.

The film is something of a genre bender. Whilst it boasts a sinister central premise and darker content in places the film is also filled with witty dialogue and one-liners, often centred around old school dry British wit and particularly English idiosyncrasies. For example in one scene Gilbert asks Iris what Ms Froy was wearing: ”Scotch tweeds wasn't it?” Iris corrects him: “Oatmeal tweeds” Gilbert responds: “I knew it had something to do with porridge.” The two cricket enthusiasts Charters and Caldicott discuss how they missed a train at Budapest because Charters insisted that they stand for the Hungarian national anthem, he defends this action saying: “you must show respect, Caldicott. But If I'd known it was going to last twenty minutes...” to which Caldicott replies “It has always been my contention that the Hungarian Rhapsody is *not* their national anthem and we were the only one’s standing up.”

Later Glibert insists his father taught him never to desert a lady in trouble “He even carried that as far as marrying Mother” he muses. The film is filled with moments like these, some of them seem funny now when they might not have in the 1930’s for example later in the film the rear of the train is separated from the passenger carriages at the front, Gilbert and Iris think they’re alone with the killers on the rear carriages until they realise it’s tea time and that all the English will be in the food carriage which they’re still attached to, and right enough the only passengers left in the food carriage are the English. Of course a lot of this humour is dependant on an understanding of early 20th Centaury British society, at a crucial junction later in the film a foreign soldier claims to have studied in Oxford, knowing he’s an enemy Gilbert smashes a chair over his head rendering him unconscious, when asked why he did it, Gilbert replies “I went to Cambridge”. This is only humorous to British viewer because we know of the deep seated rivalry between Oxford and Cambridge and Gilberts remark may well go over the heads of non-British viewers. If you’re worried that this all sounds like romanticising our colonial past and forgoing any commentary on the bitter class divide in Britain at the time, you’d be quite right to be concerned, but there are twinges of negativity in this portrayal of English tourists abroad, the English are so arrogant that they think they’re untouchable even when they’re in considerable peril, “they wouldn’t do anything to British subjects!” proclaims the arrogant barrister. Frequently the British characters show marked irritation at the nationals of this country not speaking any English, they get upset when circumstances don’t go exactly their way, Charters at one point spits at the locals “what a country, no wonder they have so many revolutions”. It all speaks of a bygone era and attitudes which are no longer deemed acceptable, their behaviour today seems comedic, irrational and stereotypical but who knows what a 1930’s audience would have made of it all. Some of the passengers are in on the conspiracy to hide Mrs Froy, but then others like a couple having an affair away from their spouses in England don’t want to attract a controversy or be part of an enquiry, the barrister has aspirations of becoming a judge and can’t afford to be mixed up in a divorce and so pretends that they’ve never seen Ms Froy when actually they have. Charters and Caldicott want to get back to London in time for the Cricket in Manchester and so also deny seeing Ms. Froy so as not to cause a fuss and slow their journey down “old school British diplomacy, never climb a fence if you can sit on it, it’s a foreign office proverb.” Perhaps the passive nature of “British subjects” is quite deliberately critiqued, their selfishness slowly destroys all chance Iris has of finding Ms. Froy.

The film is structured perfectly, events give us hope and take it away again in rapid intervals, just as Iris and Gilbert take a step forward they are pushed two steps backwards. As one passenger confirms that Ms Froy was on the train, an impostor arrives dressed like Ms. Froy and the passenger who confirmed that she was on the train changes her mind and pretends that the impostor is the real Ms Froy. Iris gives up her search for Ms Froy, and when she does, Gilbert finally starts to believe her. The audience know she’s real, Iris knows that Ms Froy is real, and now Gilbert knows Ms Froy is real. The second act runs on the train for around thirty minutes, and the third act begins with a twist in the tale which will be obvious to all who watch the film but will spoil the content if I reveal it now. At this point the story takes a radical new direction as the mystery is solved but danger takes over. This very clear partitioning of events makes The Lady Vanishes a very clean film to watch with a solid narrative structure, but this does not remove the films ability to surprise in terms of plot developments and twists.

The film doesn’t take itself entirely seriously. A comedy scene in a storage carriage sees a scrappy fight scene as the two men clumsily go at each other, and are then thrown into “magic trick” boxes and disappear. But things get serious in the final act as characters are unexpectedly shot or killed off; friends become enemies and enemies become friends as Stewie Grithin might put it. All the smaller characters that have been so painstakingly established in the first act all come together in the last act and all the information we’ve been told about them earlier which may have seem spurious at first holds relevance in the climax. But even in the more serious scenes comedy still pervades The Lady Vanishes as the passengers lives are put in danger the two English gents complain that it means they “won’t make the match now!”

As charming as the supporting cast are this is Iris and Gilbert’s show, the couple have such a satisfying chemistry that it’s not at all surprising that they were used in future radio plays and other film productions. Even away from each other the pair have immense charm; Gilbert’s sharp wit and sarcastic manner coupled with his wearing of a bow tie and constantly holding a pipe, his little moustache seems entirely unfashionable by today’s standards but it suits him just fine. He doesn’t look or behave like a hero but he is undoubtedly a hero. Iris is a free spirit and we know that marrying her fiancé is the worst possible thing she can do, her flirty grin, wide eyes and particular brand of feminine can-do-ism endear her to us instantly.

The technical achievements of The Lady Vanishes are also incredible and vast, although it is never showy, or the sort of technical wizardry that Hitchcock would later gain notoriety for – here it is all practically applied to the demands of the story. At least a full hour of the film is spent on the train travelling back to London, the light flickering in the carriages as they pass trees and buildings never lets up, rear projection is constantly used in almost all scenes. Remarkably given the resolution of 1930’s black and white film, the rear projection actually looks better in this film than it does in some contemporary pictures. The camera gently shakes as do the bodies of those sat down as occurs naturally to anyone whilst sat on a moving train.

Hitchcock also did well in terms of music, the majority of the film lacks non-diegetic music (with the exceptions of the first and final scenes). Hitchcock realised he didn’t need music to dictate tension, as despite being almost entirely set on a train there is enough action to keep events moving at a blistering pace without the use of a score, the films biggest stunt (although accomplished with the use of rear projection) sees the young man climb outside the train whilst it’s moving and another steam engine passes at the same time. Why use music when you have the deafening sound of a steam engine passing in the other direction?

The films combines comedy and drama, action and romance, mystery and suspense, Hitchcock’s technical prowess and the young actors natural chemistry and charm, making this not only the best of Hitchcock’s early British works, but also the greatest Hitchcock film of all.

M.Dawson