Directed by: Sacha Gervasi.
Written by: John J. McLaughlin based on the book by Stephen Rebello.
Starring: Anthony Hopkins (Alfred Hitchcock), Helen Mirren (Alma Reville), Scarlett Johansson (Janet Leigh), Danny Huston (Whitfield Cook), Toni Collette (Peggy), Michael Stuhlbarg (Lew Wasserman), Michael Wincott (Ed Gein), Jessica Biel (Vera Miles), James D'Arcy (Anthony Perkins), Richard Portnow (Barney Balaban), Kurtwood Smith (Geoffrey Shurlock), Ralph Macchio (Joseph Stefano).
Alfred
Hitchcock was one of the greatest filmmakers in history – and now for the
second time in as many months, he is subject to a film biography unworthy of
him. HBO’s The Girl was a one note film that saw Hitchcock as a pervert who
tormented his leading lady, Tippi Hendren, through two movies because she
rejected his sexual advances. I don’t argue much with the fact that the movie
saw Hitchcock as a pervert, just the one-note, repetitive way in which the
movie was structured. The new film Hitchcock, which is playing in theaters and
not TV, is not all that much better than The Girl – although it is more
entertaining, and forgiving of Hitchcock, the man, and more in awe of Hitchcock
the filmmaker. If one of the problems with The Girl was how narrowly focused it
was, than the problem with Hitchcock is how much crap they try and cram in it. I
am usually not one to complain about a movie supposedly based on a true story
taking liberties with the facts – normally it’s done at the service of the
story – but the crap they make up here is simply silly.
The
movie stars Anthony Hopkins as Hitchcock, and opens with the famed director
making another crowd pleasing hit – North By Northwest. At the premiere, a
reporter asks Hitchcock if it wouldn’t be smart of him simply to retire – he is
already one of the greatest filmmakers in history, and has over 40 films on his
resume, but he’s getting old, no? As if to shut this one man up, Hitchcock
decides to completely change up his M.O. on his next film – but needs to find
the right material. He settles on Robert Bloch’s book Psycho, loosely based on
the exploits of Ed Gein, a psychopathic, Midwest mama’s boy. The studio refuses
to fund the movie, so Hitchcock puts up his house to fund it himself. The
censorship board doesn’t want to give him a seal of approval on the screenplay,
but he plows ahead anyway. Hitchcock wants to do something different this time
around, and damn it, he’s going to do just that.
Hopkins,
who doesn’t look or sound much like the real Hitchcock, is at his best when
he’s playing Hitchcock’s public persona – the showman who liked to play with
audience’s emotions. Hitchcock was not just a great filmmaker, but also a great
salesman, and when Hopkins is playing the Hitchcock world saw at that time, he
is in fine form, and immensely entertaining. But when the film tries to get to
the darker places in Hitchcock’s mind, it finds itself on less sure footing.
Like The Girl, the movie says that Hitchcock was in love with all his leading
ladies – although in this film, it does stop somewhere in the realm of fantasy,
as he never acts on it. So we have Vera Miles, who Hitchcock felt betrayed by
when she had to drop out of Vertigo because she got pregnant, but more so
because she didn’t like being controlled by him. Jessica Biel, who plays Miles,
never finds the right note to play her – unlike the real Miles, she leaves
almost no impression. Scarlett Johansson, who plays Janet Leigh, fares better –
no she doesn’t much look like Leigh, but surprisingly she captures that almost
innocent sexuality that Leigh had about her – the good girl who finally breaks
the rules. Leigh takes Hitchcock’s leering in stride, and never lets it
distract her.
It
seems like the main reason why the filmmakers want to make this movie is to
acknowledge, as few have, the role Hitchcock’s wife Alma (Helen Mirren) played
in his career. She worked with him on all of his movies – often without credit
– but did just about everything with him. She was the most important collaborator
Hitchcock had – at least in the view of this movie – and she has long ago grown
to accept Hitchcock’s fantasy life with his leading ladies. But Alma, as played
by Mirren, is a little tired of being shunted to the background – of only being
important because of who she is married to. However, the subplot of her
collaboration with another writer – played by Danny Huston – and Hitchcock beginning
to suspect the two of them of having an affair – is underwritten, and seems to
have been added to try and add even more conflict between the two of them. It
wasn’t necessary.
The
film has other problems as well. James D’Arcy is very good at playing Norman
Bates – the problem is that the screenplay doesn’t seem to realize that Norman
Bates and Anthony Perkins are two separate people – and even in the scenes
where Perkins is supposed to be himself, D’Arcy makes him too creepy. Then
there is the ridiculous addition of some strange fantasy “therapy” sessions
where Hitchcock imagines himself talking to Ed Gein (Michael Wincott) himself.
What they hell that was supposed to accomplish, I’ll never know.
In
short, Hitchcock is a mess. It is at times a well-acted and entertaining mess,
but it’s a mess nonetheless. Hitchcock deserves a better biography made of him
– as does Alma for that matter. The two we’ve gotten in the last two months do
neither of them – nor anyone around them – justice.
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