A Wish-Fulfillment Feast

Rating: 10/10 (15 July 2002)

Not only does this marvelous film cater to one's desire for a peek at the neighbors, but it makes their daily round unrealistically interesting, attractive or affecting. The courtyard of the Manhattan apartment I once inhabited had no lovely ballerina starting the day with graceful, sensual dance, or talented songwriter filling the night air with live, semi-classical piano. Rather, my window opened on the blare and schlock of commercial television and radio.
Jimmy Stewart's neighbors include not only a killer who considerately leaves his shades up for everything but the crime but also Miss Lonelyheart, who dates and grieves in full view, another woman who eloquently laments and protests (to all the world who failed to stop it) the murder of her pet dog, and policemen who arrive within seconds of being summoned to stop a fight. Who would need movies if ordinary life were this alive?
Although Stewart is prone, with left leg in full cast, his role is something like that of a male ballet dancer, functioning as a kind of center off and around whom others play. These "others" include not only his neighbors (for the most part unaware of him), but also his visitors. In dialogue, we first see this with Thelma Ritter, who plays his skillful, no-nonsense nurse. Stewart's unassuming, brief responses set off her fast, funny, caring, shrewd paragraphs. For how many people do insurance companies provide nurses like this?
But of course the crowning wish-fulfillment is Grace Kelly as Stewart's would-be bride. If there is another movie in which she is this beautiful, lead me to it. The beauty is in her carriage, her looks, her clothes, her speech, her love, her intelligence, her pluck, her resourcefulness, her resilience, her good temper, her liveliness. (That she stays superbly attractive is the more remarkable, since aggressive pursuit is not ordinarily a becoming posture.) Here she is, mine to enjoy. The more so, because Stewart's retreats leave her more available to me, who would be glad to fill in.
The murderer is played by Raymond Barr, who spent much of his cinematic life as a central character, Perry Mason. Here, he mostly elicits action from others, rather than providing it himself, which is perhaps the fate of most criminals in detective stories they precipitate. There is of course the last, frightening struggle between him and Stewart, a climax more crucial for the plot than for my enjoyment of the movie, which had already been signed, sealed and delivered.
By the way, in a recent comment (5/2/02) tim777ca asks why, as Barr approaches his apartment, Stewart leaves his door unlocked. He is physically able to move to the door and lock it. He could unlock it again if needed by friends or police. Do we have an ending with no artistic necessity? Is this, as tim777ca alleges, characteristic of Hitchcock's films?