A fall from grace...

Rating: 3/10 (15 May 2004)

(((((SPOILERS)))))
I don't think that I have made an effort to like or, at least, respect any movie more than I have Alfred Hitchcock's VERTIGO. I have seen it maybe half a dozen times on the big and small screens, read reviews and analyses of it, as well as essays about it in a couple of Hitchcock biographies. I recognize just how it fits into Hitchcock's filmography and how it details his notorious obsessions. It is an important film as far as the study of Hitchcock is concerned. But, in the end, VERTIGO is just not a very good movie. I don't see why it is considered to be one of the greatest films of all time; indeed, I wouldn't even place it in Hitchcock's top twenty. Instead of appreciating it more each time I view it, I find myself resenting the way it distracts from Hitchcock's better efforts.
The premise -- basically a variation of "Frankenstein" by way of a dark and brooding "My Fair Lady" -- involves a man's attempt to reshape a woman into the image of a woman he thought he loved and lost, not realizing they are the same woman. The concept is intriguing in theory, but largely unbelievable in execution.
The film is told in two halves, the first being a detective story. It involves the type of ludicrously contrived murder scheme that only works in old self-mocking whodunits ("'You see,' explained Nick to Nora, in between sips of his martini, 'Gavin had to use Scottie as his patsy, because a man who was not deathly afraid of heights might have climbed to the top of the bell tower and discovered....'") You get the idea. Almost like a trial run for the far superior PSYCHO, Hitchcock concocts a convoluted thriller storyline which ultimately only serves as a set up for the psychological drama in the second half. This may be the only aspect of the film that shows Hitchcock's genius: using a far-fetched mystery narrative as a way of luring the viewer into the murkier melodrama that is the real center of the story. But, it seems Hitchcock was so fascinated in elements of the latter part of the story that he wasn't concerned with the plot holes and dubious logic that make the first half largely unbelievable. And, unfortunately, part two is hopelessly entangled in the clumsy web spun in part one.
It is part two of the story that also fascinates the film's admirers (who tend to ignore or forgive the sloppy set up of part one). Having established that James Stewart as Scottie, has fallen in love with Kim Novak's Madeline, only to see her apparently commit suicide, the film introduces Judy, also Novak, who is a dead ringer for Madeline. On meeting Judy, one would think that a trained detective like Scottie would immediately be suspicious and begin to investigate her past, instead he starts playing Henry Higgins and begins training Judy to again look and act like "Madeline." Judy, who should realize that Scottie can implicate her in a murder, plays along, presumably because she has fallen madly in love with Scottie. But basically, no one does anything logical in this film, everybody being hopeless enslaved by the rather silly plot, rather than by obsessive love or psychological turmoil. The film just doesn't stand up to close scrutiny, either dramatically or psychologically.
Okay, films, especially Hitchcock's, are less about plot than style. But even so, the film is substandard, especially for a Hitchcock film. There are a few clever shots and striking images, but that is overshadowed by slow pacing, a very hokey dream sequence and stilted dialogue. And there are some odd choices involving the use of color that prove particularly annoying. At first, I thought the muddy, muted look of the film was the result of badly aged prints, but seeing the restored version proves this not to be the case. And for some reason, Jimmy Stewart's face seems bright orange in every print of the film I have seen. The look of the film is so annoying, that the last time I watched it, I turned the color off on my TV set. The film actually plays better in black and white, reflecting its pulp film noir elements.
It seems that the reason the film's reputation has skyrocketed over the years has less to do with Hitchcock's skill at making it, than that VERTIGO represents a convenient checklist of all his phobias, fetishes and obsessive visions. Those who have laboriously defended the film seem to skim over the gaping holes in its logic, dwelling on the film's paper-thin psychology: The film's protagonist Scottie representing Hitchcock and his not-so healthy desire to control and abuse women of a certain type. Okay, maybe that is so. But a psychological profile is not necessarily the same as a work of art -- or even passable entertainment. Hitchcock may -- or may not -- be revealing his psyche more in this film than in any other he ever made, which makes it Jim-dandy for discussion of his entire career, but that doesn't mean VERTIGO stands up on its own.
Rather than representing the epitome of what the name Hitchcock stands for, VERTIGO should represent some sort of embarrassment. The story is poorly plotted and poorly told. Novak and Barabra Bel Geddes give solid performances, but Stewart is just terrible in the central role; it just may be is worst screen performance. And Hitchcock's stylistic touches seem self-consciously obvious, detracting form the drama rather than underscoring it. But, as a dress rehearsal for what he would soon accomplish, VERTIGO works decently enough. The red herring first act, the unexpected death of the leading lady, the psychologically scarred protagonist with necrophilic leanings (played by an actor with an established boy-next-door image), the denial of a one woman's death by creating the illusion she exists in another person's body; these are all elements that would rise again in PSYCHO, Hitchcock's true masterpiece. PSYCHO realizes the vision that VERTIGO only promises.