I imagine when Hitchcock scholars and experts find themselves together, the talk is not of the Master's great films like "North By Northwest" or "Strangers On A Train", but a lesser-known effort like this one from 1931, obscure and seriously flawed, which showcases the great director in fledgling form.

Emily and Fred Hill (Joan Barry and Harry Kendall) are a middle-class London couple scrimping to stay ahead. He begrudges their lot; she accepts it. Change comes in the form of a letter from an uncle, saying he will set them up so they can enjoy a life of globetrotting luxury. They make plans for a world cruise. But their problems have only begun.

Just ask Richard Hannay, Roger O. Thornhill, or Marion Crane. Well, Marion's indisposed at the moment, but you get the idea. Travel and Hitchcock go together like moths and candlelight, setting one up for a perilous journey at best. This is perhaps Hitchcock's earliest foray into this theme, and not his most successful or memorable. Hitchcock tries to mix comedy with another element, in this case domestic drama rather than suspense, but the two do not cohere, at least not here.

The Hills are a dull, flat couple, with no chemistry or personality. When they find themselves at the Folies Bergere, in the form of cross-cutting with footage that looks ten years older than the rest of this film, they are abashed at the outfits of the female performers. "The curtain's gone up too soon!" gasps Emily. "They aren't dressed."

When the Hills drift away from each other on an ocean cruise, it seems a mercy killing more than a tragic thing, even if the people they partner off with are drips, too. Emily's man, Gordon (Percy Marmont) carries around photographs of himself sitting next to empty chairs, which he suggests be filled by Emily. Fred's girl "the Princess" (Betty Amann) has Clara Bow's eyes and Wallace Beery's five o'clock shadow. There's also an obnoxious fellow passenger, a dowdy spinster whom Hitchcock always introduces with a cartoonish horn cue. Subtlety was still to come.

Everything is shot in an abrupt manner, with confusing blocking and strained dialogue. Hitchcock tries for some early comedy with Fred and his umbrella that doesn't come off, and Kendall seems to aim for laughs while Berry plays for tears. When Fred and Emily break off, they are seen being jostled on a pair of wedged-together rickshaws, one of many clunky attempts at symbolism.

Emily's the only vaguely sympathetic character, in part because she really cares about her husband and agonizes over her affair with Gordon, but mostly because she's among the first of Hitchcock's many magnetic blondes, her platinum ringlets whipping around her face like a Botticelli aboard the open deck of a Chinese junk near the film's conclusion.

Matters conclude with a dangerous situation as set-piece for the protagonists to come to grips with, and presumably repair their relationship. Only they aren't active participants in the resolution, and except for the fate of a friendly cat, nothing about the ending resonates.

At least you get some enjoyable views of London in the early 1930s, and a chance to see Hitchcock when he was still working for food. "Rich And Strange" is Hitchcock paying his dues, and learning his trade, one for scholars but not casual film goers.
What is the sentiment of this review?
negative