THE movie Hitchcock is an absolute delight. It stars Anthony Hopkins, almost unidentifiable behind the dapper girth of the titular director, and Helen Mirren as his wife, Alma Reville, and either one is worth the price of admission. What a pleasure to watch these two conspire and joust! And there’s Michael Wincott, oh gravel-voiced villain who, should anything I write ever be made into motion picture, I would beg to have involved. Let’s break the usual casting and make him the damaged good guy, or least the damaged guy of ambiguous morality, up against, say, Edward James Olmos playing against type as the wily villain, or at least, the wily guy of ambiguous morality. But I digress.
Hitchcock is the story behind the making of Psycho, financed by Hitch and his missus when Paramount said no. ‘They just want more of the same,’ Hitch says, or words to that effect. He’s having none of it. He’s bought up every copy of Robert Bloch’s book Psycho he can find just to try to preserve the mystery; he’s not going back to North by Northwest territory now.
There’s so much to love in this tale. It’s cleverly dovetailed by what could be scenes from Hitchcock’s famous television show, starring a brilliant appearance by a crow; the performances are on the money across the board — yay too for Toni Collette bringing it home; and Hitchcock is portrayed with a degree of realism, both good and bad aspects of his character on show. Insights into the Hollywood machine and Hitchcock’s career are also very cool.
There’s a clever score, too, and a final pun that made me chuckle and my wife groan; the movie hits extra heights in its attention to small details. Masterpiece is probably too strong a word, but it’s a damn fine character study of a fascinating couple making an extraordinary film; perhaps file next to Ed Wood.
FOR contrast, you could check out 2012’s other Hitchcock movie, the HBO-BBC collaboration The Girl, a portrayal of the relationship between Hitchcock and his star Tippi Hedren of The Birds and Marnie.
This is a much more grounded narrative, not quite as accomplished in its attention to details, and Hitchcock is a far less sympathetic character as he sexually harasses Hedren through the course of her two starring roles.
The acting, with Toby Jones and Sienna Miller in the lead roles, is accomplished. It’s interesting to note, also, the difference in how the two movies depict Alma and Hitchcock’s PA, Peggy Robertson.
The behind the scenes of the filmmaking work to illustrate Hitch’s spiralling obsession with his starlet, who gamely resists his advances, even after the trauma of five days of scratching, pecking and pooping on the set of The Birds. The attitude toward the director wanting his ‘cut’ in the industry is underplayed but condemning.
Kind of glad we saw the films in the order we did, not only because of the chronological nature of them, but in the character-destroying depiction of the director offered by The Girl. The relationship with Alma is likewise given a new angle, and the closing scene’s parallel with a key scene in Marnie is so clever. Not quite up there with Hitchcock for focus, but worth the look as the other side of the coin. Or lens.