If you are a properly well-read film fan, it's a question you have an answer to. What is your favorite Hitchcock? For me, it's “Rear Window,” which I'm of the belief might be a perfect film. While a hundred different critics and scholars and cinephiles are likely to give you a different answer each time, there's one person that you probably wouldn't think to ask. Namely, because he's dead but if he was alive: What was Alfred Hitchcock's favorite film out of all his work? Luckily, people did think to ask the man that during his lifetime. While he would occasionally waffle, usually Hitch said that 1943's “Shadow of a Doubt” was his personal favorite. Perhaps not as influential as “Psycho” or “The Birds” – outside of a Chan-Woo Park homage or a remake or two – it is nevertheless recognized as a masterpiece by this most lauded of directors.
In the sunny, idyllic town of Santa Rosa, California lives the Newton family. Among Joseph and Emma's three kids, is the teenage Charlotte. She is so-named for Emma's brother, whom she refers to as Uncle Charlie. The same uncle arrives unexpectedly at the family's home. He brings many gifts with him, including an emerald ring for his niece. Shortly afterwards, two mysterious men appear at the home, claiming they are there to document the average American family. They seem very interested in Uncle Charlie, however, and Charlotte correctly deduces that they are detectives. The young girl soon arrives at another conclusion: That her uncle is a notorious serial killer known as the Merry Widow Murderer, who have left a trail of strangled old ladies across the country. Uncle Charlie realizes quickly that his niece has discovered his secret, a tense game of wits unfolding between them.
When we are first introduced to the Newton family and the town of Santa Rosa, they both seem so delightful as to be out of a classic sitcom. Dad is easy-going, Emma is a devoted stay-at-home mom, Middle child Ann is a perfectly precocious young know-it-all while tiny Roger is a typically adorable little boy. Young Charlie emerges as the purest figure in the home, a bright-eyed young woman whose endless optimism and light-hearted wit is irrepressible. Teresa Wright is so charming and effortless in the role that you completely buy into this idea as well. However, like all innocent ages, it will come to an end. “Shadow of a Doubt” is about a girl realizing that the world can be a dark and deceptive place. Moreover, it's a film about how the people we trust and love the most can be the ones with the most unsettling secrets. A quiet tension emerges throughout “Shadow of a Doubt,” always backing away at the last minute from outright saying if Uncle Charlie is a remorseless serial killer or not. As more evidence seems to pile up, there is some degree of doubt. Surely, the young girl is trying to rationalize, her Uncle Charlie can't be a killer? We have clear answers before the end but the presence of the suggestion, the creditable idea that your personal hero could be a monster, is enough to cast a shadow over the young girl's life.
The apparent ambiguity in Uncle Charlie's guilt is not ambiguous at all. He's introduced fleeing from detectives. He cuts out the article about the crimes from the family newspaper. He rants about how old widows disgusts him, his hands curling into strangulating claws as he does. After someone else is seemingly identified as the killer, it still does nothing to block the obvious truth: Uncle Charlie is the Merry Widow Murderer. Despite that, young Charlotte cares about him. She wants it to not be true. Perhaps the viewer becomes so invested in the young girl's journey that we want it to be true as well. Or, perhaps, maybe Joseph Cotten is so charming in the role that we like the guy too much to want him to be the killer. Either way, the lingering close-ups on Wright's eyes as she is no longer able to deny the truth is quietly heartbreaking.
All throughout his career, Hitchcock returned to the idea of a likable monster. He delighted in making the audience sympathize with definitely or potentially homicidal mad men. Sometimes via misdirection, as with the apparent Jack the Ripper in “The Lodger.” Sometimes it was by making them pathetic victims of their own psychosis, as with Norman Bates. Sometimes it was because they were simply the most interesting character in the movie, as with “Rope” and “Frenzy.” “Shadow of a Doubt” aligns the audience's perspective with Wright's heroine, which means the viewer finds her uncle as charming as she does. The slow reveal that Charlie is a strangler, with some extremely Freudian hang-ups about the women he targets, makes him another in the Hitchcockian line of charismatic killer perverts.
Maybe this was Hitchcock working through his own guilt over his shitty behavior towards women. Maybe it was a way to address the latent queerness in many of his films, forcing viewers to think about whether societal outsiders were true “monsters” simply because of the impulses they felt. “Shadow of a Doubt” is not that gay of a movie. Which isn't to say there aren't some perverse sexual desires hiding within. As I've said, the Charlies are close. Maybe closer than a niece and uncle usually are. When the handsome police detective played by Macdonald Carey starts to court Charlie, her uncle perceives it as a threat. Ostensibly because he doesn't want to be caught by the cops. However, the idea that he sees the detective as a romantic rival for his pretty young niece is unavoidable. The camera repeatedly focuses on Uncle Charlie's hands, often as they grasp and squeeze as if choking invisible necks. That his targets are elderly women he seems disgusted with, while exalting his young and virginal niece, feels like the man has some clear Madonna/Whore hang-ups. Which makes his murders, much like Norman Bates' two decades later, a symbolic release of his sexual desires.
The suspense in “Shadow of a Doubt” largely comes from the question of whether Uncle Charlie will try and murder his beloved niece for knowing the truth. And if sex is death and vice versa for this man, what does that mean for his feelings towards his niece? In the climatic moments of the film, when Uncle Charlie attacks Charlotte, it plays out in the enclosed space of a train car alcove. He pins the girl into a corner. She is panicked, terrified. Repeatedly, the camera draws attention to the man's hands and the closeness of their bodies. In other words, it is a symbolic attempted rape. This sees Hitchcock taking the chemistry between Cotten and Wright, which seems chummier than familial love, and making it into a source of tension. Is Uncle Charlie going to kill his niece? Is she in love with her uncle? And, Jesus, which of those conclusions are worst?
“Shadow of a Doubt” would be co-written with Thornton Wilder, the lauded playwright whose work often reflected an interest in the contradictions of small town American life. The story itself identifies the Newton family as the average, ideal American nuclear unit. The kids certainly are utterly adorable. The town itself seems calm, peaceful, and content. Despite that, this is the place where a serial killer is hiding. He is, in fact, hiding within that seemingly normal family. With the implied threat of incest – that most common of crimes, of betrayals, of abuses, within the outwardly normal seeming American household – always floating under the surface, that makes “Shadow of a Doubt” an examination of that darkness under the veneer of suburbia. (Or what would become suburbia anyway, as this is not exactly a post-war movie.) Once you start to realize that, the other cracks in the foundation show. The father and his weird friend's creepy fascination with true crime, the weirdness in some of the family interactions. Hitchcock, an Englishman of course, seems to have mostly warm feelings towards the American way of life here. However, the film makes it clear that these prosaic, happy locations are where acts of evil can happen as much as anywhere else.
That same thematic thread is evident in Joseph Valentine's cinematography, as classical an example of film noir visuals as you're likely to find anywhere. The early scenes, before Charlotte begins to suspect the truth about her uncle, are more brightly lit. The small town setting is bright and warm at first. However, as the story grows darker, so does the look of the film. The sequence where Charlotte arrives in a library, to look at the complete paper containing the story on the strangler, makes it clear that the girl has passed into a more shadowy world by this point. This role of shadows is evident throughout. The symmetrical interiors of the suburban home, peering up and around staircases with slanting angles, are often enhanced with jutting, growing shadows. More than once, Charlie is surrounded by lingering darkness, hinting at his true nature. The bars of stairways or windows become metaphorical prison bars, showing the young heroine trapped in a once familiar and now alien home with a man she can no longer trust.
Those who contend that there is any sort of meaningful barrier between the horror genre and the so-called “psychological thriller” might argue that “Shadow of a Doubt” is better classified as noir. Maybe. It's certainly a part of that tradition too. The grislier stuff is always kept off-screen. However, any movie that mines as much of a sense of unease and tension from the premise of having a murderer in your midst as this one resides comfortably within the macabre to me. (And this is a Universal Picture too, begging the question of whether I can bullshit Uncle Charlie onto my list of Universal Monsters.) As for Hitchcock himself considering this his personal fave, well, I don't know if I could put it above some of the master's other great films in my own ranking. However, it is a fantastic film, skillfully acted, beautifully shot, tensely assembled, and rich and evocative with deeper ideas. [9/10]
In the sunny, idyllic town of Santa Rosa, California lives the Newton family. Among Joseph and Emma's three kids, is the teenage Charlotte. She is so-named for Emma's brother, whom she refers to as Uncle Charlie. The same uncle arrives unexpectedly at the family's home. He brings many gifts with him, including an emerald ring for his niece. Shortly afterwards, two mysterious men appear at the home, claiming they are there to document the average American family. They seem very interested in Uncle Charlie, however, and Charlotte correctly deduces that they are detectives. The young girl soon arrives at another conclusion: That her uncle is a notorious serial killer known as the Merry Widow Murderer, who have left a trail of strangled old ladies across the country. Uncle Charlie realizes quickly that his niece has discovered his secret, a tense game of wits unfolding between them.
The apparent ambiguity in Uncle Charlie's guilt is not ambiguous at all. He's introduced fleeing from detectives. He cuts out the article about the crimes from the family newspaper. He rants about how old widows disgusts him, his hands curling into strangulating claws as he does. After someone else is seemingly identified as the killer, it still does nothing to block the obvious truth: Uncle Charlie is the Merry Widow Murderer. Despite that, young Charlotte cares about him. She wants it to not be true. Perhaps the viewer becomes so invested in the young girl's journey that we want it to be true as well. Or, perhaps, maybe Joseph Cotten is so charming in the role that we like the guy too much to want him to be the killer. Either way, the lingering close-ups on Wright's eyes as she is no longer able to deny the truth is quietly heartbreaking.
Maybe this was Hitchcock working through his own guilt over his shitty behavior towards women. Maybe it was a way to address the latent queerness in many of his films, forcing viewers to think about whether societal outsiders were true “monsters” simply because of the impulses they felt. “Shadow of a Doubt” is not that gay of a movie. Which isn't to say there aren't some perverse sexual desires hiding within. As I've said, the Charlies are close. Maybe closer than a niece and uncle usually are. When the handsome police detective played by Macdonald Carey starts to court Charlie, her uncle perceives it as a threat. Ostensibly because he doesn't want to be caught by the cops. However, the idea that he sees the detective as a romantic rival for his pretty young niece is unavoidable. The camera repeatedly focuses on Uncle Charlie's hands, often as they grasp and squeeze as if choking invisible necks. That his targets are elderly women he seems disgusted with, while exalting his young and virginal niece, feels like the man has some clear Madonna/Whore hang-ups. Which makes his murders, much like Norman Bates' two decades later, a symbolic release of his sexual desires.
“Shadow of a Doubt” would be co-written with Thornton Wilder, the lauded playwright whose work often reflected an interest in the contradictions of small town American life. The story itself identifies the Newton family as the average, ideal American nuclear unit. The kids certainly are utterly adorable. The town itself seems calm, peaceful, and content. Despite that, this is the place where a serial killer is hiding. He is, in fact, hiding within that seemingly normal family. With the implied threat of incest – that most common of crimes, of betrayals, of abuses, within the outwardly normal seeming American household – always floating under the surface, that makes “Shadow of a Doubt” an examination of that darkness under the veneer of suburbia. (Or what would become suburbia anyway, as this is not exactly a post-war movie.) Once you start to realize that, the other cracks in the foundation show. The father and his weird friend's creepy fascination with true crime, the weirdness in some of the family interactions. Hitchcock, an Englishman of course, seems to have mostly warm feelings towards the American way of life here. However, the film makes it clear that these prosaic, happy locations are where acts of evil can happen as much as anywhere else.
Those who contend that there is any sort of meaningful barrier between the horror genre and the so-called “psychological thriller” might argue that “Shadow of a Doubt” is better classified as noir. Maybe. It's certainly a part of that tradition too. The grislier stuff is always kept off-screen. However, any movie that mines as much of a sense of unease and tension from the premise of having a murderer in your midst as this one resides comfortably within the macabre to me. (And this is a Universal Picture too, begging the question of whether I can bullshit Uncle Charlie onto my list of Universal Monsters.) As for Hitchcock himself considering this his personal fave, well, I don't know if I could put it above some of the master's other great films in my own ranking. However, it is a fantastic film, skillfully acted, beautifully shot, tensely assembled, and rich and evocative with deeper ideas. [9/10]
I've noted before that, after a certain point, it becomes tricky to tell if a movie was made with Troma or Criterion in mind as their ideal distributors. Lars Van Tier and Pier Paolo Pasolini movies have penises and bodily excretions flopping around on-screen but they're considered serious artists, status-quo challenging provocateurs. Tom Six and Srdjan Spasojevic do much the same and they are hacks only interested in shock value, whose films are made strictly for the strongest stomach-ed of Fangoria subscribers and nobody less depraved. It is not as if the high or low ends of the brow have an exclusive right to pretensions either, as insisting your video montage of dongs and dookie has some deeper meaning is a justification utilized by both schlock slinger and artsy-fartsy types. Perhaps a cinematic depiction of a ding-a-ling or poo poo is itself a neutral act, the execution determining the value of what's on-screen. Which brings me to tonight's stop on the Horror Around the World 2025 journey: “Taxidermia,” György Pálfi collection of penis jokes, puke, and body horror that was submitted as Hungary's official selection for Best International Picture at the Oscars and is described on Wikipedia as satirical, surrealist, and “a metaphorical socio-political retelling of Hungary's history.”
“Taxidermia” follows one family through three generations. At a frozen outpost in the middle of World War II, Morosgoványi Vendel is forced to perform humiliating task for his commanding officer. Working next to a bath house, he grows increasingly sexually frustrated and desperate to find a way to relieve his urge. His off-spring, Balatony Kálmán, grows up to become a competitive speed-eater in the Soviet era. He pushes his ability to binge and purge as far as possible for the glory of his nation. At the same time, he shares a rivalry with a fellow speed-eater for both contest titles and the love of the same woman. Decades later, Kálmán has become so morbidly obsessed as to be immobile. He lives with his adult son, Lajoska, out of the back of his taxidermy shop. His father, obsessed with raising the world's heaviest house cat, belittles his son and fixates on his past glories. A horrible accident leads Lajoska to build an elaborate device to help him fulfill his grisly destiny.
The method Pálfi mostly uses to convey these ideas is grossing the audience out. Within its opening minutes, “Taxidermia” is depicting a man seemingly lighting his own flatulence on fire. The second episode is absolutely filled to the brim with vomit. We are talking multiple scenes in which people gorged themselves to the point of sickness before puking their guts out over and over again. Such unpleasant moments are often depicted with a clinical, unflinching eye. Such as when Kálmán induces vomiting with a rotating wheel device. The film brings the same approach to its violence. The climatic disemboweling plays out in intimate close-ups of sliced sinew and unspooling intestines, backed up with no music and slowly displayed. As much as the film is enamored with the body's insides coming out, it's main method of repulsion revolves around simply putting obese people on-screen. “Taxidermia” really fucking hates fat people. A heavy-set, elderly woman's body is shown in the nude as a sick joke. The entire middle sequence relishes in flabby folks consuming millions of calories in short spans of time. That anyone would be attracted to bodies that look like this is repeatedly a punchline. The last part features a character so overwhelmingly rotund that he ceases to be human, becoming a Jabba the Hutt-like monstrosity in both appearance and behavior.
“Taxidermia” is a technically impressive film. Its cinematography has that sterile artistry to it that seems unavoidable in European genre cinema sometimes. Naturally, the color pallet is mostly icy blues and sickly greens. The make-up effects are exactly as detailed and disgusting as they are intended to be. The climatic sequence, the primary reason for the title and poster, is creatively horrific. At the same time, a motion picture trying so hard to make the viewer queasy, while constantly hitting you over the head with its own metaphorical weight, quickly becomes tedious. If a movie is going to try and make me gag, at least be honest about it. Put gross shit in a movie because it's gross and you want to gross us out. Don't create a ninety minute monologue about how revolting you find fat people before claiming it's actually symbolic, maaaaan. In other words, “Taxidermia” is a film undeniably high on the aroma of its own farts, absolutely compelled by how stomach-churningly foul it can be while rhapsodizing endlessly about the nuances and textures of the pungent scent. I'm good, thanks but no thanks. [5/10]
The only time I think people bring up the eighties revival of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” is to discuss the couple of episodes directed by notable names. “Beast in View” is not one of those episodes. It was directed by Michael Toshiyuki Uno, who had a mostly undistinguished career of made-for-TV movies. (Though “The Wash,” a rare starring role for Mako, sounds kind of interesting.) But let's give it a try anyway, shall we? The episode concerns Dr. Morgan McGregor, a pop psychologist with a call-in radio show and best-selling books. She has recently married long time boyfriend, Roger. Their honeymoon is disturbed when Roger discovers that Morgan is receiving threatening phone calls. The calls are from a deranged man who promises to kill Morgan for her crime of marrying another man. When pressed, she admits that the calls are from her ex-husband.... Who is dead. Despite that, the stalking and harassment intensifies. When she's attacked in her home, her husband investigates and discovers a startling truth.
Like most of the USA Network's “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” installments, “Beast in View” is a remake of an episode from the original series. In this case, one from the longer “Alfred Hitchcock Hour” season. Both versions are adapted from a novel by Margaret Miller. If adapting a whole novel in a thirty minute program sounds like a tall order, it clearly is. “Beast in View” barely has time to establish Morgan and Roger's relationship before introducing the threat of her stalker. Within a few scenes, she's already been pursued by a strange man at her book-signing. Normally, this would be the half-way point of the story, when the danger has escalated from theoretical to a physical. Instead, the episode heads right into the climax. Maybe that would be less of a problem if “Beast in View” didn't also have a crazy twist ending. One of those wild swerves that barely makes any sense and feels all the more abrupt when shoved in the final seconds of a rushed adaptation such as this.
Here is an episode of “The Addams Family” with a very special guest! “Lurch's Little Helper” begins with Gomez in another spirited round of cultural appropriation, playing samurai with Lurch. This comes around the same time as several other demands on the butler. Morticia begins to worry that they are putting too much pressure on the family butler. Rather than hire more help, Gomez' solution is to build Lurch an assistant. After a day in the basement with Fester, the duo has cooked up a robot named Smiley to help Lurch out. Lurch is told to take it easy for once, which confuses the butler at first. Soon, however, he is delegating all his work to Smiley the robot. The machine is not as talented, however, and the family starts to notice. They cook up a scheme to prove to Lurch how much they need him, by passive-agressively praising the robot and making the butler feel unloved.
The sixties was a different time, in many ways. This was especially true of television. In today's cynical, thoroughly self-aware world, pro-wrestling and the Muppets remain the sole domains of kayfabe. It is probably best that performers receive the proper credit and all that. At the same time, isn't the world a little more whimsical when we treat a robot like it's an actual actor? “Lurch's Little Helper” was part of a run of special guest appearances across multiple TV shows for Robby the Robot, “Forbidden Planet's” break-out mechanical star. This was after Robby appeared on “The Gale Storm Show,” “The Thin Man,” and in three episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” 1966 was a busy year for the machine, as he also had a memorable guest spot on “Lost in Space” around the same time. Despite his fame, “Smiley” is credited as “himself.” Perhaps this is because Robby notably does not speak with Marin Miller's distinctive voice.
Now, what about the episode itself? There are some ups and downs here. Ted Kennedy gets some amusing moments to himself, when Lurch is feeling suddenly self-conscious about his lack of activities around the house. As delightful as Robby the Robot's mere presence is, “Lurch's Little Helper' does get into a repetitive pattern too quickly. Someone in the family will ask the butler to do something. He'll then summon the machine to do it for him, the robot doing a less subtle and more painful job. This continues until the show returns to another premise it has been revisiting far too often. Namely, the family feeling the need to trick somebody into behaving a certain way, instead of simply talking it out. Ya know, actually watching this show made me realize that the original Addams Family were a little dysfunctional? That aside, I did laugh a few times, mostly at the silly little side gags. Such as Gomez and Thing playing tug-of-war or an unexpected sing-along session. Also was it just me or did Jackie Coogan sound a little hoarse here? Did Uncle Fester have a cold? [6/10]
The sixties was a different time, in many ways. This was especially true of television. In today's cynical, thoroughly self-aware world, pro-wrestling and the Muppets remain the sole domains of kayfabe. It is probably best that performers receive the proper credit and all that. At the same time, isn't the world a little more whimsical when we treat a robot like it's an actual actor? “Lurch's Little Helper” was part of a run of special guest appearances across multiple TV shows for Robby the Robot, “Forbidden Planet's” break-out mechanical star. This was after Robby appeared on “The Gale Storm Show,” “The Thin Man,” and in three episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” 1966 was a busy year for the machine, as he also had a memorable guest spot on “Lost in Space” around the same time. Despite his fame, “Smiley” is credited as “himself.” Perhaps this is because Robby notably does not speak with Marin Miller's distinctive voice.
