North by Northwest (1959)

Icebox Scenes in North by Northwest

Alfred Hitchcock is said to have formulated the principle of “fridge logic” when discussing the movie Vertigo (1958).  When asked about something in the movie that did not make sense, when Madeleine (Kim Novak) disappears from a hotel, he referred to it as an “icebox scene.”  The idea is that if there is an inconsistency or absurdity in a movie, but the viewer does not realize it until he gets home and starts pulling a piece of cold chicken out of the icebox for a snack, then the inconsistency or absurdity does not matter, because he has already enjoyed the movie.  Although as a historical matter, it is the movie Vertigo that is associated with this principle, North by Northwest exemplifies it like no other movie he ever made.

The first time we watch this movie, we experience it from the point of view of a man that gets mistaken for a government agent.  Although there are a few scenes that we see where the protagonist is not present, giving us a little extra information, we are pretty much in the dark about things as he is. But once we have seen the entire movie, it becomes possible to look at his situation objectively, or rather, from the point of view of the spies and the actual government agents.  It is then that we notice things that seem inexplicable.

When Hitchcock made that remark about fridge logic, people mostly watched a movie once and that was it. There was no cable television, no video cassettes, no DVDs, and no streaming.  An old movie might show up on television, on the Late Show, and a really good movie might be brought back to the theaters after several years, but that was something of an exception.  Today, it is not at all uncommon for people to watch movies several times, and this makes icebox scenes more problematic than previously. I have a friend who says he just can’t watch North by Northwest anymore because of all the stuff that doesn’t make any sense, and I confess that I have felt the same way at times.  And that’s a shame, for in other respects, this is one of the best movies Hitchcock ever made.

As a result, I set about the task of trying to rationalize the icebox scenes in this movie, and while I cannot say that I have been completely successful, I did manage to make it possible for me to watch the movie again and thoroughly enjoy it one more time.  The results of my efforts are presented here.  That being my purpose, I have decided that rather than start when the protagonist is introduced to us at the beginning of the movie, we should consider the relevant events in the order in which they occurred.

In addition to what is explicitly shown to us, it will be necessary during this analysis to provide information not depicted in the movie, but clearly implied by it, if we are to assume that there are rational explanations for any apprehensions we might have had while reaching for that piece of cold chicken.  This additional information will be contained in footnotes interpolated in the main text.

The Movie Rationalized

Phillip Vandamm (James Mason) is the head of a spy organization that smuggles government secrets out of the United States and delivers them to a foreign government overseas, presumably the Soviet Union.

Footnote 1:  The operation begins with an American traitor, who has access to classified information.  He photographs top-secret documents and puts them on microfilm. This traitor then turns these rolls of microfilm over a sculptor, who conceals them in small sculptures he has designed for just that purpose.  They are counterfeit items, the latest being made to look like a Tarascan Warrior.  The sculptor then passes these fake pieces of Pre-Columbian art on to an art dealer, who puts them up for auction. Posing as an art collector, Vandamm buys the sculptures at these auctions, which take place in various parts of the Northeast and the Midwest:  Pittsburg, Philadelphia, Boston, Detroit, Chicago, and New York. Then Vandamm takes the sculptures with him on flights to Europe from his private airport in South Dakota.

Footnote 2:  Vandamm’s personal secretary, Leonard (Martin Landau), thinks that all this business about buying counterfeit sculptures at art auctions is unnecessarily elaborate.  He says that the rolls of microfilm should be deposited in a drop, where he can then pick them up.  That way it can all be done in just one city, and fewer people will be involved. Vandamm says that’s just what the government agents would expect them to do.  So, while the government agents are busy trying to figure out where the drop is, Vandamm is free to buy the sculptures at auctions without arousing suspicion.

“The Professor” (Leo G. Carroll) works for the United States Intelligence Agency.  He is in charge of finding out how Vandamm obtains the secrets he is smuggling out of the country.  He has several subordinates working for him, including Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint), who is an undercover agent, working as Vandamm’s mistress.

Footnote 3:  It has never occurred to Eve or to the Professor that the secrets are on microfilm planted inside the sculptures that Vandamm routinely bids for at auctions.  They figure the microfilm is just left at a drop somewhere.

The Professor is worried that Vandamm may suspect Eve of being a government agent, so to mislead him on this matter, he decides to create a nonexistent decoy named George Kaplan.  He will be registered at various hotel rooms wherever Vandamm travels in order to participate in one of those auctions.  Clothes and sundries will be moved from hotel to hotel so that it will appear that there really is such an agent.

Footnote 4:  At the meeting when the Professor announces his scheme involving a nonexistent George Kaplan, one of his subordinates, a Miss Gleason, asks who will be responsible for registering in hotels and moving stuff from room to room.

“I thought I’d let that new guy, Clarence, take care of all that,” the Professor answers.

“In that case,” Miss Gleason asks, “why not just let Clarence pretend to be Kaplan?  That would certainly be simpler.  As long as he is going to have to register at the hotels, see to it that clothes and sundries are moved from one room to another, and book flights on trains and planes whenever Vandamm goes from one auction to another, we might just as well have Clarence stay in those hotel rooms as Kaplan. Furthermore,” Miss Gleason continues, “the whole point of this business of creating a fake agent named George Kaplan will be lost if the spies don’t know he supposedly exists. What better way to make sure the spies believe there is such an agent than to have Clarence be seen at those hotels, traveling on those trains and planes, and attending the various auctions that Vandamm goes to?”

The Professor points out that Clarence would then be entitled to some overtime pay if he did all that, and there just aren’t the funds available for that in this year’s budget.

Footnote 5:  Vandamm worries that he is suspected of being a spy.  He tells Leonard to find out if they are being followed around.  “Whenever we arrive in a city,” Vandamm tells Leonard, “check all the hotels in that city and see who registers in them around the same time. Then, when we travel to a new city, check all the hotels in that city to see who registers there.  Then compare the names on the first list with those on the second, and see if you can find a match.  If there is a match, then we’ll know he is a government agent assigned to my case.”

Leonard is appalled.  “Do you realize what that would entail?” he asks.  “Besides,” Leonard points out, “even if there is a match, the man could just be a genuine art collector, going to the same auctions you do.”

But Vandamm is adamant. After much effort on Leonard’s part, he reports back that there is a George Kaplan that seems to be following them around, and he is presently registered at the Plaza Hotel.

A couple of Vandamm’s henchmen, Valerian (Adam Williams) and Licht (Robert Ellenstein), go to the Plaza Hotel.  They have Kaplan paged.  By coincidence, Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant), a Madison Avenue advertising executive, calls the pageboy to his table in order to send a telegram to his mother.  The spies think he is Kaplan responding to the page for Kaplan, and they force him into a car and take him to the magnificent estate of Lester Townsend, a United Nations diplomat.

Footnote 6:  At the Townsend estate, Valerian is the gardener, and his wife Anna is the housekeeper. Whenever the United Nations is in session, Townsend stays in the city, and Valerian lets Vandamm know that Townsend will be gone for a while.  It’s at times like these that Vandamm likes to throw parties at Townsend’s house, where he pretends to be Townsend.  That way he can impress all the girls, who will then have sex with him because they think he is a big shot.  He even has his sister pretend to be his wife, although the real Mrs. Townsend died years ago.  Now, it was at one of those parties where Eve met Vandamm, and being suitably impressed by his apparent wealth and influence, she had sex with him.  She thought he was Townsend and was married, but you know how it is.  It often happens that a woman would rather have an affair with a married man who is rich and powerful, than have an unmarried man of modest means and position all to herself. It was subsequent to this that the Professor approached her, and told her that her lover was not the enormously wealthy and highly respected Lester Townsend, president of UNIPO, but only Phillip Vandamm, who was just a spy.  So, when the Professor said he needed her help to find out more about Vandamm’s operation, she agreed, partly out of a sense of patriotic duty, but mostly out of pique.

When Thornhill is brought inside Townsend’s house, they put him in the library.  When Vandamm enters, Thornhill naturally assumes that Vandamm is Townsend and refers to him as such.  In turn, Vandamm refers to Thornhill as Kaplan, even though Thornhill is taller than he expected.  Thornhill insists that he is not Kaplan.

Footnote 7:  Vandamm knows that if Thornhill really is Kaplan, then he, Kaplan, would know that Vandamm is not Townsend.  In that case, there would be no point in his pretending to be Townsend while they are alone in the library.  One might expect him to say, “Come off it, Kaplan.  You know I’m Phillip Vandamm.”  But deep down in Vandamm’s subconscious mind, he suspects that Thornhill is not Kaplan, and the whole thing is a mistake.  After all, Valerian and Licht had gained entry into what was supposedly Kaplan’s hotel room, where they had a look at his clothes, which were for a much shorter man. That’s why Vandamm wasn’t expecting someone tall like Thornhill.  And so, owing to these subliminal misgivings, he continues to pretend to be Townsend.

When Thornhill apparently refuses to talk about how much he supposedly knows about Vandamm’s operation, the spies force him to drink a lot of bourbon, put him in a Mercedes that belongs to one of the guests, and try to make it looks as though he was so drunk that he drove off a cliff.  The plan does not work.  There is an automobile accident involving a police car, and Thornhill is arrested.

Footnote 8:  Anna points out that they need to clean the couch where some of the liquor spilled. Otherwise, when Townsend returns, he will know that there have been shenanigans going on in his house while he was away.  Vandamm agrees, but he is worried about something else. If the man they tried to kill really is Kaplan, he will report to his superiors what happened.  Knowing that he has been identified, the Intelligence Agency will take him off the case and put someone else on it. Fine.  But deep down in his subconscious mind, Vandamm still suspects that Thornhill is not really Kaplan.  In that case, Thornhill will return the next day with the police.  So, they’d better have a cover story ready, just in case.

Thornhill does return the next day, not only with the local police, but also with his lawyer and his mother.  The fake Mrs. Townsend pretends that they have all been worried about “Roger,” especially since he was so drunk that he “borrowed” Laura’s Mercedes.

Footnote 9:  Since Thornhill did return with the police, his lawyer, and his mother, something a real intelligence agent would not do, this confirms Vandamm’s subconscious suspicions that he is not Kaplan. But Vandamm has something else on his mind instead. What if Thornhill goes to the United Nations and tells Townsend about the party?  They will be so busted!  So, he sends Valerian and Licht to apprehend Thornhill again.  If he goes to the United Nations, they are to kill Townsend so that no one will ever know about all the parties they’ve been throwing at his house.

The fake Mrs. Townsend mentioned that her husband would be addressing the General Assembly that afternoon.  Thornhill decides to go to the United Nations, hoping to resolve the issue with Townsend in a public place.  When he gets there, he discovers that the real Lester Townsend is not the man that he met the previous evening.  When he asks Townsend who all those people were having a big party in his house, there was nothing for Valerian to do but throw his switchblade stiletto into Townsend’s back.  Of course, that’s the last party Vandamm and his friends will be able to throw at the Townsend estate, so they pack up and leave for Chicago.

Because Thornhill is photographed holding the knife he removed from Townsend’s back, he now has the police looking for him, thinking he is guilty of murder.  He finds out from the Plaza Hotel that Kaplan is supposedly going to the Ambassador East, a hotel in Chicago.  Hoping to make contact with this George Kaplan so he can be cleared of this murder charge, he gets on a train heading for Chicago.  On that train, he meets Eve.  When a couple of police detectives board the train later on, she hides him in her compartment.  While he is in the lavatory, she gives the porter a note to give to Vandamm, who is also on the train, asking what to do with Kaplan/Thornhill in the morning.  In the meantime, she and Thornhill have sex.

After leaving the train, Thornhill, believing there really is a Kaplan, accepts Eve’s offer to call Kaplan for him at the Ambassador East.  She goes to a phone booth and starts talking to someone. In another phone booth, we see Leonard, to whom she is apparently speaking. We do not hear what they are saying. When she comes out of the phone booth, she tells Thornhill where he can meet Kaplan.

There is commentary for this movie on the DVD, provided by the screenwriter, Ernest Lehman.  He says that Hitchcock shut down production for a whole day just prior to filming the phone booth scene. He had a problem with that scene, but he couldn’t ask Lehman about it because Lehman was in Europe at the time. Lehman said that Hitchcock was bothered by the fact that Leonard would not have known the phone number of the booth Eve was in.  But since he didn’t have Lehman on the set to ask him about it, Hitchcock decided to let it go.

That was not the reason, although I have no doubt that Hitchcock pretended it was, while keeping the real reason to himself.  What undoubtedly bothered Hitchcock was that a seemingly impossible conversation takes place in the phone booths.  But since no one else on the set seemed to have realized this, he figured he could get away with it as greatest piece of fridge logic ever. To see this, we have to keep in mind that Thornhill does not know Eve is Vandamm’s mistress working undercover as a government agent. Furthermore, he believes Kaplan exists and wants to meet him. Leonard, on the other hand, thinks Thornhill is Kaplan. And Eve knows that there is no Kaplan.

Footnote 10:  Now, to be revealed for the first time ever, here is the conversation that took place in the phone booths:

Eve:  He says he wants me to call Kaplan and arrange a meeting.

Leonard: What are you talking about? He is Kaplan.

Eve: But that’s what he says.

Leonard: He must be on to you. After all, a government agent like Kaplan, who has been following us for months, would know that you are Phillip’s mistress.

Eve: So, what shall I do?

Leonard: Oh, what the heck!  Tell Kaplan you talked to Kaplan, and that Kaplan wants to meet him.  [He then gives Eve instructions as to where the meeting will take place.]

Eve gets off the phone and tells Thornhill where he can supposedly meet Kaplan. Then follows the famous crop-dusting scene.

Footnote 11:  It has been said that there are easier ways to kill someone than getting him out into the middle of an open prairie so that he can be shot with a sub-machine gun from a crop-dusting plane flying overhead.  But more to the point is the fact that Kaplan, if he really existed, would not want to meet himself. And if he did want to meet someone other than himself, he would not agree to meet him alone, unarmed, and in the middle of nowhere. Only if Thornhill is who he says he is, would he believe that Eve talked to Kaplan, and that Kaplan wants to meet him in this isolated place. In other words, when Thornhill gets off the bus at Prairie Stop, that confirms the subliminal suspicions in Vandamm’s subconscious mind that Thornhill is not Kaplan, and the whole thing has been a big mistake.  But Vandamm is distracted.  He is worried that when Eve and Thornhill had sex, it was so good that she wants more. As a result, he is too jealous to worry about whether Thornhill really is Kaplan or not.

Well, you know what happens after that.  There is a climactic scene at Mount Rushmore, where the spies are killed or captured.  Thornhill and Eve end up getting married, and they live happily ever after.

Footnote 12:  The American traitor who has been using Vandamm as a courier ends up having to find someone else to transport the rolls of microfilm out of the country.  Fortunately for him, Vandamm’s replacement is content to pick the microfilm up at a drop, thus obviating the need for all that convoluted nonsense about sculptures and auctions.

Hopefully, the information I provided in the footnotes has cleared up any fridge-logic concerns you may have had.

You Can’t Take It With You (1938)

You Can’t Take It with You is one of those movies that show how wonderful it is being a free spirit, defying convention, and living life to the full.  It is premised on the profound insight that a goddamn job won’t make you happy.  A movie of this sort, however, must overcome a difficulty.  There are basically only two ways to avoid work, either by being rich or by depending on others for support.  As most of those in the audience work for a living by holding down a regular job, they will have a tendency to resent those that do not.

As a rule, we do not resent the rich per se, but only the idle rich.  No matter how much money a man might have, as long as he can be thought of as working in some manner or other, his wealth does not disturb us.  We might even imagine that he works harder than we do, putting in hours far beyond the traditional forty-hour work week.  It is only the rich that make no pretense at all of working, either because they just laze about all day, or because they party hard all night, that make us acutely aware of the unfairness of it all.

An example of the idle rich may be found in the movie Auntie Mame (1958).  The title character, played by Rosalind Russell, is financially independent when the movie starts, and she is free to live an unconventional life.  Then she loses it all when the stock market crashes, forcing her to have to hold down a few jobs, none of which she is suited for.  But then a rich oil man, played by Forrest Tucker, falls in love with her and marries her.  Then he dies, leaving her all his money, allowing her to go back to living life to the full.  The movie has many more complications, and I haven’t even mentioned her nephew, but no matter.  You get the idea.  If you have enough money, you don’t have to work, and if you don’t have to work, you can do your own thing.  In praising nonconformity in this way, the movie is essentially telling us we ought to be rich, as if we never thought of that before.  She clearly has advantages the rest of us don’t have, and she even looks down her nose at those who are not fortunate enough to be rich, saying, “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!”

As for the freeloader, who depends on others for his support, it’s bad enough that we have to work while he does not, which is sufficient to cause resentment all by itself, but he does so at our expense.

An example of the freeloader is Uncle Murray in A Thousand Clowns (1965), played by Jason Robards.  He ridicules all the people in the city that go to work every day, while he collects unemployment checks, which are funded through the taxes paid by those that employ the very people he has contempt for.

Both Auntie Mame and Uncle Murray have a nephew.  It was important that the young relative in each case be a nephew rather than a child of their own.  We would look askance at someone who got married, had a child, and then decided to enjoy living unconventionally.  Once you have decided to have children, your days of being a free spirit are over.  But both Auntie Mame and Uncle Murray had custody of a nephew thrust upon them, so we can hardly blame them if they try to combine their duties as a guardian with their refusal to conform to the norms of respectability.

It was also important in each case that the young relative be a nephew rather than a niece.  A teenage boy exposed to such disregard for convention is no cause for alarm.  But the audience might have misgivings about letting a girl grow up in that environment, for there is the sense that girls need more protection and care than boys.

You Can’t Take It with You attempts to steer clear of either the Auntie Mame or the Uncle Murray solution to avoiding work as ordinarily understood.  It does so with limited success.  In fact, the difference between the movie and the play on which it is based is evidence of the tension that arises in trying to go between the horns of that dilemma.  First we’ll examine the movie, and then we’ll consider the play; because more people have seen the former than the latter.

The Movie

The movie begins on Wall Street, where Anthony P. Kirby (Edward Arnold) arrives in his chauffeur-driven, Rolls Royce limousine in front of a building with a plaque on it displaying the words “Kirby and Company.”  He has just returned from a trip to Washington, D.C., where he testified before the “Securities Commission.”  He is serious and abrupt as he moves with brisk determination into the elevator, on his way to his office on the top floor, where people are waiting, as per his instructions by telegram.  He takes a minute to greet his son Tony (James Stewart), whom he has recently made vice president in the firm, telling him he almost sent for him because he might have liked the White House.  Before getting down to business, he orders a bicarbonate of soda on account of digestion problems he has.  He is one of the industrious rich, the opposite of the idle rich referred to above.

He tells his associates that there will be no interference “from the powers that be.”  The way is clear for Kirby and Company to become the “largest individual monopoly in the world,” controlling “every type of war material.”  He continues, saying, “With the world going crazy, the next big move is munitions.  And Kirby and Company will cash in on it.”  One of his subordinates comments with wry amusement, “A war wouldn’t be possible anywhere without us.”

Because it can be a challenge to make the audience sympathize with characters in a movie that flout the work ethic, those that do believe in work are often portrayed as being unlikable, making it impossible to identify with them.  By default, we are forced to side with the ones that don’t want to work.  That is what is going on here.

Anyway, the only thing standing in Kirby’s way to having a complete monopoly in war material is a man referred to as Ramsey.  He owns factories that make bombs and bullets, and he refuses to allow his business to be absorbed by Kirby and Company.  But Kirby has been buying up all the property surrounding these factories, twelve blocks worth.  Once he owns it all, Ramsey won’t be able to sell his munitions because he won’t be able to move stuff in and out of the factories.  He’ll have to sell out to Kirby.  I don’t suppose I have to mention that this is absurd.  Just because you own the all the property in a neighborhood, that doesn’t mean you own the streets.  But this a Frank Capra movie, and his movies are full of nonsense like this.

The only thing holding up Kirby’s scheme to buy up all the surrounding property is Martin “Grandpa” Vanderhof (Lionel Barrymore), who refuses to sell.  Kirby’s real estate agent Blakely tells him Vanderhof’s house is only worth $25,000.  (Adjusted for inflation, the house is worth over $450,000 in today’s dollars.)  He says he’s offered him $50,000, but he still won’t sell.  His associate, Mr. Hughes, says Vanderhof isn’t interested in money.

When Blakely is informed by a receptionist that Vanderhof has arrived, Hughes asks, “How did you get him to come here?”  We never get an answer to that question.  But while Vanderhof is just standing around, he goes over to a Mr. Poppins (Donald Meek), who is busy adding columns of figures.  Vanderhof asks him why he is doing that, and if he wouldn’t rather be doing something else.  Poppins admits he likes to invent toys, and he surreptitiously shows Vanderhof a bunny that rises out of a hat and then drops back down while music plays.  Vanderhof says that is what Poppins should be doing all the time.  Poppins says, “Some day I am going to do nothing else.  Some day, when my ship comes in.”  Vanderhof invites him to quit his job, come live at his house, which is full of people who just do what they want to do.  There he could work on his gadgets.

And now Poppins asks the big question, the question that hangs over this movie:  “But how would I live?”  Vanderhof answers, “The same way we do.”  Poppins persists, “Well, who takes care of you?”  Vanderhof replies, “The same one that takes care of the lilies of the fields, Mr. Poppins.”  This is an allusion to Matthew 6:28, which is part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus tells his listeners not to worry about food and clothing, for the Lord will provide.

Blakely interrupts all this, offering Vanderhof a check for $100,000 for his house.  That’s over $1,800,000, adjusted for inflation.  Even if we stick with that original estimate of $25,000, which is, to repeat, over $450,000, adjusted for inflation, we must admit that it sure was nice of God to have provided the Vanderhof family with such an expensive house.  Anyway, Vanderhof shows no interest in the offer, telling Blakely that his eye twitch would probably go away if he took a vacation and went fishing.  Then he leaves, with Poppins chasing after him, having decided to become a lily.

When they arrive home, Poppins is introduced to the rest of the household.  There is “Grandpa” Vanderhof’s daughter Penny, who writes plays, and her husband Paul, who works on fireworks in the basement with a Mr. De Pinna, who used to be their iceman, but chose to become a lily too some nine years earlier.  There is Penny’s daughter Essie (Ann Miller), who makes and candy.  She is married to Ed (Dub Taylor), who delivers her candy to customers.  He also plays the xylophone and likes to print stuff up on his printing press.  Essie takes ballet lessons from a Russian named Kolenkhov.

I noted above that it was important that neither Auntie Mame nor Uncle Murray had a son, but were responsible only for a nephew.  In this case, Grandpa has a daughter, but she is in her early fifties.  In fact, there are no young children in the house at all.  Had there been, say, a fourteen-year-old girl living in that house, the audience might not have been so accepting of the environment she was being raised in.

Jesus didn’t say anything about God providing servants to cook and clean for you, but the lilies in this household have Rheba, a black woman, who is their cook and maid.  After all, being able to do just what you want to do does not include having to cook your own meals and clean your own house.  Fortunately for the white folks in the house, the Rheba hasn’t picked up yet on the idea that she should just do whatever she wants, otherwise she might forget about cooking and cleaning and just play the banjo.

Rheba is engaged to Donald (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson), who is on relief.  Now, we’ve already had one explanation as to how the members of this family can get along without having a real job, which is that the Lord will provide.  But Donald has a more realistic solution, which is to live on the government dole.  “I ain’t done nothing,” he says, “but I’m sure tired,” to which Rheba replies, “You was born tired.”  In the play, he complains that every week he has to stand in line for half an hour in order to get his relief check.  He thinks the government ought to be run better than that, because waiting in line like that breaks up his whole week.

Most of those in the Vanderhof house could apply for relief, if they had a mind to, but they are white.  As noted above, people don’t like freeloaders, those that are able to avoid work only because they are being supported by others, in this case, ordinary taxpayers.  The movie allows this for Donald because he is black, since the audience of 1938 expected no better from the “colored folks.”  He provides a little humor as the shiftless “coon.”  Had the white people in the house been on relief and having a good time at the expense of those that work for a living, people in the audience would not have been amused.

Of course, if this movie were made today, Donald would have to be white.  Having one white guy in this household depicted as being a lazy, welfare cheat could be funny.  But cast an African American in that role today, and the audience would definitely not be amused.  Rheba could remain black, since it is almost obligatory to have a miscegenous couple in a movie like this nowadays.  And while we are at it, I suppose it would be better to have Essie be a man, so that he and Ed could be the gay couple.  But I digress.

There is one more member of the Vanderhof family yet to be mentioned, and that is Essie’s sister Alice (Jean Arthur).  She is Tony’s secretary.  They are in love and want to get married.  We learn from Alice that “Grandpa” Vanderhof used to have a regular job, but one day he quit.  (In the play, it says that Grandpa is seventy-five years old, and he quit that job thirty-five years ago.)  He could have been rich, she says, but he wasn’t having any fun.  After he quit his job, he started collecting stamps.  He’s now an expert, she says, and he gets paid to appraise collections.

In addition to this source of income, there are hints, here and there, that the activities pursued by others in the house also bring in some money, though we have to wonder how much.  Paul and De Pinna sell their fireworks on the Fourth of July.  Essie makes and sells candy, but she doesn’t want to open a shop, because it would interfere with her ballet lessons, the cost of which may well offset whatever revenue she brings in from selling candy.  Penny writes plays, but we don’t hear about any of them having been performed on stage.  At one point, Ed remarks that his income from the previous year was $85.  Adjusted for inflation, that would be just over $1,500 today.

Adding it all up, we find it hard to believe that enough money is brought in to pay the bills, although that is more believable than the idea that God will provide for them like the lilies in the field.  As noted above, however, Alice is a secretary.  And while her income does not seem as though it would be enough to support the rest of her family, the movie would collapse without her.  While her relatives are engaging in activities that just look like hobbies, we are able to suspend disbelief and convince ourselves that they do bring in a little income with their stamps, plays, candy, and firecrackers, but only as long as Alice is there as the fundamental breadwinner.  But now the movie is teetering on making the rest of the family look like freeloaders, taking advantage of someone that works for a living.

When Tony and Alice are on a date, she tells him about how wonderful Grandpa is with his philosophy of just doing what you want to do, which is a whole lot more fun than holding down a job.  With feelings of regret, Tony tells of how in college he and a friend of his dreamed of figuring out how photosynthesis works, although no one in a Frank Capra movie would ever use a fancy word like that.  But then they graduated, and now his friend is selling cars while Tony has ended up being a banker.  He also mentions that his friend’s wife just had a baby, which as noted above, forecloses a lot of options when it comes to doing what you want rather than holding down a job.  Neither of them is very happy, but neither of them has the courage to do what Grandpa Vanderhof says they should.  But while this conversation is going on, we keep waiting for Tony to ask Alice, “So, why don’t you do what you want to do instead of being a secretary?”  But neither Tony nor anyone else in the movie asks her that question.  I might more easily believe that Mr. Kirby enjoys the prospect of becoming a war profiteer than I could ever believe that Alice is a secretary because that is what she loves doing more than anything else, because it’s so much fun.

Speaking of income, an Internal Revenue Agent shows up one night to talk to Vanderhof, because their records show that he hasn’t filed an income tax return for twenty-two years.  A ridiculous argument ensues between the two, in which Vanderhof says he hasn’t paid his taxes because he doesn’t believe in them.  He doesn’t think he would be getting anything from the government that he cares about.  The Internal Revenue Agent is flustered, as if the IRS has never come up against someone like that before.  After the agent leaves, Tony, who has arrived halfway through this conversation, tells Vanderhof that he might get into trouble for not paying his taxes.  Vanderhof allays his fears, saying, “No, not me. I was only having fun with him.  I don’t owe the government a cent.”  So, it looks as though appraising stamp collections is not as remunerative as Alice led us to believe.

Because selling fireworks on the Fourth of July would not bring in much income for the entire year, Poppins suggests promoting the Russian revolution as an occasion for celebrating with fireworks.  Ed says he can print up flyers to go in the boxes of candy that Essie sells, saying, “Watch for the Revolution.  It’s coming soon” and “Get your Red Flag from Sycamore.”  “Sycamore” is Paul’s last name.

Because Alice is just a secretary, Mrs. Kirby disapproves of her son’s plans to marry her.  She is such a snob that she makes Mr. Kirby seem like a halfway decent fellow.  As a result, Tony and Alice decide that the two families should meet to see if they will get along.

At this point, the Kirby’s are not aware that Alice’s family lives in the house that Mr. Kirby wants to buy, nor are those in the Vanderhof home aware that it is Mr. Kirby that is trying to buy their house.  Grandpa tells Alice that he doesn’t want to give up the house because it reminds him of Grandma, who still seems to have a presence there.  Moreover, when Grandpa goes outside to give the neighborhood children some of Essie’s candy, his neighbors tell him that their landlords have already agreed to sell their property if Grandpa does, the result being that they will be forced to leave their businesses and homes.  Grandpa assures them that he will not sell.

Anyway, the two families need to meet, but instead of bringing his parents over for dinner on the night he and Alice planned, Tony purposely pretends he got mixed up on the night of the dinner, bringing them over the night before.  His idea is so that his parents can see Alice’s family as they really are.  It is a disaster.  It looks as though the wedding is off.  But before the Kirby’s can leave in a huff, G-men come in through the door to arrest Ed for advocating an overthrow of the government with those flyers he’s been printing up.  While they are trying to explain that it’s all just to sell fireworks, those same fireworks accidentally go off in the basement, and everyone, including the Kirbys, are taken to jail.

The all end up in night court.  Mr. Kirby has four high-priced lawyers defending him, but the courtroom is packed with Grandpa’s friends.  Mr. Kirby begins to have doubts, to wonder if Grandpa is right, that it is more important to have friends than money, because you can’t take it with you.  Of course, it is one thing to tell Mr. Kirby, who is a man of great wealth, that he should retire and start having fun.  If he does so, he will simply be like Auntie Mame, someone who is able to be a free spirit because he is rich.  But you have to have enough money to pay the bills before you can spout that philosophy, which we haven’t yet convinced ourselves is true of Grandpa and his family.

As a result of the hearing in night court, Alice becomes fed up with Tony and his family.  She breaks off the engagement, quits her job, and leaves town, saying she just has to get away from it all.  Tony comes over to the Vanderhof house, trying to find out where she went, but they won’t tell him.  Everyone is sitting around moping.  I know I’m being a butt about this, but I couldn’t help thinking that they were depressed because their chief source of income had disappeared right along with the person that used to provide it.  Why, they might even have to get rid of the maid and start cooking their own food and cleaning up after themselves!

They get a letter from Alice saying how much she misses them, so Grandpa decides to sell the house and move everyone to where Alice is so they can all be together again.  It’s a sad situation, on account of the memories of Grandma and the situation regarding the neighbors, but it has to be done.  Once Mr. Kirby owns the house, he puts the final squeeze on Ramsey, bankrupting him, financially and emotionally.  After telling Mr. Kirby that he will die a cold and lonely death, Ramsey collapses and dies of a heart attack.

As a result, Mr. Kirby realizes Grandpa is right and sells the house back to him, which is fine with Grandpa, since Alice has returned and agreed to marry Tony.  Even Mrs. Kirby shows signs of coming around to the idea.  They are now one big happy family.

The Play

You know all that stuff about Mr. Kirby wanting to become a war profiteer with monopolistic power, trying to force Ramsey to sell by buying up all the property around his factories, but Grandpa Vanderhof doesn’t want to sell because he can feel Grandma’s presence, and how the neighbors are depending on him not to sell so they can continue to have homes and businesses in the neighborhood, but he decides to sell anyway so they can live with Alice?  None of that is in the play.

All three acts of this play are set in the Vanderhof house.  Act I is the night that the Internal Revenue Agent comes over, after which Tony arrives to take Alice out on a date.  As we are introduced to the household, there are the same hints that they might make some money selling candy and fireworks, but we have the same misgivings as to whether they provide enough income to pay the bills.  Instead of the $85 Ed made last year in the movie, in the play his income for the previous year is even less, $28.50.  Adjusted for inflation, that is like $525 today.  We learn that Grandpa likes to collect stamps, but there is no indication that he makes money appraising stamp collections.  What he really likes to collect are snakes, but there is no suggestion of any income resulting from that hobby.  It is Donald’s job to collect flies and bring them with him to feed the snakes when he comes to see Rheba.  So, once again we figure that Alice must be the principal breadwinner of this family, especially since there is no reference to the “lilies of the field” or the notion that the Lord will provide, aside from some routine remarks thanking God for their good fortune when Grandpa says grace.

Act II is the night that Tony, accidentally on purpose, brings his parents over to meet Alice’s family.  Before they arrive, De Pinna comments on how surprising it is that he came to this house eight years ago to deliver the ice, saw what was going on, quit his job, and has been living there ever since.  Grandpa remarks that the milkman did the same thing for five years before that.  When he passed away, however, they had trouble getting a death certificate for him, so they just buried him under Grandpa’s name, Martin Vanderhof.  More on this later.

In reading the play after having seen the movie, we find it surprising to see that the Kirby’s are really not so bad.  As already noted, Mr. Kirby is not aspiring to be a monopolistic, war profiteer.  As for Mrs. Kirby, she does not come across as the disapproving snob that she was in the movie.  They are what you would expect from a bank president and his wife:  perhaps a little stuffy, perhaps a little superior in their attitudes, but not the caricatures depicted in the movie.  To a certain extent, we sympathize with them.  We are supposed to be delighted by this crazy household, when in reality, none of us could stand being in that living room for more than a few minutes.

When Mrs. Kirby says she is into spiritualism, Penny insults her by saying it is fake and that believing in it is silly.  Then Kolenkhov demonstrates his wrestling skills by throwing Mr. Kirby to the ground, breaking his glasses.  These two incidents were in the movie, but there the Kirby’s seemed to deserve this ill treatment.  Here, we can almost admire the Kirby’s for their restraint.  Then Penny insists on playing one of those games that can embarrass people by getting them to reveal things that are personal.  I refuse to play such games myself, but the Kirbys go along with it, much to their regret.  After that, they politely try to excuse themselves and leave.  I can’t say that I blame them.

At this point, the G-men enter the house, looking for Ed, on account of the circulars he has been putting in boxes of Essie’s candy.  Only in the play, the circulars say things quite different from that in the movie:  “Dynamite the Capitol,” “Dynamite the White House,” “Dynamite the Supreme Court,” and “God is the State; the State is God.”  This last is often attributed to Trotsky.

In the movie, we thought the G-men were silly for getting all excited about circulars that said things like “Watch for the Revolution.  It’s coming soon.”  But distributing circulars like those printed up by Ed in the play would be a criminal act, and we would expect the government to take them seriously.  Moreover, when the G-men find a basement full of gunpowder, they reasonably suspect that the men down there were planning on blowing up those government buildings mentioned in the circulars.

As a matter of fact, the play is full of references to the Russian revolution and communism that were minimized in the movie.  Kolenkhov is always talking about how terrible things have been in Russia since the revolution, sneering at the Five-Year Plans.  Like himself and his friend, the Grand Duchess Olga Katrina, cousin to the Czar, she and others had to flee Russia, especially when Stalin rose to power.  She is now reduced to working in a restaurant where the manager does not like her because he is a communist.

In reading the play, therefore, we can’t help but wonder if there is a political message underlying it all, with the Kirbys representing capitalism, and the Vanderhof family representing communism.  In Act III, on the day after they have all been released from jail, Mr. Kirby tells Grandpa that he is opposed to the marriage because Grandpa’s philosophy is un-American, and he does not want Tony to come under its influence.  When Tony asks what is wrong with Grandpa’s philosophy, Mr. Kirby answers, “Matter with it?  Why it’s—it’s downright Communism, that’s what it is.”

Consider Karl Marx’s slogan, “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.”  Now, it was part of Marx’s theory that the state would eventually wither away.  In such a world, there would be no one to tell the individual what he should do.  As a result, his “ability” would naturally express itself in an activity he found congenial.  Are not those making up the Vanderhof household members of a commune, one in which each person is acting according to his ability in some endeavor he enjoys?

Mr. Kirby’s assertion that Grandpa’s philosophy is un-American because it is communism is not in the movie.  Instead, we have a scene in which Grandpa makes a suggestion as to what kind of play Penny should write:

Why don’t you write a play about “ism” mania?…  You know, communism, fascism, voodooism.  Everybody’s got an “ism” these days….  When things go a little bad nowadays, you go out and get yourself an “ism,” and you’re in business.

Penny says that it might help one of the characters in her plays to have an “ism.”  Grandpa agrees:

Yes, it might at that.  Only give her Americanism.  Let her know something about Americans:  John Paul Jones, Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams, Washington, Jefferson, Monroe, Lincoln, Grant, Lee, Edison, and Mark Twain.

Needless to say, Lee’s name would be left off this list if the movie were remade today.  It was probably put there to appeal to Southern audiences.  But Grandpa is just getting started:

When things got tough with those boys, they didn’t run around looking for “isms.”  Lincoln said, “With malice toward none, with charity for all.”  Nowadays they say, “Think the way I do, or I’ll bomb the daylights out of you.”

Well, isn’t that nice?  More soldiers died in the Civil War, over which Lincoln presided, than in any other war in America’s history.  In fact, the number of men that died in the Civil War is just slightly exceeded by the total number of deaths in all the other wars America has fought combined.  And since it was a war in which Americans fought one another, you might say that it was the most American war of all, the one most representative of “Americanism.”  But to hear Grandpa tell it, it is only recently that people have decided to go to war with those they disagree with.  And it’s all because of those “isms.”  In other words, any notion that the Vanderhof household is un-American and represents communism has been squelched by this revisionist spiel.

In the end, Tony admits that he read some of the letters Mr. Kirby wrote to his father in which Mr. Kirby wanted to be a trapeze artist.  Later on, Mr. Kirby wanted to play the saxophone, but he says his father knocked those silly notions out of him.  Tony says he is not going to let that happen to him, so he’s quitting his job at the bank.  Grandpa makes Mr. Kirby realize that he hasn’t been happy working on Wall Street all these years.  As a result, Mr. Kirby no longer disapproves of the marriage, and he agrees to stay for dinner to get to know Alice’s family better.

All right, so where are we now?  As noted above, there is no talk about the lilies of the field in this play, of the notion that somehow the Lord will provide.  And we still find it hard to believe that the hobbies of that Vanderhof family bring in enough money to pay the bills.  Moreover, now that Tony and Alice will be getting married, she will be moving out of that house, so no longer will her salary as a secretary be contributing to the support of the rest of them.  In fact, she has already quit that job.

The solution to this mystery is provided early in the play, but in the chaos taking place in the Vanderhof living room at that moment, it tends to get lost.  The ridiculous argument between Grandpa and the Internal Revenue Agent is just like the one in the movie with one notable omission.  Instead of Grandpa telling Tony later on that he doesn’t owe the government a cent, Grandpa admits to the Internal Revenue Agent that he owns “property,” though we are not told what sort.  It might be real estate, stocks, bonds—we just don’t know.  But the income from that property, which he has been receiving for thirty-five years, since 1901, has amounted to between $3,000 and $4,000 per year.

Let’s take the average, $3,500.  Adjusted for inflation, that amounts to about $66,000 per year.  Since no taxes have been paid on any of this money, it is the equivalent of having $66,000 per year in after-tax income.  Let us assume that this income represents a 5% return on the property that generates it.  That means the property is worth $1,320,000.  Combine that with the value of his house, adjusted for inflation, and Grandpa has a net worth of $1,770,000.  Now, we don’t know why Grandpa only acquired this income-producing property in the same year that he quit his job, but we’ll set that aside.  The point is that Grandpa has moved into the Auntie Mame category, someone who can be a free spirit because he has the wherewithal to afford it.  And the rest of the family, Alice aside, are like Uncle Murray, freeloading off Grandpa and Alice.

It is understandable why this was omitted from the movie.  All of Grandpa’s philosophy strikes us as facile when we become aware of his income and net worth.  Better to let us imagine that the members of Grandpa’s family are like the lilies of the field, eking out a living from their hobbies, as unrealistic as that might be, than to find out that money can buy happiness after all.

But will Grandpa be in trouble now that the IRS is wise to him, forcing him to pay back taxes with penalties?  Remember that contrived story about the milkman they buried using Grandpa’s name, Martin Vanderhof.  Well, Grandpa provided the IRS with a death certificate with his name on it, telling them he was only Martin Vanderhof, Jr.  So, as far as the IRS is concerned, Vanderhof’s debt to the Treasury Department died with him.  In fact, Grandpa says the IRS has even decided he is due a refund.  Mr. Kirby wants to know how he managed to pull that off, presumably hoping to evade taxes himself.  I’m not sure what the IRS will do when they see that the supposedly deceased Martin Vanderhof is still receiving that income from his property in the years to come, but that will be after the play has ended, and the audience has gone home, after which such implications fade away.

I suppose it might be argued that the Production Code required this change when the play was turned into a movie, since it forbade allowing criminals to get away with breaking the law and living happily ever after.  But if that were all, the movie could have had Grandpa agree to pay the back taxes.  The real reason for the change is to avoid having us find out that when Grandpa says, “You can’t take it with you,” he actually has plenty of it to leave behind.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, 1978, etc.)

When Dr. Miles Bennell (Kevin McCarthy) returns home to Santa Mira in Invasion of the BodySnatchers (1956), he finds that a lot of his patients are worried about family members who no longer seem to be themselves.  Eventually, it turns out that the town has been invaded by a form of plant life from another planet.  The seeds grow into pods that take the form of anyone who goes to sleep in their vicinity.  These pod replacements, being plants, have no emotions, which is why they seem to be strange to their family members.

After a while, everybody in town has been replaced by a pod except Miles and Becky Driscoll (Dana Wynter), the woman he loves.  When she gets taken over by a pod, he runs out onto the highway leading out of town, where he discovers a truck leaving Santa Mira full of pods, which will soon be taking over the rest of the world.  Miles runs down the highway screaming, “You’re next!  You’re next!”  That ending was considered too bleak, and so a frame story was added, in which Miles is picked up and interrogated by people who think he is crazy.  Eventually they believe him, and as the movie ends, we have the sense that the federal government will be brought in to stop the pods.

Critics debate whether this movie is an allegory for communism or the communist witch hunts. In other words, are the pod people supposed to be like communists or like the members of the House Committee on Un-American Activities? My own reaction to this movie, which I saw when I was ten years old, leaves me with no doubt. I was born in 1946, and in the 1950s I heard people talk about communists, and I saw shows on television dramatizing the dangers of communism. Essentially, communists were depicted as being cold and unfeeling, driven only by their ideology of world domination. This attitude is somewhat parodied in The Manchurian Candidate (1962), when the communist Dr. Yen Lo refers to guilt and fear as being peculiar American inventions, implying that communists are unencumbered by such emotions. Of course, that movie came much later. In any event, I was too young at the age of ten to say to myself, “These pod people are just like communists, because they have no emotions, and they want to take over the world.” But I know I immediately sensed the similarity between the pod people and what I had been told about communists.

Unfortunately, as good as this movie is, it has a big plot hole.  At first, a pod takes on the form of any person it is near when that person goes to sleep, duplicating everything but his emotions. The first time we see one of these pods in action is when Miles and Becky are called over to the house of some friends of theirs, Jack (King Donovan) and Teddy (Carolyn Jones).  They show Miles and Becky an unformed man lying on the pool table.  Ominously, it seems to be similar to Jack in height and weight.  Jack cuts himself when Teddy points this out.  Later, they fall asleep.  When they wake up, the “man” on the pool table has a cut in the same place on his hand.  In other words, it takes a long time for the pods to fully develop, and even when Jack falls asleep, he is still Jack.  We get the impression that a full night’s sleep is needed for the duplication process to be completed.

We never find out what happens to a person after he has been duplicated. Presumably he is killed and his body disposed of. But by the end of the movie, the presence of a pod no longer seems necessary, and the person himself is altered merely by sleeping instead of being replaced by a duplicate. Neither Miles nor Becky has slept near a pod, so no duplicate has been formed. Actually, a duplicate of Becky got started but never had a chance to be completed, and some later duplicates were destroyed by Miles.  In any event, when Becky does finally fall asleep near the end of the movie, there is no pod nearby. Moreover, she only falls asleep for a few minutes, whereas we saw earlier in the movie that it took hours for a duplicate to form. And yet, she is completely transformed. Furthermore, even if there were a pod nearby, the duplicate would not have had the time to take Becky’s clothes off her and put them on itself. Finally, when we return to the frame story where Miles has finished his narration, we are left with the sense that once he falls asleep, he is doomed. But again, there is no pod nearby, so there is no reason to think that his going to sleep will do anything.

The 1978 remake tries to justify its existence by filling in some of the plot holes in the 1956 original, but with mixed results.  When Matthew (Donald Sutherland) leaves Elizabeth (Brooke Adams) for just a few minutes, same as Miles left Becky, Elizabeth is transformed, but only because there was a pod nearby.  And when the transformation is complete, she crumbles into dust, while her naked duplicate stands up and takes over.  So, we have to give this remake two points for explaining what happens to the original body and not confusing the idea that a person is duplicated during sleep with the idea that a person is transformed during sleep.  On the other hand, we have to deduct a point for failing, like the original, to be consistent as to the amount of time needed for the duplication to take place.  At the end, Elizabeth has only been asleep for a few minutes before she has been completely duplicated by a pod.  Earlier in the movie, she had been asleep for the better part of an hour, and yet the pod her boyfriend placed near her still had not finished duplicating her.  Other scenes also indicated a lengthier time period for full duplication.

The 1978 version cannot help but be self-aware, because most people watching it had seen the original.  So, it is amusing to see Kevin McCarthy running down the street, yelling, “You’re next!”  And we have to smile when Nancy (Veronica Cartwright) plays music for her plants, because, she says, “Plants have feelings, you know, just like people.”

Speaking of Nancy, she is the last one that is still human at the end of the movie.  Because she also seems to be the least intelligent of the principal characters we have been following, we despair of her being able to stop the pods.  So the original downbeat ending of the 1956 version is preserved, more or less.

All things considered, the original is the best version by far, and that is mostly because of the stark contrast between the way people are before and after they have slept near a pod. The town of Santa Mira is full of friendly people. We see how warm and loving they are, and so when they are taken over by pods and become cold and indifferent, we experience a feeling of loss. In the 1978 remake, when Elizabeth tells Matthew that Geoffrey, the man she is living with, is different from the way he usually is, Matthew replies, “That can only be an improvement.”  That’s a joke, but you could actually say that about most of the characters in this movie, including Matthew himself, because so many of them are unlikable to begin with. Halfway through the movie, I was pulling for the pods.

In fact, the world itself seems to be a less desirable place to live, if for no other reason than the emphasis that is put on the ugly side of life.  For example, at one point, Matthew and Elizabeth pass by some theaters featuring live sex on stage.  In an earlier scene, Matthew, who works for the Health Department, enters a restaurant to do an inspection, wherein he finds a “rat turd” in the sauce, which he holds up in front of the manager and defies him to eat it.  Do we really need this?  The Production Code would not have allowed such a scene in 1956, of course, but that aside, this sort of thing would have been unthinkable in the original.

In Body Snatchers (1993), this remake is set on an army base. So, people walk around mindlessly obeying orders without any emotion, and then when they get taken over by a pod, they walk around mindlessly obeying orders without any emotion.  By the time we see The Invasion (2007), we realize that the only duplicates we fear are the remakes.

The novel on which the first version of this movie was based had an interesting ending. I haven’t read it in a long time, but the way I remember it, Becky and Miles are running away from a mob of pod people, just as in the movie. But when they come to the field where all the pods are growing, Miles uses gasoline to start a fire, which completely destroys the entire crop. When the mob of pod people see what happened, they realize their plans of replacing more humans with duplicates are ruined. Because they have no emotions, they are not angry and do not avenge themselves on Becky and Miles. Instead, they just turn around and walk back home. At the end of the book, Miles says that the population of Santa Mira is slowly declining, and if you ever happen to pass through that town, you will find that the people who live there are not very friendly.

“I Confess” (1953)

Alfred Hitchcock and Religion Don’t Mix

Critics often comment on the influence that a Catholic upbringing had on Alfred Hitchcock. Something to do with fear and guilt.  Granted that this is correct, it seems that this influence resulted in many good movies being produced.  Paradoxically, however, this applies only to the movies that had nothing to do with religion.  Of the two movies where religion was involved, the results were inferior.  In the case of 
The Wrong Man (1956), a miracle occurs which saves the protagonist at the expense of the movie.

In the other religious movie by Hitchcock, “I Confess” (1953), no miracle occurs, but the story is about a priest.  As we watch this movie, we cannot help but wonder if Hitchcock’s Catholic upbringing constrained his treatment of this protagonist.  Of course, we cannot be sure about this, for Warner Bros. and the Hays Office also put limits on Hitchcock’s treatment of a man of the cloth.

The original source for this movie was Nos Deux Consciences, a French play produced in 1902, in which a priest hears a confession about the murder of another priest.  Then he is accused of committing the murder himself, but cannot tell who the real killer is on account of the sacramental seal of the confessional.  He is convicted and sentenced to die by guillotine.  After he gets his head chopped off, they discover that he was innocent.

According to commentary on the DVD, Hitchcock wanted the priest to be executed in the end, just as in the play, but Joseph Breen of the Hays Office would not allow it.  But even in small ways, the story as presented in the movie comes across as inhibited.  For one thing, it is lacking in humor.  In a lot of Hitchcock’s movies, there is some comic relief, often provided by the protagonist.  But the priest in this movie is mirthless.  The only thing that counts for humor is weak:  another priest keeps bringing his bicycle into the rectory, leaning it up against a wall, after which it falls over.  This is so not-funny that it would have been better to leave it out completely.

There Is No Sex in This Movie

The movie involves a flashback, but an analysis of the film might proceed more smoothly if we consider the events as they occurred chronologically.  The setting is Québec just before the outbreak of World War II. Michael Logan (Montgomery Clift) and Ruth (Anne Baxter) are a young couple.  As told by Ruth in the flashback, she is very much in love with with Michael, who she says loves her.  But we never actually hear Michael tell Ruth that he loves her.  On the DVD commentary, this flashback is compared to the one in Stage Fright (1950), a Hitchcock film in which the story told in a flashback turns out not to be true, a lying flashback, the first ever to take place in a movie. Apparently, François Truffaut thought the flashback in ”I Confess” was also a lying flashback, for it tells of what happened from the dreamy perspective of a young woman in love, without giving us any direct insight into what Michael is actually thinking and feeling.

With the outbreak of the war, Michael enlists, something Ruth wishes he had not done. He refuses to marry her, saying that there are too many widows already.  There is something a little detestable about a man who does exactly what he wants to do, and then tells the woman that he is doing it for her benefit.  In any event, compared to all the movies we have seen where couples, desperately in love, get married just before the man is sent off to fight a war, Michael’s excuse makes him out to be something of a cold fish.  Sure enough, as the war drags on, he stops writing Ruth letters, none of which were love letters in any event.  She says the letters were all serious.  She ends up working as the secretary of Pierre Grandfort, a member of Parliament, whom she eventually marries. We know he must be a good husband, because when we first encounter him, he is arguing before the House of Commons that female teachers should receive pay equal to that of the male teachers, as opposed to a conservative member of Parliament who claims that it would wreck the economy.

The war ends, and Michael returns.  Ruth meets him as he gets off the ship, and they agree to meet the next day.  She is still in love with him, and does not tell him she is married.  They spend the day in the countryside, where he talks about how the war changed him.  She tries kissing him, but he pulls away, cool to her attempt at lovemaking.  Suddenly a storm comes up.  They are forced to seek shelter in a gazebo, where they spend the night.  This immediately made me think of The Aeneid, where Aeneas and Dido hide in a cave when a storm comes up, and they end up becoming lovers.  That may be the first, but certainly not the last time that a storm has proved conducive to lovemaking in a work of fiction.  As a result, when Michael and Ruth do not have sex when they hide from the storm, it is a bit of a let down.

In addition to the fact that they do not have sex, there are two other sanitizing features in this scene: Michael has not yet become a priest, and he does not know Ruth is married.  Imagine the opposite: Michael, now an ordained priest, has sex with Ruth during the storm, even though he knows she is a married woman.  Juicy!  But as it is, Michael’s innocence is preserved at the expense of sapping this movie of any vitality.

In the play that was the source for this story, the priest does have sex with a woman, gets her pregnant, and she has a child out of wedlock.  According to the commentary on the DVD, Hitchcock wanted Michael to have sex with Ruth, but before he had become a priest.  And he wanted her to have an illegitimate child.  I hate to be technical, but I don’t think the child of a married woman would be illegitimate, even if it is the child of her lover rather than her husband.  Furthermore, that would seem to violate a general principle concerning sex and pregnancy in the movies, which is as follows:  if an unmarried woman in a movie has sex just one time, she always gets pregnant; but if a married woman in a movie has sex with another man, she never gets pregnant.  In any event, Hitchcock was not allowed to follow the play in this regard either.

The next morning, the owner of the estate, a Monsieur Villette, discovers them and makes a remark suggesting Michael and Ruth were having sex.  Outraged, Michael knocks him down.  Then Villette sees Ruth, realizing she is Madame Grandfort and addressing her as such.  As a result, Michael and Ruth do not see each other again for five years.

But then Villette finds himself in a “tax scandal.”  He tells Ruth that she must get her husband Pierre to use his influence to get him out of trouble, or he will tell about that night in the gazebo.  She refuses, saying that her husband would never get involved in anything shady.  Villette keeps putting pressure on her.  She turns to Michael, now Father Logan, and gets him to meet her one night.  She tells him her problem, and he becomes angry, saying he will take care of Villette.  Then he goes back to the rectory.

A Religious Villain

Somewhat later, he looks out his window and sees someone entering the church. Logan goes down to see who it is and finds Otto Keller, the sexton, praying.  Logan asks if he can help him. Keller replies:

No one can help me.  I have abused your kindness….  You gave my wife and me a home, a job, even friendship.  I felt you would let me be your friend.  So wonderful a thing for a refugee, a German, a man without a home.  You will hate me now….  You trusted me.  You saw that my wife and I were not common servants.  It was you who found more pleasant tasks for us, working here in the rectory.

But notwithstanding his reference to how well he and his wife have been treated, he adds a remark somewhat incongruous with that:  “It was my wife, working so hard.  It breaks my heart.”  Following this, Keller confesses to Logan that he accidentally killed Villette while trying to rob him.

Later, Keller confesses again to his wife, Alma.  He says he stole the money because it broke his heart thinking of her working so hard.  Here we go again.  Just as Michael came up with that lame excuse for refusing to marry Ruth, saying there were too many widows already, Keller tells his wife that he didn’t steal the money for his own selfish reasons, but rather he did it all for her.

Anyway, he says he figured that with $2,000, they could start a new life.  Adjusted for inflation, that would be a little over $22,000 today.  I don’t know what kind of new life a married couple could start with that.

Keller wore a priest’s cassock the night he robbed and killed Villette in order to throw off suspicion in case someone saw him.  A couple of school girls did see him, and they tell the police that they saw a priest leaving Villette’s house.  The result is that Logan falls under suspicion, especially when Inspector Larrue (Karl Malden) sees him meeting Ruth on the street the morning after the murder, just outside Villette’s house.  But Logan can’t defend himself against the charge of murder because he cannot reveal what he heard in the confessional.

I wondered about this.  Can a priest really allow a murderer to continue to walk the streets, possibly killing again, simply because the killer confessed to the murder to him?  I looked into it, and apparently it’s true.  I even came across one article in which a priest admitted to the way “I Confess” bothered him:

People wonder, “Can the priest ever reveal what is said in confession?” The simple, straight answer is “no.”   … (Just as an aside, a great movie which deals with this very topic is Alfred Hitchcock’s I Confess, which deals with a priest who hears a murder confession and then is framed for the murder.  As a priest, I was in agony during much of the movie.)

There seems to be a conflation of what Logan cannot say to the police regarding what he heard in the confessional and what Logan does not want to say to the police because it regards his relationship with Ruth.  When Larrue interrogates Logan, asking about the woman he met in front of Villette’s house, or who he was with the night of the murder, it is easy to blend his refusal to answer for personal reasons with his refusal to reveal who murdered Villette.  But the fact is that he could easily have answered Larrue’s questions.  We might imagine him saying the following:

The woman was Ruth Grandfort, whom I knew before the war.  Villette was blackmailing her because he thought we were having an affair.  It wasn’t true, of course, but Ruth asked to meet me that night, because she didn’t know what to do about it.  We agreed to meet at Villette’s house the next morning, which is why you saw her talking to me on the street.  This is a personal matter, inspector, so I trust you will be discreet with the information I have given you.

Anyway, having failed to get this information from Logan, Larrue eventually finds out the woman in question was Ruth, and he brings her in for questioning, along with her husband Pierre.  Ruth tries to give Michael an alibi, telling Inspector Larrue that she was with Michael that night, when she told him that she was being blackmailed.  This is where the flashback occurs, when she tells how she and Michael were in love before the war.  Pierre already knew about her love for Michael before the war, but the investigation really brings things out in the open, leading to marital discord. Ruth tells Pierre with brutal frankness that she never loved him and that he can leave her, for all she cares.  She could have lied, saying she no longer is in love with Michael, that she cares about him only as a friend, telling her husband that he is the one she truly loves now.  Maybe he wouldn’t have completely believed her, but he would have accepted it, and their marriage could have been saved.  Instead, she proudly asserts that she has never deceived him in this matter, as if that were a virtue.  But when a woman reaches the point where she is no longer willing to lie to her husband, that marriage over.  I guess that’s what happens when a woman marries a man she doesn’t love because she is still in love with a man that never loved her.

However, it is all for naught.  When she and Logan parted at 11:00, there was still time for him to murder Villette, for the autopsy establishes that he could not have died before 11:30.

The supposed time of death of Villette is an inconsistent mess.  The school girls said they saw the priest leaving Villette’s house between 11:00 and 11:30, which would mean Villette did die before 11:30.  So, either they were wrong about the time, or the coroner was wrong about the time of death.  Furthermore, Larrue says that since Madame Grandfort and Father Logan parted at 11:00, “You can do a lot of things in thirty minutes,” suggesting that it was in that time period that Villette was murdered.  But Logan wouldn’t have had to kill Villette in that thirty-minute time period, because the autopsy said Villette could not have died before 11:30.  The murder would have had to take place after that thirty-minute period.  Finally, Pierre tells Ruth the next morning that the autopsy report showed that Villette died at exactly 11:30.  And later, during the trial, the crown prosecutor also says the murder took place at 11:30.

In order for all this to make sense, the autopsy should have said that Villette died sometime between 11:00 and 11:30.  That would be consistent with what the school girls said, and it would make sense of Larrue’s remark about doing “a lot of things in thirty minutes.”  Pierre’s remark should have been, “The autopsy showed that Villette could have died as late as 11:30,” and the crown prosecutor should have made a similar statement in court.

In any event, Larrue now knows that Logan had a motive for killing Villete.

The Employment of Spiritual Technology

That would be bad enough, but when Keller tells his wife what he did, saying that Logan told him he must give back the money, which would presumably mean admitting to the murder, he suddenly gets an evil look in his eye.  We know what he’s thinking.  Now that he has absolution, he will still go to Heaven, but he is safe here on Earth as well, for Father Logan cannot tell what he knows.  But he does not simply sit back and let Logan be accused.  He lies about when Logan returned to the rectory. Whereas Logan got back to the rectory at 11:15, and he saw Keller entering the church somewhat later than that, Keller says he saw Logan entering the church at 11:45, thereby making it seem as though Logan had time to murder Villette. He says Logan appeared to be distressed and wanted to be left alone.  But, he goes on to say, he did not want to leave him because he wanted to help him, because Logan had been so kind to him and his wife. On a later occasion, he suggests that Logan was acting like a guilty man.  Then, he even takes the cassock he wore, which has Villette’s blood on it, and plants it among Logan’s things for the police to find later.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  He might have been absolved of the murder, but is not the prohibition against bearing false witness against your neighbor one of the Ten Commandments? Won’t he go to Hell for that?  Not at all.  He’ll just wait until Logan is convicted and hanged, after which he can go out and get himself another priest and confess to that, thereby ensuring his future felicity.

If this sounds farfetched, it really is not.  Religious belief falls on a spectrum ranging from the moral to the magical.  The more one believes that the important parts of a religion are about doing good and eschewing evil, the less one cares about the magical side, which may be dismissed as silly superstition.  But those who are on the magical end of that spectrum will care more about material gain than about what is right and wrong.  It is not unheard of for such people to use religious magic to protect them while doing something immoral or illegal.  Keller is clearly located way over on the magical end of that spectrum, using religious magic for his own evil ends.

The Half Trial of Father Logan

Eventually, Logan is put on trial for murder.  But it is only half a trial. We never see the defense attorney cross examine the prosecution’s witnesses, call his own witnesses to testify, or present his closing argument to the jury. The only thing he does of any significance is object a couple of times, but the crown prosecutor continues with his line of questioning unimpeded. Speaking of which, the prosecutor often stops asking a witness questions so he can give his theory of what happened. We know that movies take liberties in their presentations of trials, but the absence of an objection from the defense at these points is preposterous. In any event, when the jury comes back with a not-guilty verdict, it strikes us as arbitrary, for we never heard anything from the defense casting doubt on the accusation. In fact, for all practical purposes, Father Logan might just as well not have had a defense attorney, whose part is so minimal that he is not even listed in the credits.  Hitchcock could have made this his cameo.

This reminded me of Helter Skelter (1976), a television miniseries about Charles Manson, including his trial. There too, we have a defense attorney that is practically nonexistent. The day before the closing arguments are to begin, the prosecuting attorney tells his wife how worried he is about the summation he will have to give, because so much depends on it. I remember thinking to myself, “Is he kidding? Everyone knew Charles Manson was going to be found guilty. No special skill was required from the prosecutor in giving his closing argument.” In fact, I was wondering what closing argument would be heard from the defense. That was where the real challenge lay. So, in the next scene, we see the prosecutor give his all-important summation, while I waited patiently for him to finish so I could hear what the defense attorney would say. But my patience went unrewarded, because we never got to hear from the defense attorney at all. And that is why Helter Skelter is inferior. In general, when a trial takes place in a movie in which we never hear from the defense, it is completely lacking in dramatic value.

Returning to “I Confess,” let us consider how the trial might have been made more interesting by having Logan’s attorney do more than just make an occasional fruitless objection.  While Logan may have been unable to reveal what was said to him in the confessional, he is not bound to remain silent about other matters, especially anything that happened before he heard the confession.  When being questioned on the witness stand by the crown prosecutor, Logan asserts that much of what Keller said was not true, but his own attorney makes no attempt to get him to elaborate on this matter.  Had he done so, we might have heard the following:

Defense attorney:  Father Logan, was Otto Keller already in the church when you returned to the rectory?

Father Logan:  No, he was not.

Defense attorney:  Do you know when he arrived at the church?

Father Logan:  Yes, it was after 11:30.

Defense attorney:  So, when Keller says he followed you into the church and found you there kneeling, that is not true?

Father Logan:  No, it is not.

Defense attorney:  Do you know any reason why Keller would lie about this matter?

Father Logan:  I cannot say.

Anyway, Father Logan is found not guilty by a jury that says they think he did it, but there just was not enough evidence to convict beyond a reasonable doubt, and the judge even goes one step further and says he disagrees with the jury, that they should have convicted Logan.  As a result, the whole town ends up being against him, aside from Ruth, of course. That is totally unrealistic. In real life, we would expect him to have some supporters who believed he was innocent. The unanimity of the townsfolk in this regard is as one-sided as the trial, and therefore just as simplistic.

More Guilt for Logan, Less Guilt for Keller

Just as it would have been more interesting had Father Logan been guilty of something, such as having sex with Ruth, so too would this movie would have been far more interesting if, instead of trying to incriminate Logan, Keller had given evidence that would have helped him, short of admitting that he was the one who was guilty. He could have told Larrue that he saw Father Logan get back to the church too early to have committed the murder, not only giving Logan an alibi, but cleverly giving himself one at the same time. This testimony from Keller in defense of Logan would have created an even greater degree of moral tension. Logan would not only have to keep it a secret that Keller killed Villette, but he would also have to accept that the alibi that Keller provided for him was a genuine effort to help exonerate him, making him grateful to Keller.

An Evil Man Gets His Eternal Reward

In the end, Alma cannot stand it when Logan is being attacked by the mob outside the courthouse. She points to her husband, trying to say he is the one who is guilty.  Keller shoots her to keep her from talking. So much for his excuse that he was doing it all for his wife.  We already knew that Keller was evil, but this is even worse. Fortunately for Alma, just before she dies, another priest performs the last rites as she asks to be forgiven.  As a result, her soul goes to Heaven.

Then Keller runs off.  He kills a chef in a hotel kitchen.  Then, by means of a kind of logic that can occur only in a melodrama, Keller concludes that Logan has told the police what he knows, and thus blurts out the fact that he killed Villette while the police are within earshot.  Subsequently, the police shoot him.  Logan goes over to Keller, who asks for forgiveness.  Logan makes the sign of the cross, while uttering the words, “Te absolvo in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” at which point Keller dies.  As a result, his soul ascends to Heaven, where he will join his wife, allowing them to share eternity together.

As a final improvement for this movie, imagine that Keller dies before Father Logan can reach him.  “Too late, Father,” Inspector Larrue says, “that’s one confession you’re never going to hear.”

Just as the miracle in The Wrong Man was a distraction, forcing us to think about divine intervention when the movie would have been much better if it had restricted itself to the natural world, so too does “I Confess” irritate us with the mechanics of salvation, forcing us to think about the arbitrary rules concerning confession that will allow a man to commit three murders and then get off on a technicality.

Frenzy (1972)

Frenzy is an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  It is misanthropic, misogynist, misogamist, homophobic, antifeminist, and illogical.  Other than that, it’s quite a good movie.

When the movie begins, a British official, presumably the Minister of the Environment, is giving a speech along the banks of the River Thames, promising that it will soon be a clean river again, free of pollution, “clear of the waste products of our society.”  As an example of said waste products, a naked woman is seen floating face down in the river with a necktie around her neck.  From the remarks of the crowd, we gather there is another serial killer in London, one that strangles women with a necktie.  The government official is deeply concerned:  not about the woman, but that it appears to be his club tie that’s wrapped around her neck.

The scene changes, and we see a similar tie being tied around the neck of Richard Blaney (Jon Finch). He has a room upstairs from the pub he works in, and he begins the day by having a glass of brandy. The manager sees him do it, accuses him of stealing drinks, and fires him.  As they exchange words, we see that Blaney has an explosive temper.  His co-worker, Babs Milligan (Anna Massey), walks in and defends Blaney, saying he always pays for his drinks. The manager says he’s either a thief or a boozer, and he doesn’t need either one.  Besides, he says, Blaney spends too much time “pulling on your tits,” and the customers talk about it.  Babs snaps back, “What about you?  Always fingering me.”  The ugly side of sex is a theme of this movie.

Babs knows Blaney doesn’t have much money on him, but he’s too proud to borrow any money from her, or rather, borrow any more than he already has. He heads over to the fruit market, which is run by his friend, Bob Rusk (Barry Foster). Unlike Blaney, Rusk is easygoing and has a good sense of humor. When he hears that Blaney has been fired, he pulls out a wad of cash and offers it to him, but Blaney refuses.  Failing that, Rusk gives him some grapes, quoting his mother (who is quoting Mae West):  “’Beulah, peel me a grape.’  That’s what my ol’ Mum used to say when I was a kid.”

Just then a police sergeant walks up, telling Rusk how much of a headache the necktie strangler is causing them. Noting that Rusk is a bit of a ladies’ man, he asks Rusk to let him know if any of his girlfriends have a “near miss” with someone like that.

“Sure,” Rusk replies.  “Mind you, half of them haven’t got their heads screwed on right, let alone knowing when they’ve been screwed off,” he smirks, pleased with his witticism. He starts to introduce the sergeant to Blaney, but he has disappeared.  We are, of course, supposed to wonder if Blaney is the necktie strangler.

Blaney steps into a pub to have another brandy.  While in there, two distinguished-looking men enter, one apparently a solicitor, the other, a doctor.  In a lighthearted tone, they begin discussing the necktie murders.  A slightly plump, grey-haired barmaid serves them a couple of pints.  Being informed as to what they were talking about, she says, with a naughty look in her eyes, “He rapes them first, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, I believe he does,” the solicitor says with amusement, giving his companion a knowing look.

With a similar look of amusement, the doctor adds, “I suppose it’s nice to know every cloud has a silver lining.”

“Oh,” the barmaid says, acting as though she is shocked.

Now, it is true that when this movie was made in 1972, women were still being advised that if rape is inevitable, they should just relax and enjoy it.  And this advice was not only proffered by the men, but I heard women say this as well, including my own mother.  Still, it was always assumed that the woman would survive the rape she enjoyed.  To suggest deriving pleasure from being raped, knowing that strangulation might follow right after the man had his climax, is beyond gross.

While the doctor is speculating on the nature of the sexual psychopath behind the murders, saying they are most likely to kill when their desires are frustrated, we see Blaney being especially rude to the barman regarding the amount of brandy in his glass when he asks for another.  The doctor continues, saying that these psychopaths usually don’t have a linking motive, which makes them hard to catch.

“Let’s hope he slips up soon,” says the solicitor.

The doctor replies:

In one way, I rather hope he doesn’t.  [The solicitor looks surprised.] Well, we haven’t had a good, juicy series of sex murders since Christie. And they’re so good for the tourist trade.  Foreigners expect the squares of London to be fog-wreathed, full of hansom cabs, and littered with ripped whores, don’t you think?”

Blaney leaves the pub.  Rusk greets him from his room on the second floor. His mother sticks her head out too, for she is visiting him.  We can see that Rusk truly loves his mother.  In real life, this would be a good thing; in a movie, a bachelor that loves his mother arouses suspicion; and in a Hitchcock movie, that is the sign of a psychopath.  So, we’ve been warned.

Earlier, Rusk told Blaney to place a bet on a horse named “Coming Up.”  (Hitchcock could have picked any name he wanted for this horse, so the inclusion of the word “coming” is deliberate.)  He asks Blaney if he took his advice, since the horse won and paid twenty-to-one.  Blaney lies, saying he placed a bet and made a killing.  As he walks down the street, he becomes furious that he didn’t have the money to bet on the horse, throwing down the grapes that Rusk gave him earlier, and stomping on them.

He decides to visit his ex-wife at her business, the Blaney Bureau, offering “friendship and marriage.” As he walks up the stairs, a Miss Barling (Jean Marsh), apparently a secretary, is congratulating a couple that the Blaney Bureau has brought together, who plan to get married.  They are physically mismatched, the woman being taller and wider than the man.  But they do have a shared interest in beekeeping.  As they head down the stairs, the woman informs the man about her first husband, how he got up at 5:30 every morning, cleaned the whole house without waking her once in fourteen years, and then brought her a cup of tea at 9:15, while she was still in bed.  And then she brushes some dandruff off his shoulder, saying they’ll have to do something about that.  After viewing that example of matchmaking success, Blaney goes into the office.

As we gradually learn, Miss Barling is a manhater.  We are probably supposed to read her as a lesbian:  she is not pretty, her hair is pulled back tight on her head, she wears thick-rimmed glasses, and she has a stern look on her face. She informs Mrs. Brenda Blaney (Barbara Leigh-Hunt) that Mr. Blaney is here to see her, and he goes into his ex-wife’s office.  It’s not clear why he has come to see her.  He’s too proud to ask for money.  Apparently, he just wants to vent his spleen.  He starts making snide remarks about the lonely-hearts business, saying that in an age where people think marriage is a “living hell,” he is surprised that she has any clients at all, obviously resentful of the fact that she divorced him several years ago. When Brenda asks him to lower his voice, he naturally raises his voice, saying she ought to marry off “Vinegar Joe” out there, referring to Miss Barling, preferably, he says, to a seven-hundred-pound Japanese wrestler to “iron out her creases.”  Brenda tells Miss Barling to take the rest of the day off. As she is leaving, she hears a loud noise as Blaney slams his hand down on a desk, making her think he has hit Brenda.

He finally calms down and agrees to have dinner with her that night, at her club.  While at dinner, he again becomes so agitated that he breaks the glass he is holding.  He doesn’t realize it until later, while sleeping at a Salvation Army hostel, but at some point during the evening, she slipped twenty pounds into his raincoat pocket.

The next morning, while Miss Barling is at lunch, Rusk shows up at the Blaney Bureau.  Even though Blaney and Rusk were friends, going back to when they were in the same squadron in the Royal Air Force, and even though Blaney was married to Brenda for ten years, she was apparently never introduced to Rusk.  He is going by the name of Robinson.  Brenda says they have been unable to match him with women that are willing to submit to his peculiarities. But Brenda is the one he wants anyway. What follows is an extended rape scene.  With each thrust into Brenda, Rusk says, “Lovely!” while Brenda recites from Psalms 91, a prayer to a God that has no intention of getting involved in the matter. Finally, Rusk reaches an exquisite orgasm.

It is at this point that I must pause for a speculative comment.  I can’t remember for sure, but I believe it was in 1971, a year before this movie came out, that I first heard a woman say that rape was not about sex.  That seemed counterintuitive to me, but I let it go.  My guess is that Hitchcock was also acquainted with this notion, and he decided to have some fun with it cinematically when he made Frenzy. For that reason, he made it abundantly clear that Rusk is in sexual ecstasy while raping Brenda.

Up to this point, Brenda has thought that this was just an ordinary rape, but then Rusk says, “You bitch!  Women!  They’re all the same, they are.  I’ll show you.”  When he removes his tie, she realizes that he is the necktie strangler. She screams and struggles, but is strangled all the same.  Rusk helps himself to the money in Brenda’s purse, as well as the apple she was eating for lunch, and leaves.

Shortly after that, Blaney returns to the Blaney Bureau, perhaps to thank Brenda for the money she gave him.  The door is locked, so he leaves, just as Miss Barling is returning from lunch, and she sees him.  Minutes later, she discovers Brenda’s body.

Blaney calls Babs at the pub and asks her to pack up his stuff and meet him. She does so, but instead of using the money Brenda gave him to find some inexpensive lodgings while he looks for a new job, he figures this is a good time for him and Babs to check into a nice hotel and have sex in style.  It costs him twelve pounds for one night.  Converting pounds to dollars and adjusting for inflation, that’s somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred dollars today.  Babs wonders where he got the money.  He tells her he spent the night at the Salvation Army hostel, but this morning he collected an old debt.  At the hotel, he checks them in as Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Wilde, presumably as a joke, because the real Oscar Wilde was a homosexual.

Meanwhile, the police are at the Blaney Bureau.  Chief Inspector Tim Oxford (Alec McCowen) arrives. Miss Barling tells him that she saw Blaney leaving just before she arrived, and she also tells him how violent Blaney had become the day before.  He asks her if she can describe Blaney, and she gives, as Oxford admits, an “extraordinarily precise description.”

“In my job,” she says, as she stares straight back at him, “I’ve learned to keep a sharp eye on men, Inspector.”  Because Oxford is as nice a man as you could ever hope to meet, he is taken aback by being implicitly included in her animosity toward men.

Thanks to her description, published in the newspaper, the porter at the hotel realizes the next morning that the so-called Oscar Wilde is the man the police are looking for.  As he says to the woman that registered Blaney and Babs, “You know, Glad, sometimes just thinking about the lusts of men makes me want to heave.”

He calls the police, but by the time they arrive, Blaney and Babs have sneaked out the back way, for they too have seen the newspaper, which was delivered to their room that morning.  They end up sitting on a bench in a park.  Babs is suspicious, suspecting he raped and murdered Brenda.  Blaney argues that it would be ridiculous to suppose a man would rape a woman he had been married to for ten years.  The idea is that a man’s passion for his wife, even an ex-wife, would have diminished to the point that rape would be out of the question.  That is, it would be out of the question, if rape were about sex, and from Blaney’s point of view, that’s exactly what rape is about.  Later in the movie, the same reasoning is advanced by the wife of Inspector Oxford, giving sexual indifference after years of marriage as the reason Blaney is not the necktie strangler.  She says their own marriage is proof of that.  Whereas the marriage between the Blaneys ended in a bitter divorce, the marriage between the Oxfords survives through mutual sufferance.  But in both cases, there is an absence of sexual passion.

In response to Blaney’s argument, Babs replies that she’s always hearing about kinky things.  (Like raping a woman for some other reason than sex, perhaps?)  Then it occurs to Babs that he got the money for the hotel room from Brenda.  Since he spent the night at the Salvation Army hostel, he did not have the money until the next day, when he raped and killed her, she concludes.

Blaney replies that he didn’t know about the money until later, that Brenda had sneaked it into his raincoat.  Babs doesn’t believe that at first, but then agrees that if he had known about the money, he would never have spent the night with a bunch of old men.  Therefore, she concludes, Blaney did not rape and murder Brenda.

That argument makes my head hurt.  The obvious explanation, from Babs’ point of view, is the one she originally advanced:  the reason he spent the night where he did was that he had not yet raped and murdered Brenda, after which he stole her money.  And that, of course, is the theory of the case as far as the police are concerned.  That Babs would be persuaded by Blaney’s argument is ridiculous.

Speaking of the police, at the building of the New Scotland Yard, Sergeant Spearman (Michael Bates) is watching Inspector Oxford devour his breakfast. He tells Spearman that his wife is taking a course in gourmet cooking, and they’ve never heard of the principle that “to eat well in this country, one must have breakfast three times a day, and an English breakfast at that.”  Ugh!  I eat food in the morning, but I haven’t eaten what you might call a traditional breakfast, either American or British, since I was in college.  That’s when I had a revelation:  you don’t have to eat stuff like eggs, toast, and grits in the morning; you can eat a cheeseburger or have a pizza.

Anyway, with all the evidence they have accumulated against Blaney, they figure he is their man. Spearman asks what men like Blaney are like.  Oxford replies, “Oh, they vary, but not a lot.  The thing to remember is they hate women, and are mostly impotent.”  Spearman balks at the notion of impotency.  Oxford elaborates:  “Don’t mistake rape for potency.  In the latter stage of the disease, it’s the strangling, not the sex, that brings them on.”

It’s clear that Oxford has embraced the rape-is-not-about-sex theory, but to the point of absurdity. All the victims of the necktie strangler were found dead. The only way the police could know that the women had been raped would be by finding semen in the vaginas of those women; the only way semen could be found in the vaginas of those women would be if their vaginas had been penetrated by a penis; the only way a penis can penetrate a woman’s vagina is if it is erect; and the only way a penis can be erect long enough for penetration and ejaculation would be if the man is not impotent. Q.E.D.  Of course, this is Hitchcock’s ultimate jab at the claim that rape is not about sex. It’s almost as if Hitchcock is saying, “Well, if rape is not about sex, then there is no need for the rapist to have an erection.”

Babs quits her job at the pub.  Like Blaney, she also had a room above the pub, and needs a place to stay.  Rusk offers her his place while he will supposedly be out of town.  She becomes his next victim. Blaney has two friends who could give him an alibi, but they don’t want to get involved.  He turns to Rusk, who is only too glad to help, allowing him to stay at his place. But he plants evidence, Babs’ clothes and purse, in Blaney’s bag and calls the police.  That’s when Blaney realizes Rusk is the necktie strangler, but no one believes him.  He is convicted and sentenced to prison, swearing revenge against Rusk.

However, Inspector Oxford begins to have doubts.  He gets a photograph of Rusk and shows it to Miss Barling.  She identifies him as Mr. Robinson, saying they didn’t want him for a client because he wanted women who enjoyed certain peculiarities.  When asked if Robinson would go to other agencies in search of women who were masochists, who liked being hurt, she says he would.  Once again staring straight at Oxford, as if to let him know that her attitude toward men applies to him as well, she says, “Men like this leave no stone unturned in their search for their disgusting gratifications.”

After that, things wrap up nicely.  Just as Inspector Oxford collects enough evidence to convince himself that Rusk is the necktie strangler, Blaney escapes from prison and heads for Rusk’s apartment. He gets inside, and seeing what he thinks is Rusk sleeping in bed, he bashes “his” head in three times with a tire iron.  But the hand of a woman slides out of the sheets.  Pulling down the covers, he sees Rusk’s latest victim, strangled with a necktie.  At that point, Oxford comes in through the door, and Blaney thinks he will be blamed for this murder too.  But then Rusk comes in through the door with a trunk. Inspector Oxford observes, “Mr. Rusk, you’re not wearing your tie.”

But now let’s take a step back and consider this movie again.  Blaney is unworthy or our concern.  As the manager of the pub says, even if Blaney is not a thief, he’s a boozer.  Indeed, we see Blaney having three brandies while it’s still morning.  He’s irritable and has a bad temper.  He would not be a nice person to know.

Furthermore, he is irresponsible.  Having just lost his job, he should be out looking for a new one.  Instead, he wastes what little money he has on the two more brandies I just mentioned.  The last thing he should be thinking about is playing the horses, but he becomes furious when he wasn’t able to place a bet on Coming Up.  When he finds that Brenda has slipped twenty pounds into his pocket, he squanders twelve pounds on that hotel room instead of using the money to find an inexpensive flat to live in while he looks for a new job.  And as an indication of how vain he is, he even takes pleasure slapping down the money, letting the woman who manages the hotel know that he has plenty of cash.

Let us imagine an alternative movie in which Blaney is the necktie strangler, who raped and murdered his ex-wife out of resentment for how well she was doing in her own business.  In that case, Rusk not only would be innocent, but let us further imagine as well that he never patronized the Blaney Bureau.  As the sergeant said, he was popular with women, so he would have no need of the Blaney Bureau for help in fixing himself up with a date.  Rusk is likable, has a good sense of humor, and is willing to stand by his friends.  We might even imagine Rusk saving Babs at the last minute before Blaney has a chance to kill her, and Rusk and Babs end up being the heterosexual couple that satisfies the formula for a happy ending.  Moreover, it would be a clever twist to have the bachelor in a Hitchcock movie that loves his mother turn out to be the good guy.

As it is, the likable Rusk turns out to be guilty, while the unlikable Blaney is innocent and ultimately vindicated.  But while we were sorry that Babs was one of Rusk’s victims, her death made the movie more palatable, in a peculiar sort of way.  If Babs had not been killed off, we probably would have had her and Blaney be together at the end, ostensibly a happy ending, but not one that we could really accept.  Brenda divorced Blaney for a good reason, and we don’t believe any woman would be happy with him, including Babs.

On the Rehabilitation of Judas

As is often the case around the time of Easter, a lot of Jesus movies are shown on television, and last Easter I decided to binge-watch a bunch of them.  I like to compare the story of Jesus as told in the movies, one with another, and all of them with the Bible.  My reasons for doing so are various.

One reason is rather silly, but I like it too much to give it up. When Jesus was born, the three wise men saw his star and decided to follow it.  We often see paintings depicting their journey, with the star about twenty or thirty degrees above the horizon, and occasionally such a scene occurs in a movie. Oddly enough, even when the wise men are close enough to see at a distance the place where Jesus is lying in the manger, the star still marks off the same angle above the horizon. I keep hoping that one of these days they will make a movie in which we see the three wise men leaning way back on their camels, looking straight up, whereupon one of them says, “Well, the star is directly overhead, so I guess this barn must be the place.”

On a more serious note, I like to see how miracles are presented.  While The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964) is unabashed in its presentation of the miraculous, so that we see Jesus walking on water, the other movies downplay this element. In King of Kings (1961) and The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), for example, we do not see such miracles, but only hear about them.  The recently produced Killing Jesus (2015) similarly eschews the outrageously miraculous, only showing Jesus curing people of bodily ailments, which might easily be thought of as conditions that were temporary anyway, or as hysterical conditions alleviated through the power of suggestion.  In other words, the people who make movies know that many in the audience do not believe in miracles or even that Jesus was the Son of God.  If they were to see a multitude being fed with a basket of loaves and fishes, they would snicker and begin to distance themselves from the movie.  To appeal to those of a secular bent, the producers tend to keep the supernatural to a minimum, to tell the story as it might have happened even if there is no God.

In a similar vein, Jesus is no longer good enough for modern audiences, and the producers realize that they need to clean up his act.  In fact, if you made a movie in which Jesus were shown saying some of the things he actually said in the Bible, audiences would get up from their seats and walk out, and many people would be calling for a boycott.  For example, Matthew 5:32, “…whosoever shall put away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adultery: and whosoever shall marry her that is divorced committeth adultery.”  If someone were to put that in a Jesus movie, he would be taken out into the market place and stoned.

The most important part of Jesus’s rehabilitation is the purging of all references to Hell, damnation, and punishment of sinners. Once again, the great exception is The Gospel According to St. Matthew, in which Jesus speaks at length about people going to Hell and being punished for their sins, just as he does in the title Gospel.  In The Big Fisherman (1959), when Jesus gives Peter the keys of the Kingdom, he makes a passing reference to Hell, as he does in Matthew 6:18, “And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” But in presenting this scene in The Greatest Story Ever Told and in Killing Jesus, the last part of that line is suppressed, innocuous though it is.

It occurred to me that the reason for bowdlerizing the Bible in this way was to make the movies suitable for children.  But these same movies have no problem having other characters, such as John the Baptist, talk about lust, fornication, adultery, incest, and Hell.  In The Greatest Story Ever Told, a man talks of sinners being punished by God, and even though Jesus says pretty much the same thing in the Bible, the movie Jesus rebukes him, saying God is all about forgiveness.

But while the rehabilitation of Jesus is understandable, owing to the need to bring his moral character in line with what is agreeable to modern thinking, as I watched these movies, I was struck by the parallel rehabilitation of Judas. The Bible gives us a straightforward reason as to why Judas betrayed Jesus. He did it for thirty pieces of silver.  As a motive, money is sufficient to explain any crime, no matter how evil it may be.  Not all crimes have money as a motive, and not all people can be moved to commit such crimes for money. But given that it is the motive for some evil deed, we have no trouble accepting it.

And yet, most of the movies I watched were at pains to give Judas another motive. Once again, the major exception was The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which told the story straight. The Passion of the Christ (2004) does so as well. But all others felt the need to conjure up another reason.  In Killing Jesus, Judas is shown to be fearing for his life. And when he makes the deal, he is told that his life will be spared, to which he replies, “That must be why I do this.”  The same motive, along with a couple of others, is given in the silent version of King of Kings (1927).  On the intertitle, it says, “And so it was that Judas, bitter…panic stricken…desperate…all hope of earthly kingdom gone, betrayed his Lord for thirty pieces of silver.”  At the bottom of the intertitle, there is a citation of chapter and verse: Matthew 26:14-15.

I didn’t remember that one, so I looked it up.  In my Bible, at Matthew 26:14-15, it says, “Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests, And said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.”  I guess Cecil B. DeMille, who directed this movie, must have had a different translation.

Apparently, all this business about Judas being bitter, panic stricken, and filled with despair was DeMille’s substitute motive for what he really thought was going on, according to Doug McClelland in his book, The Unkindest Cuts: The Scissors and the Cinema:

[DeMille’s] feelings were close to shock when the Cinema people lopped off virtually all of the opening episodes containing the affair between Mary Magdalene and Judas.  After this, neither Magdalene nor Judas made much sense to him as characters.  He viewed it as unlikely that a man would betray a King for “a lousy 30 pieces of silver.  There must have been a dame in the background,” he told us in a tone of finality. [page 59]

Cherchez la femme!  Well, you can look for the woman, if you like, but you won’t find anything about Mary Magdalene and Judas having an affair in the Bible.  And how would that explain anything, anyway?  If Judas and Mary were already having sex, what would be the point in betraying Jesus?  Well, I suppose we should not try to criticize a plot point that was cut out of the picture.  We can simply content ourselves with adding sex to the fabricated motives that are attributed to Judas.

In the remake of King of Kings (1961), Judas is given a very different motive. According to the narrator, Judas betrays Jesus “to test and prove forever the divine power of the Messiah.” The idea, I suppose, is that when Jesus made short work of the Roman legion, laying them waste, everyone would see that he was the Son of God.  The only problem with that is it’s not in the Bible.

In The Greatest Story Ever Told, no motive is given at all.  Judas appears to be confused.  He goes to the priests and says he will tell them where Jesus is, but they have to promise not to hurt him, because Jesus is a wonderful person, who never did an unkind thing in his life. Except for getting them to promise not to hurt Jesus, he asks for nothing in return.  Later, we see the high priest counting out thirty pieces of silver, to which Judas says that he didn’t do it for the money.  Needless to say, that is not in the Bible either.

In The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), Jesus conspires with Judas. He asks Judas to betray him so that he can bring salvation to all. This is actually an old theory, put forth in the Gnostic Gospel of Judas, thought to have been written in the second century, so apparently people have been making excuses for Judas for a long time.

Part of the reason may be due to the long struggle over free will versus predestination. On the one hand, Judas cannot be thought evil unless he acted of his own free will.  On the other hand, it appears that Judas was destined to betray Jesus, suggesting that he was compelled.  With too much free will, one gets the Pelagian heresy, in which Jesus’s death on the cross was unnecessary, because man is capable of salvation without help from God. Without free will, however, it would seem that man cannot be blamed for his sins.  Some argue that Jesus simply knew in advance what Judas would do of his own free will, a theory known as single predestination. Others, such as Martin Luther and John Calvin, deny that man has free will.  In their theory, known as double predestination, God does not merely know what will happen, he ordained it from the beginning.  But whether it was an act of free will or predestination, there is no reason to find another motive for Judas. Either he was greedy and betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver of his own free will; or God ordained in advance that Judas would betray Jesus for money, using Satan as his instrument (John 13:27).

The motive of money being equally compatible with free will and predestination, there must be another reason why so many movies, along with the books they are based on, feel the need to root around for other motives. Either Judas was afraid for his life, or he wanted to keep having sex with Mary Magdalene without any interference from Jesus, or he thought he could prove Jesus was the Messiah, or he was confused, or he was acting at the behest of Jesus.  What they all have in common is that they exonerate Judas or mitigate his act of betrayal.  Unlike Dante, who placed Judas in the frozen lake at the bottom of Hell, right next to Satan, we no longer want to think of Judas as evil.

The rehabilitation of Judas is a necessary corollary to the rehabilitation of Jesus.  We cannot have a movie depicting a Jesus who never mentions Hell or eternal punishment, who is all about love and forgiveness, and still keep the same old Judas, who deserves to burn in the everlasting fire.  In order to change Jesus into a better person than the one we find in the Gospels, we have to make Judas a better person as well.

Out of Africa (1985)

It is hard to watch a movie like Out of Africa with such an unsympathetic protagonist.  That protagonist would be Karen Blixen (Meryl Streep), whose autobiography this movie is based on.  When the movie begins, we find that Karen has been trying to sleep her way into being a baroness. But once the baron has his way with her for a while, he tires of her and reneges on his promise to marry her. So, she turns to his brother Bror (Klaus Maria Brandauer), who she knows does not love her, and offers him a deal: if he marries her, she gets to be a baroness, and he gets access to her money. He accepts, and they leave Denmark and go to Africa to start a vanity farm in the year of 1913.

Having made her Faustian bargain, she starts right off being a sourpuss about the whole thing. You know, acting as if she is being neglected, as if her husband doesn’t love her, especially when he feels free to do as he pleases. As he explains to her, she may have bought the title, but she did not buy him. Admittedly, he is a bit of a jerk, but isn’t that what you would expect from a man who would marry a woman for her money? After a while, we start to like her, but every time something bad happens, as when Bror gives her syphilis, we think, “Well, that’s what you get for marrying a man who doesn’t love you.” She gets the Salvarsan cure, but there is no indication that Bror is treated for the disease, and we have to wonder if she continues to have sex with him, especially since she becomes upset by his continued infidelities. Fed up with him, she tells him to move out of the house and get a place in town. But she does not want a divorce, because then she wouldn’t have anybody. Huh?

She eventually starts having an affair with Denys (Robert Redford), who is a big game hunter. Denys is a believer in free love, figuring he can continue to come and go as he pleases, which hurts her feelings, because she has fallen in love with him and wants him to spend more time with her. He is surprised and dismayed by her attitude, but I could have told him that would happen. Exasperated, she tells him that everything has a price. Well, she ought to know. Denys is not willing to pay the price of being domesticated, so they split up, and he eventually dies in an airplane crash.

As for that all that money she had, between the cost of supporting her husband and that of trying to grow coffee in Africa, she ends up so broke she has to mortgage the farm. Everything depends on her bringing in a good crop.  Then, right after the crop is harvested, it is destroyed in a fire. When asked if she had insurance, she responds, “That’s for pessimists.” As I said, it is hard to have sympathy for her. So, she loses the farm and has to go back and live with her family, which she admits she has nearly bankrupted. She removes the white gloves from a servant’s hands, saying that was a mistake, and in saying goodbye to another servant, asks him to call her by her first name. I guess that means she finally realizes that being a baroness was just so much vanity. A lot of people like this movie, presumably because Africa is filmed so beautifully, and because her lover Denys is filmed so beautifully. But if she had stayed in Denmark and not wasted her money buying a farm and a title, she could have led a financially secure life and possibly found a man without a title who loved her and wanted to marry her.

The Hopeless Gunman

Hollywood makes a lot of movies in which people use guns.  It does so for the simple reason that a lot of people enjoy these movies, which makes them quite profitable.  Toward this end, all sorts of people are seen using guns in the movies, in different times and places, and in all sorts of circumstances.  There is one type of person, however, who Hollywood has decided should never be allowed to successfully use a gun against another human being, especially a handgun.  This person, whom I shall call the hopeless gunman, has the following properties:

(1) He was born after the turn of the twentieth century.

(2) His profession does not require him to carry a gun, nor has he ever had such a profession in the past.

(3) He is basically law-abiding, mentally sound, and of good moral character.

(4) He owns a handgun, which he bought under ordinary circumstances.

(5) His use of that handgun is or would be legally justified, as in the case of self-defense, or morally justified, even if not strictly within the law.

(6) He is a man.

This hopeless gunman, as I have defined him, always fails miserably when he tries to use a handgun against another person.  If someone in a movie does use a handgun successfully against another person, he will deviate from the above definition in at least one way, and often more than one.

Let us begin with the first component of the definition.  In movies set before the turn of the twentieth century, everyone is assumed to be able to use guns effectively.  This is especially so in Westerns.  But with the closing of the West about a hundred years ago, the era of universal competence with guns came to an end.  Therefore, the hopeless gunman is someone born after the turn of the twentieth century.

Within the modern, urban setting, there are, of course, people who carry guns as part of their job.  Law enforcement officers, private detectives, and military personnel in movies are assumed to be competent in the use of guns.  Though no longer in the military, veterans in movies are able to use guns effectively too, having been previously so trained, as in Taxi Driver (1976) or Rolling Thunder (1977).  Anyone in a movie who carries a gun as part of his profession or is a veteran does not meet the second condition for being a hopeless gunman.

Criminals in movies are always competent with guns, using them successfully to rob a bank or wipe out some rival gang. Now, whereas those who carry guns professionally are trained in the use of firearms, criminals typically are not.  In many cases, the mere fact that they are criminals seems to be a sufficient guarantee of proficiency with a handgun.  In Once Upon a Time in America (1984), for instance, Robert De Niro plays a hoodlum who goes to prison as a teenager for killing someone with a knife.  Years later, when he gets out, he immediately goes on a robbery and kills someone with a gun, because for some unexplained reason, he knows how to shoot.  In any event, a criminal is not a law-abiding citizen, and therefore does not satisfy the third condition for being a hopeless gunman.

Staying with the third condition, we note that people that are mentally ill can be good with guns in the movies.  In True Romance (1993), Christian Slater plays a man who has hallucinatory conversations with Elvis, in one of which Elvis tells him to go out and kill someone.  Slater conceals his gun on his person and then goes out and does just as he was told. Because he kills a pimp to protect a prostitute, the killing is presented as morally justified, which means he satisfies the fifth condition for being a hopeless gunman.  But because he has hallucinations and is therefore a little crazy, he does not meet the third condition, which is that of being mentally sound.  We already mentioned that the protagonist in Taxi Driver is a veteran, and he therefore does not qualify as a hopeless gunman.  In addition, he seems to be mentally ill, and thus he would fail to meet the third condition of being mentally sound as well.  Interestingly, he also kills a pimp to protect a prostitute.

An ordinary citizen in the movies can use a rifle or a shotgun to go hunting with no problem.  And he has no trouble killing zombies or monsters, as in Tremors (1990).  But when he tries to kill another human being with his handgun, he stands in danger of being a hopeless gunman.  In Judgment Night (1993), a bunch of friends decide to go to a boxing match.  Early in the movie, Jeremy Piven reveals that he has brought along his semi-automatic pistol, and we immediately feel a sense of foreboding, for he seems to meet all the conditions of the hopeless gunman.  And indeed, later in the movie, when he and his friends are being chased by gangsters trying to kill them, his pistol does him no good at all, and he ends up being killed.

A ludicrous example of the hopeless gunman is in the movie The Threat (1949).  Charles McGraw plays a vicious killer named Kluger, who escapes from death row and kidnaps a bunch of people.  One of them, an ordinary guy named Joe, manages to secrete his handgun on his person while he waits for a chance to use it.  When Kluger falls asleep, Joe pulls out his gun.  But when Kluger wakes up and sees that Joe has the drop on him, he just starts walking toward Joe, talking to him in a soothing tone of voice, saying it was a mistake to pull out the gun. “Come on, give it here,” Kluger says, as he gently reaches out his hand and takes the gun away from Joe without any resistance. “Now, isn’t that better?” Kluger asks. Joe smiles and says, “Yeah.” And then Kluger shoots him dead.  All Joe had to do was pull the trigger and kill Kluger.  But he was a hopeless gunman, and so he ended up being disarmed and killed in this humiliating fashion.

There is, however, one way for a civilian to use a handgun effectively against other human beings for a legitimate purpose, and that is if he was not the one who bought the gun, which means he does not meet the fourth condition.  In the movie just mentioned, The Threat, shortly after Joe dies, a woman gets her hands on Kluger’s handgun and pumps two slugs into him.  She deviates from the definition of the hopeless gunman in three ways:  she did not buy the gun herself; she is a woman; and she is a gangster’s moll, meaning she is not of good moral character.  As a result, she avoids being a hopeless gunman by not meeting conditions three, four, and six in the definition, making her more than qualified to use a gun effectively.

In Death Wish (1974), Charles Bronson starts killing bad guys after his wife has been murdered and his daughter raped.  He does so with a gun that is surreptitiously given to him by a friend.  Referring again to Judgment Night, after Jeremy Piven dies, his friends pick up the gun and are able to use it effectively. In Assault on Precinct 13 (1976), the driver of an ice-cream truck owns a gun, but he is killed, along with a young girl. Then the father of the girl picks up the gun and shoots the man who killed her.   In Rebel Without a Cause (1955), Sal Mineo shoots a hoodlum in self-defense with his mother’s handgun. And on and on it goes.  It is really amazing how many examples there are of a civilian using a handgun effectively when he did not buy it himself, and how few are the movies in which a gun is used effectively by a civilian who bought the gun originally, and those few are invariably women.

But even when the citizen is a woman, which would allow her to use the gun effectively anyway, the fact that she did not buy the gun herself further removes her from the category of the hopeless gunman.  In Blood Simple (1984), Frances McDormand is able to kill a private detective in self-defense with the gun her husband gave her.  In Freeway (1996), Reese Witherspoon is given a gun by her boyfriend to hock for money, but she ends up using it to shoot Kiefer Sutherland.  In Ms. 45 (1981), a woman takes a handgun off a man who raped her and starts using it to wipe out the city scum.

The difference between a man who buys a handgun and one who receives the gun as a gift or who opportunistically picks one up is the element of machismo.  And it is this difference that accounts for the exception made in the case of a woman.  When a woman meets all the other qualifications for being a hopeless gunman, including buying a handgun herself, we do not hold her guilty of machismo, for this is a masculine trait.  We figure the woman has a good reason for buying the gun, and not merely that she is trying to prove to herself how tough she is the way a man might be suspected of doing.

In the movie Jagged Edge (1985), Glenn Close is about to be murdered by a serial killer when she whips out a revolver and shoots him dead.  We do not see her purchase the revolver, but there is no reason to think she did not buy it herself.  In Death Proof (2007), a woman is effective in using a handgun she bought herself against a maniac.  In The Brave One (2007), a woman having been attacked by thugs gets herself a gun and uses it to get revenge on them.  Nevertheless, movies prefer not to rely solely on gender to distance the protagonist from machismo, and that is why in most of the movies discussed above where a woman uses a gun effectively, there are reasons beyond merely her sex that exempt her from being a hopeless gunman.  As another example, in Gloria (1980), the title character is a woman who presumably bought her own handgun, but since she was a gangster’s moll, the fact that she is not of good moral character would have allowed her to kill gangsters with it anyway.

Finally, in the fourth component of the definition of the hopeless gunman, there is the requirement that he not only must buy the gun himself, but also that he must buy it under ordinary circumstances.  In Panic in the Year Zero! (1962), for example, a man buys a handgun only after realizing that nuclear war has broken out, and that he and his family will have to try to survive without the benefits of civilization.  Technically, it could be said that he steals the gun and other supplies when the store owner refuses to take a check, thereby making him a criminal.  But he promises to pay the owner of the store later, and we believe him.  The point is that the machismo factor is present only if the man buys the handgun under normal circumstances, when there is no immediate threat he must deal with, rather than in an emergency.  Another example would be Cape Fear (1962) and its remake (1991).  The protagonist gets himself a gun only after his family is being terrorized by a killer.  In both of these examples, because the handgun was obtained under circumstances that were not ordinary, the protagonist is not a hopeless gunman and is able to use the gun successfully.

The trope of the hopeless gunman in the movies is an ideological choice, not a reflection of reality.  Just going by what I see on the nightly news, ordinary citizens win their fair share of gun battles against criminals, sometimes in attempted robberies, but especially in home invasions.  And it is reasonable to suppose that many of them meet all six components of the definition listed above.  But men like this are nowhere to be found in the movies.  It is clear that Hollywood opposes the idea that people are better off if they own handguns to protect themselves, portraying men who do buy handguns for that purpose as hopelessly inept and motivated by a sense of machismo.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

Whatever our opinion of love and marriage, we usually agree as to how a movie depicts them, whether it represents them as something desirable, as is usually the case for romantic comedies, or something to be avoided, as is often the case for films noir.  An exception to this is The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947).  Most people think of this movie as romantic, which is to say, as one that represents love as something beautiful.  It is a story about a woman who falls in love with the ghost of a sea captain.  And though she cannot marry him, of course, yet he is the man with whom marriage would have been ideal.  In reality, this movie has a dark view of love and marriage, and is quite cynical at its heart.

When the movie begins, Mrs. Muir (Gene Tierney), a widow, decides to move into a house with her daughter and her maid.  She is made aware that previous occupants moved out, claiming the house to be haunted, but she is undeterred.  One day, she sits in a chair and falls asleep.  Now, it is axiomatic that when a character in a movie falls asleep in a chair, there is a good chance that what follows is a dream (falling asleep in a bed is too ordinary to have any significance). And so, we immediately become suspicious, especially when the ghost of Captain Daniel Gregg (Rex Harrison) makes an appearance. Is the ghost real, or is she just dreaming him?

In any event, they get acquainted. And when she finds she is hard pressed for money, she becomes a ghost writer for this ghost, telling his story as a sea captain.  When she meets Miles Fairley (George Sanders) at the office of a book publisher, she finds herself attracted to him, and they start seeing each other.  Captain Gregg decides to take his leave. He tells her while she is asleep that he is only a dream, and that she wrote the book herself. Now, is this a real ghost telling her this, or is she just dreaming that a ghost is telling her he is a dream?

Years later, she sits in the chair and falls asleep again, and so once again we wonder if what follows is another dream or if we are still in the first one. The scene that does follow is one in which she finds out her daughter Anna is about to be engaged. Anna and Mrs. Muir have a talk in the kitchen, where it turns out that when Anna was a child, she had seen the ghost of Captain Gregg too, and they discuss whether they both saw a real ghost or simply had the same dream.

This is followed by another scene many years later, in which Anna writes that her daughter, Little Lucy (“Lucy” being the same first name as Mrs. Muir), has married a captain (an airplane captain, but you get the idea). Mrs. Muir is tired and decides to take another nap in that same chair. She falls asleep and dies. Or she falls asleep and dreams that she dies. Or she is still in the first dream, and only dreams that she sat in the chair and died?  And by now we are completely confused as to what is real and what is a dream.  In any event, she is now a ghost and is finally united with Captain Gregg.

However we interpret this movie, it has a rather paradoxical attitude about marriage. On the one hand, it follows the usual Hollywood line for that period that marriage is essential for happiness. On the other hand, there is an undercurrent throughout the movie that marriage is not conducive to happiness, that it is something to be avoided. In the opening scene, Mrs. Muir announces to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law, with whom she is living, that she is going to get her own place and move out. Her in-laws object, suggesting that it would be indecent. To this, Mrs. Muir responds, “I’ve never had a life of my own. It’s been Edwin’s life and yours and Eva’s, never my own.”  Since there is no indication that her husband was a bad man, the implication would seem to be that there is something oppressive about marriage itself, that it involves the sacrifice of one’s life for the sake of others.  In fact, she later admits to Captain Gregg that Edwin proposed to her just after she had read a romantic novel, and thus she got her own feelings for Edwin confused with the feelings elicited by the book.  The suggestion is that love and marriage sound good when we read about them in romance novels, but they are something quite different in real life.

After Mrs. Muir rents the house, Mr. Coombe, the man who brokered the deal for her, comes to visit her intent on proposing marriage, saying that she needs the “protection of a man,” which is absurd, coming from someone like him, with his high-pitched voice and nervous manner. Captain Gregg is disgusted, referring to him as a “herring-gutted swab,” and gets rid of him by causing Coombe’s car to start rolling away by itself.

As mentioned above, after Mrs. Muir writes the book about Captain Gregg’s adventures, she takes it to a publisher, where she meets Miles Fairley and soon falls in love with him. We are suspicious of him, because he is played by George Sanders, who often plays characters that are smarmy and decadent. She intends to marry him, but it turns out that he is already married with children. Worse yet, his wife knows that Fairley does that sort of thing to women on a regular basis, and it seems to be no big deal to her.

In a subsequent scene, however, Mrs. Muir tells Anna she saw Fairley years later at a dinner party, where he cried because his wife had finally had enough and left him. She also mentions that he was “bald and fat.” But if Fairley had turned out to be a decent man, and had married Mrs. Muir, he would still have become bald and fat, because that happens in marriage.  And so, if the deterioration of Fairley’s looks causes Mrs. Muir to be thankful she did not marry him, does it not follow that the inevitable deterioration of a man’s looks is a good reason for her not to marry anyone at all?

This theme of deterioration is reinforced by analogy with a post.  An old man carves Anna’s name into a post on the shore, and he tells her it will be there forever and a day. And yet, as the years pass, we see it slowly rot away and fall over. Is this not a metaphor for marriage, which begins with the illusion that love will last forever, only for it to slowly decay and fall apart?

Now, we know that the idea is that for a woman to be happy, she must marry the right man, and the right man in this case is Captain Gregg. And so, at the end of the movie, when she dies, and she and Captain Gregg are together again, apparently forever, we know that she is finally happy. And she and Gregg both have their good-looking, youthful appearance, forever apparently. In other words, Gregg will never become “bald and fat.”

The three real men in Mrs. Muir’s life, her husband Edwin, Mr. Coombe, and Miles Fairley, were not suitable for her for different reasons, and only a dream-ghost was the right man. In short, real people can never measure up to what we find in romantic fiction or in our dreams.  The further implication of this story is that a truly happy marriage is itself a dream, and that in real life, one is better off remaining single. As Mrs. Muir says to her daughter, “You can be much more alone with other people than you are by yourself, even if it’s people you love.”

Labor Unions and the Movies

As we head into the 2016 presidential campaign season, we can expect to start hearing references to working-class origins, either that of the candidate himself or his ancestors.  During the last presidential Republican primary in 2012, Rick Santorum spoke glowingly of his grandfather’s “big hands,” which he got from working as a coal miner.  Not to be outdone, Mitt Romney’s wife, Ann, talked about her coal-miner grandfather.  In a previous election, Joe Biden didn’t have his own coal-miner grandfather, so he borrowed Neil Kinnock’s, though he soon had to give him back.  And so it appears that a politician just loves having a coal miner in his family, though I doubt if he would want his daughter to marry one.

Presumably, these millionaires that run for president need some way of proving that they are essentially just like us, and they trot out their coal-mining ancestry to show that they have not forgotten where they came from. Their wealth notwithstanding, they are working class, same as us, and thus have our interests at heart.  Of course, it doesn’t have to be coal mining. During the Republican National Convention of 2012, we heard speech after speech by politicians trying to establish their blue-collar bona fides, with tales of hard work and tough times.  While few of them could boast of having a coal miner in their family, they managed to find reasonable working-class substitutes.  Soon they may start hiring genealogists for this purpose.

Even God saw the good in it, which explains why Jesus’ stepfather was a carpenter.  God knew what he was doing when he made sure Mary got married to someone who worked with his hands, rather than to a money lender or tax collector.  God wasn’t worried about his son getting elected, of course, but he knew that a working-class background would go a long way in establishing his son’s moral worth, a point not lost on modern politicians. In other words, in addition to showing that they are just like us, politicians try to establish a connection with certain kinds of work as evidence of virtues like integrity, trustworthiness, courage, and even piety.

In the song Coal Miner’s Daughter, Loretta Lynn sings about the way her father loved his children, and the way her mother read the Bible every night. Undoubtedly, there are also coal miners who get drunk, beat their wives, and screw their daughters, same as might be found in the general population, but we are persuaded of the purifying effects of hard work, and thus are predisposed to embrace her idealized portrayal of a coal-mining family. In The Razor’s Edge (1946), Larry Darrell is on an existential quest, precipitated by his experiences during the Great War.  He turns down a job as a stockbroker and goes to work in a coal mine instead.  He says that while he works with his hands, his mind is free to think about other things, like the meaning of life.  In How Green Was My Valley (1941), Roddy McDowall plays Huw, the youngest child in a coal-mining family.  He is given a good education, with the opportunity to pursue a professional career, but he chooses to go to work in the coal mines instead, notwithstanding all the misery and mistreatment suffered by his father and older brothers.  He does not explicitly state his reason for doing so, but we get the impression that he goes down into the mines as a matter of pride, as if to prove that he is just as good as the other men in his family.  As opposed to these movies that romanticize working in coal mines, a cold splash of reality is provided by Harlan County U.S.A. (1976).  The movie is a documentary about a strike that took place in Harlan County, Kentucky.  Even though the events took place in 1973, at a time when most of us took modern conveniences in America for granted, the movie informs us that houses for the families of coal miners do not even have indoor plumbing.  The women start having babies at sixteen and have rotten teeth by forty.

Still, the association between coal mining and virtue remains strong.  If the industrial revolution had taken place two thousand years ago, I am sure that God would have seen to it that Mary had a coal miner for a husband instead. But carpentry was good enough, as is any job where you either produce some basic resource, as in coal mining, or you make or repair something, as in carpentry.  In Office Space (1999), a man who hates his soul-crushing job sitting at a computer in a claustrophobic cubicle finally achieves peace and contentment doing construction work in the open air.  And farming always has the aura of spiritual purity, as in Easy Rider (1969), where a bunch of hippies work the land rather than sell out by working for the government or big business.

When it comes to honoring the worker, there is no difference between liberals and conservatives.  But when those same workers band together and form a union, the difference becomes profound.  It would be a gross oversimplification to say that conservatives invariably despise unions, while liberals wholeheartedly adore them, but there is no doubt that unions tend to find support on the left of the political spectrum, and opposition on the right.  As a result, there are movies about unions reflecting each of these attitudes.  Examples on the left are many, such as Salt of the Earth (1954), Norma Rae (1979), and Matewan (1987), in which the companies are the villains, and the unions formed by the workers are an unqualified force for good.

Examples on the right are fewer in number.  We have On the Waterfront (1954), of course, in which the union is so corrupt that the union boss and his henchmen are the villains, not the shipping companies that need the longshoremen to load and unload their ships.  Rather, the union boss and his men exploit both the shipping companies and the workers.  But most movies that express an anti-union sentiment do not make that the central part of the story.  Rather, the story tends to be mostly about something else, such as organized crime or communism, with the unions being associated with these evils, but only as a minor part of the movie.  The Sherlock Holmes novel, The Valley of Fear, was very anti-union, with Pinkerton detective being the hero, no less.  The fact that none of the dramatizations of this novel ever capture its full anti-union sentiment testifies to the general pro-union bias that prevailed in the movies for a long time.  The novel was based on a true story concerning the Molly Maguires in Pennsylvania in the nineteenth century.  A movie based on that story, The Molly Maguires (1970), however, is pro-union, unlike the novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

And then there are movies which, in accordance with a well-established Hollywood tradition, try to have it both ways.  In The Devil and Miss Jones (1941), the business tycoon is shocked to see a picture of himself in the newspaper being hanged in effigy by workers trying to form a union in a department store he didn’t even know he owned.  He goes undercover as an employee and ends up becoming so sympathetic to the plight of the workers that he ends up helping them form the union.  In other words, the capitalist is a good person, and the workers forming the union are good people too.  The villains are just some underlings who have caused the discord between labor and management.

Because there are more leftwing, pro-union movies than rightwing, anti-union movies, it might seem that the nation is more favorably disposed to unions than not.  However, I have noticed that since 1990, all the pro-union movies are set before that date, while recent anti-union movies are set contemporaneously.  This suggests that the left must look nostalgically back to the past, while the right can make its case in the present.

For example, Bread and Roses (2000), Made in Dagenham (2010), and Cesar Chavez (2014) are pro-union movies, based on actual events that occurred before 1990:  the 1980s for the first; 1968 for the second, and the late 1960s through the early 1970s for the third. On the other hand, Waiting for “Superman” (2010) is an anti-union documentary concerning the decline in education in America, depicting events that have occurred quite recently. The film places the blame for all our educational ills on the American Federation of Teachers, which stands in the way of progress by insisting on tenure.

This is a new kind of worker in a union movie, one who does not work with his or her hands, and certainly does no physically demanding labor.  The workers, that is, the teachers, are associated with children, however, and the teachers benefit from that association.  As all politicians know, having children is even more important for political success than having a coal-miner grandfather.  Bill Clinton, except when he had to address his relationship with Monica Lewinsky, never gave a speech in which he did not refer to children.  And Jesus certainly cashed in on this association, insisting that his disciples allow the children to come to him.  Today, it would be called a photo op. The downside of such association, however, is that much evil befalls those who are accused of harming children, as is the case with those who belong to the teachers’ union.  Since the union is depicted as failing the children out of a selfish concern for tenure, the unionized teacher becomes the scourge of our education system, as depicted in Won’t Back Down (2012), another anti-union movie in a contemporary setting.

As an exercise, try to imagine a movie set in the present that portrays the teachers’ union in a favorable light.  In general, public employees’ unions suffer from the same fate:  no one has ever made a mainstream movie that presents them in a positive manner.  Whatever the merits of the case, leftwing, pro-union movies about civil servants do not exist.  Police and firefighters’ unions might get more sympathy, owing to the public’s favorable attitude toward first responders, though even here there are no movies depicting the police or firefighters being treated miserably and having to go on a bitter strike to redress their grievances.  And as for ordinary civil servants, the kind disparagingly referred to as bureaucrats, there are absolutely no pro-union movies about them.

Of course, part of the problem is that public employees have decent wages and benefits of which a lot of people are envious, as opposed to people who do hard work for low pay and no benefits, depicted in the pro-union movies mentioned above.  The notorious example is that of the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization (PATCO), which illegally struck in 1981, during the first year of Ronald Reagan’s presidency.  The result was that Reagan fired the workers who refused to return to work.  As columnist George Will pointed out at the time, because their salaries and benefits were quite good, they made an “unsympathetic proletariat.”

Returning, then, to the kind of work traditionally found in a union movie, we have North Country (2005).   The story begins in the year 1989, and it is about a woman who tries to make a living working in an iron mine.  This would seem to be a liberal-slanted movie, inasmuch as it is a feminist film about sexual harassment.  But the animosity toward Charlize Theron’s character is for the most part shared by both labor and management.  The union members, who are mostly men, are cruel and obscene in the way they treat the few women who work there.  So while the movie is liberal in its feminist stance, it is conservative in the negative way it portrays the union and its members.

The television show The Wire, which is set in this century, featured a corrupt longshoremen’s union in the second season, so technically that makes it rightwing in its negative attitude toward unions.  But then, everyone in that show was corrupt, including the good guys, so maybe we should not try to make too much of that.  Still, the union does not come off looking very good.

To sum up, every movie or television show involving unions that is set in a period of time after 1990 presents unions negatively.  All the movies that are pro-union, regardless of when they were made, are set before 1990, as if the story must take place in a remote, mythological past in order for us to see the union as good.  The fact that no one is willing or able to make a pro-union movie set in contemporary times is an ominous indicator of public sentiment.