If there is a downside to being a Genius, it would be that I am never satisfied. I am in constant search for new experiences to expand my horizons; new foods
, new beers
, new movies, new Google searches for pictures of my favorite actresses in various stages of undress. I cannot allow myself to settle, to fall into a comfortable routine, to take to my heart any one thing to call a "favorite." I view having a favorite anything as settling, which to my mind is a slow form of death. As soon as I have a favorite something, I feel as though I've excluded everything else in that category.
To be sure, there are things I like more than others. I enjoy Thai cuisine more than the typical Americanized stuff that passes for Chinese food in this country. I like Jazz more than Pop music. Given the choice, I'd rather go to a hockey game than a basketball game. All things considered, I greatly prefer actress Tatiana Maslany to any of the current crop of "hot" celebrities. But these are more general in nature, and not, to my mind, settling on a favorite.
There are, of course, exceptions. I am a lifelong Atlanta Braves fan, which I guess would make them my favorite baseball team (along with the Carolina League's Salem Red Sox, my local nine). I happen to appreciate the show The Sopranos
more than anything else that has ever been on television, even current favorites like Orphan Black
and TURN: Washington's Spies
. And I am a dyed-in-the-wool Coca-Cola fan who would rather drink my own sweat than to drink a Pepsi.
Then, there is Vertigo
. Made in 1958, and starring Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, Vertigo
was greeted with tepid critical reception and mediocre box office. It has come to be considered Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork, recently unseating Citizen Kane
as the best movie ever made on the British publication Sight and Sound's
list, but at the time it was considered a disappointment. Hitchcock bought the rights to it and four other films (The Man Who Knew Too Much
, Rear Window
, and The Trouble with Harry
) to leave as a legacy to his daughter, Patricia, and as a result, the film was unavailable until it resurfaced in the early Eighties. I saw the film for the first time in the late Nineties, after it was restored by Robert Harris and James Katz.
If I had a favorite movie, it would be Vertigo
. And since I subscribe to the auteur
theory (which states that the director is the 'author' of a film. Subscriptions to this theory are available for $9.99 per year in the AAJ gift shop), my favorite director would be Alfred Hitchcock.
Sir Alfred Joseph Hitchcock, KBE, was born on August 13, 1899, in Leytonstone in London (like I know where that is). His father was a green grocer and poulterer, which is just fun to say, which may have contributed to young Alfred's lifelong love of food and subsequent battle with his weight. It is here I sympathize with young Alfred, as someone who has battled with weight my entire life; we both endured lonely and somewhat sheltered childhoods because of it. Only, he went on to make some of the greatest movies in cinema history, and I'm sitting here writing about him while eating the other half of last night's baked ziti.
There is the popular tale of a young Alfred being sent to the local police precinct by his father, with a note instructing the officer to lock him up as punishment for misbehaving. Though only detained for five minutes, he still had time to get a tattoo and learned to play the harmonica. This brief incarceration supposedly instilled in him a lifelong distrust of police and set up the recurring themes of wrongful accusations in his films. A film fan through his teens, he nevertheless trained as a draftsman at the London County Council School of Engineering and Chip Shop. Afterwards, he went to work for an electrical cable firm called Henley's, where he worked as an advertising designer and draftsman. This early experience certainly set the stage for Hitchcock's meticulous storyboarding of every single scene in his films. It was also here that young Alfred began writing, mostly short stories for the company's in-house publication.
At twenty, Hitchcock finally broke into the film business as a title card designer for the American firm Famous Players-Lasky (the production division of Paramount Pictures) at their London office at Islington Studios. When Famous Players pulled out of town in 1922 due to lack of fame, Hitchcock remained as part of the studio staff. It took him five years to work his way from designing title cards to directing, during which he worked as a screenwriter, assistant director, and art director under director Graham Cutts. He was also the fishmonger for the studio's in-house craft services department* .
It was during one of his collaborations with Cutts that Hitchcock had the opportunity to work on a film in Germany. He witnessed a portion of the making of F.W. Murnau's The Last Laugh
in 1924 and used many of Murnau's set design ideas in his own productions. He was also influenced by Fritz Lang's 1921 film Destiny
. There is a whole school of thought on the influence of German Expressionism in Hitchcock's work, but I won't belabor the point because I've barely scratched the surface of Hitch's genius as it is, and this is an article, not a damned book.
Hitchcock's first efforts were unsuccessful. It wasn't until 1927's The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog
, about the search for a Jack the Ripper-like killer, the he finally achieved success. In the interim, he married Alma Reville, then his assistant director. Theirs would be a lifelong collaborative effort, and many of Hitchcock's films benefitted immeasurably from Reville's keen eye in the editing room and her uncanny instincts as a script doctor. These contributions were kept private, as Reville wished both to avoid the public eye and Britain's Genius tax (which dates to the time of King James I, and is also known as "Shakespeare's shilling").
Hitchcock's tenth film, 1929's Blackmail
, is considered Britain's first talking picture. It is also notable for featuring one of Hitch's longest cameo appearances. As you may know, one of his directorial trademarks was appearing briefly in almost all his films. This goes back to the early days of his career, when the crew often served double duty as extras. Part of the fun of a Hitchcock film is spotting his cameo. In Vertigo
, for the record, he can be seen outside walking past Gavin Elster's office.