(PG) ★★★★★
Director: Alfred Hitchcock.
Cast: James Stewart, Grace Kelly, Thelma Ritter, Raymond Burr, Wendell Corey, Judith Evelyn, Ross Bagdasarian, Georgine Darcy, Sara Berner, Frank Cady, Jesslyn Fax, Irene Winston, Rand Harper, Havis Davenport.
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| The binoculars confirmed it: the man was not wearing flesh-coloured pants. |
"Let's start from the beginning again, Jeff. Tell me everything you saw, and what you think it means."
- Lisa Fremont
When you get down to it, making movies is about two key questions: "what's the story?" and "how will you tell it?".
In the case of Rear Window, the first answer is nothing special - it's a murder mystery. Man kills wife, nosy neighbour pieces together clues to solve it.
What makes this an exceptional film is how the story is told. And this is where the genius of Alfred Hitchcock comes into play.
"I think I'm more impressed by how Rear Window was made rather than the end product," reviewer The Incredible Suit notes in his ranking of Hitchcock films, "but it's undeniably unique filmmaking (if you don't count the Christopher Reeve remake)".
Indeed, Rear Window's superlative skill is to put you alongside the protagonist unlike any film has done so before or since. Almost every shot is filmed in or from the apartment of LB "Jeff" Jeffries (Stewart) - a photographer laid up with a broken leg, who finds himself with nothing to do but watch his many neighbours go about their lives in their apartments across the courtyard.
By placing the camera next to Jeff, we became complicit in his increasing voyeurism. We join him as he enjoys the music from the pianist's apartment, empathises with Miss "Lonely Hearts" at ground level, grins knowingly at the newlyweds behind the pulled blind, and finds it hard to look away from Miss "Torso" as she does her ballet warm-ups in her underwear. We're also drawn into the slow-burn mystery building in the apartment of Lars and Anna Thorwald at the same pace that Jeff is, as we see what he sees.
As noted in The Wordsworth Book of Movie Classics, the "restrictions" of trapping the film's hero in one room - and the audience with him - allowed "the viewer to feel the claustrophobia of his predicament and share his voyeuristic impulses".
There's that word again: "voyeur". Rear Window's key theme is voyeurism - within 90 seconds of the opening credits finishing, we see a woman drop her bra, then bend over in her pink underwear to pick it up. There's a very real "male gaze" thing going on here, but this titillation also goes to show the unimpeded view Jeff gets of his neighbours and their private lives. It also helps, rightly or wrongly, give us a gradual acceptance of Jeff's voyeurism - if everything is so openly on display, then what harm is there in looking, right? And if someone's life is on the line, then perhaps the right thing to do is look, right? Right?
French director François Truffaut suggested the film was an analogy for films themselves - "the courtyard is the world, the reporter/photographer is the filmmaker, the binoculars stand for the camera and its lenses," he wrote in 1954. The Incredible Suit agreed, calling it "a film about films, full of tiny cinema screens".
The film is also about neighbours and the perceived dying days of community. Jeff watches his neighbours, but never interacts with them. A dark twist involving a dead dog sparks a rant about what makes for good neighbours: "You don't know the meaning of the word 'neighbours'! Neighbours like each other, speak to each other, care if somebody lives or dies! But none of you do!". The rant, which is bellowed to the world at large, is startling, coming out of nowhere. But it aptly sums up the film's voyeurism in a different way, while articulating that classic yet misguided belief of every era - that society was better in the previous one, and that the current era has gone to the dogs (so to speak).
Rear Window is also, oddly, a film about love. Through the windows into other lives we see newlyweds at it like rabbits, the bickering married couple, the young lady fighting off suitors, the lonely lady dreaming of a partner, and the older lady content in her singledom. And then there's Jeff and his perfect girlfriend Lisa (the perfect Grace Kelly).
Jeff wants to break-up with Lisa because she's "too perfect", which is his way of saying she's out of his league and social bracket, but also because he sees their lives going in different directions, and he views marriage as a kind of curse. This crisis of commitment makes sense in the context of their obvious but unspoken age difference, which makes this May-December relationship far more palatable than Kelly and Gary Cooper in High Noon, or Stewart and Kim Novak in Vertigo.
Stewart's Jeff is a man on the edge of curmudgeonism and driven to distraction by his boredom. In a nice metaphor, his eyes are always on the horizon, chasing the next story, which happens to be taking place outside his window, and not what's happening in his own apartment. He struggles to see how Kelly's Lisa fits in to that, and Stewart nails his frustrations, fears and fervours in one of his best performances.
Kelly is also at the top of her game in a "surprisingly carnal" turn, as Joshua Klein put it in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. Her wounded moments hurt, yet she's also convincingly strong and daring, making the varying levels of her character feel like a real person. Jeff laments her "perfection", but by the gods, she does indeed seem perfect.
Thelma Ritter as the nurse Stella is great comic relief, bringing some sass to her sidekick role, while across the way a brooding Raymond Burr is a great mix of quiet and shady, fuelling the possibility Jeff may be mistaken for long enough. And when Burr finally gets his big moment, he delivers.
Quick fact: that's Ross Bagdasarian AKA David Seville as the frustrated pianist providing much of the film's diegetic score. He's best known for inventing The Chipmunks AKA Alvin, Simon and Theodore.
And while it's the "how" of the story that sells Rear Window, the screenplay is an under-appreciated gem of the genre. The mystery unfolds in a way that rewards repeat viewings, while there is an equally potent and important slowburn happening in our complicity with Jeff's growing voyeurism. The way characters around the courtyard are built without dialogue is also some nifty storytelling.
There are other fascinating factors at play that help sell the drama. There's the remarkable set, the biggest ever built at Paramount Studios at the time, featuring running water and electricity in every fake apartment, and a complex drainage system to handle the fake rain ("Watching it is like watching a living, breathing ecosystem," Klein notes in 1001 Movies).
There's the perfect pacing which winds the tension tighter and tighter, a sublime sense of mood conjured by the use of music and lighting, an excellent cast, and, as is often the case, Hitchcock making all the right moves at the right times.
As William Bayer put it in his 1973 book The Great Movies, Rear Window "comes very close to being the perfect Hitchcock film, the one that illustrates nearly all his major strengths". Bayer cites Hitchcock's love of voyeurism, his passion for a technical challenge, the multi-layered narrative, the strong visuals, and the common Hitchcockian motif of "an extraordinary thing happening in an everyday situation to an average person".
It's true. Psycho may be more daring and thrilling (and ultimately better), and Vertigo certainly has its fans for its unique stylings and deep themes, but Rear Window is the quintessential Hitchcock film.
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