Hitchcock (2012)

Having been more than a little disappointed by the cable film "The Girl" (2012) screened over Christmas, where Toby Jones swathed in prosthetic make-up made a reasonable fist of portraying the iconic director, I nearly gave the cinema showing of the above movie a miss, especially since nearly all of the main critics came down hard on the film, only begrudgingly noting some splendid acting. So we went to a matinee at our local on its penultimate showing and found that we were far from alone in the small but crowded theatre. I suppose this is because Hitchcock is one of the very few directors whose name and image can conjure up fond recollections, especially among an older audience.

Let me say up front that I really enjoyed the movie and not just because I am an unrepentent film buff. A mixture of biopic, period recreation, and a new look at historical figures from 50s' Hollywood, stirred with a combination of thriller, black comedy, and romance, the film may be flawed and skewed beyond factual recognition, but it is thoroughly entertaining, thanks largely to the characters of Anthony Hopkins as "call me Hitch, hold the cock" and Helen Mirren as his wife, Alma Reville. As fine an actor as he is, Hopkins has not really been at his best when portraying real people -- think of his versions of Nixon and Picasso, whereas he is a master of bringing imaginary characters to life. In this film he too underwent possibly unnecessary hours in the make-up artist's chair to give the impression of the portly Hitchcock, but it was to some extent a waste of time, since he no more resembles the director than did Toby J. However, when it comes to his manner, his way of talking, his inflections and his phrasing, Hopkins is magnificent and one can immediately warm to the bull-headed and sarky beast that Hitch appeared -- despite his many self-doubts and insecurities. Were you to close your eyes, you could believe it was the man himself up there on the screen.

Although ostensibly about Hitchcock during the period when he was making "Psycho", the film in the end is more a love letter to the long-suffering Reville, largely ignored by the public that worshipped her husband, and portrayed here as the real power behind the throne. Mirren has drabbed down somewhat to morph into his dowdy collaborator (in this sense Imelda Staunton in "The Girl" was far more physically believable). She does however bring real strength to her portrayal of the equally talented filmmaker, who has spent years catering to her husband's eccentricities. I think her suggested flirtation with screenwriter Whitfield Cook (a real hack of the period, brought to swarmy life by Danny Houston) detracts from the film's overall interest, as does the spirit of serial killer Ed Gein acting as a macabre mentor for Hitch in certain scenes. Not having read the Stephen Rebello book which forms the basis for this film, I can't tell if these unnecessary sidelights are part of the backstory or merely embellishments by director Sacha Gervasi (a strange choice, this director of failed-band bio "Anvil") and his own screenwriter. Regardless we are privileged to follow the couple during the period when the only way they could fund the classic movie was to mortgage their own home (and swimming pool), since the studio just didn't want to know about Hitch's little horror film.

There is a great deal of fun to be had in seeing the supporting cast of characters in this saga reincarnated. Scarlett Johansson makes a truly scrumptious Janet Leigh. Having seen her recently in "Avengers Assemble", I thought she was beginning to look a little weary, but here she is delightfully lovely and naive; she does not come across in any way oppressed by the would-be lecherous Hitch with his pet blondes. Jessica Biel looks equally yummy as Vera Miles, whom Hitch purportedly 'hates' for having become pregnant rather than letting him make her a star in "Vertigo".  James D'Arcy becomes a fair likeness of Anthony Perkins, with all his own neuroses and mummy hang-ups. Toni Collette makes a fine Peggy Robertson, Hitch's longtime secretary-assistant, while Michael Stuhlbarg is 100% believable as the director's megastar agent Lew Wasserman. Right down to Richard Portnow as Paramount boss Barney Balaban and Kirkwood Smith as the prissy censor whom Hitch outmanoeuvres, the casting is spot-on.

The film is not as fine an example of film-making as the average Hitchcock/Reville product, and even at 98 minutes, it does feel over-extended. However scenes like the director dancing with joy in the theatre lobby at the first "Psycho" screening, as he hears the audience's terrified screams, more than make up for the occasional longeurs and probable elisions of the script.

Shadowlands (1993)

I can remember not being particularly taken with this film at my first viewing and have barely thought about it over the years,  However a chance second viewing has left me rather more reflective about its merits.  Directed by Richard Attenborough from the play by William Nicholson, I originally found it a little humourless, rather wordy, and definitely 'worthy'. While I was aware of the basic story of the autumnal romance between the Oxford don C.S. Lewis and the American divorced poet Joy Gresham, I do not recall being reduced to tears.  That was then; this is now!

Debra Winger plays Gresham and was Oscar-nominated for her role as the brash woman who manages to locate the heart of a confirmed bachelor and who then inconveniently dies, leaving him to question his faith.  (She certainly had the form for this part from her earlier role of a woman who dies young in "Terms of Endearment".) Winger did not win, but it is a pity that Anthony Hopkins was not also nominated for his turn as Lewis, since he has never been better or more moving, not even in "The Remains of the Day", where he played a similarly repressed character. Set in Oxford in the 1950s, Lewis has a comfortable niche with his fellow academics at his Oxford college, enjoying a pint of beer, and joshing about this and that.  How, they tease him, can he be the author of successful children's books when he knows nothing about children and how they think.  He replies that his brother was once a child, as was he. He shares a home with this bachelor brother, Warnie, touchingly played by Edward Hardwicke, and theirs is a regular and routine existence.

Into this set world arrives an American fan who has been corresponding with the author.  Originally when they meet for tea in London, Lewis brings his brother along, not as a chaperone, but for moral support.  He is ill prepared to communicate with such an open and and uninhibited woman, but is strangely fascinated as well.  He invites her to visit him in Oxford and she asks if she can bring her young son Douglas along as he is a massive Narnia fan. The son is played by Joseph Mazzello who had some major roles in the early 90s.  I have always remembered him in the now forgotten "Radio Flyer" (1992), where his childhood heartbreak and aspirations really said something to me. (I was therefore unprepared to realise that he is now a man and to see him most recently in "The Social Network".) Anyhow the young Mazzello is equally memorable here.  He asks to see Lewis' attic and is immediately drawn to the wardrobe in a far corner.  As he rummages through the musty old coats, you can sense his deep disappointment that they did not somehow lead to the entrance to a magical land.

When Gresham returns to England after her divorce their friendship begins to deepen and she has no qualms asking him to marry her to afford her the opportunity to remain in Britain.  Theirs is a civil ceremony and it is strictly a marriage of convenience with Lewis back in Oxford and she and Douglas in their London basement flat. Then she falls ill with inoperable cancer and all bets are off.  Lewis, who lectures to hat-wearing matrons, giving comforting talks about man's place in God's plans, and who teaches his students that the most intense joy is not in the having but in the desire -- as pain is God's way of perfecting us, must leave his own 'shadowland' -- the landscape that man inhabits before finding the light. A woman called Joy Gresham really teaches him what 'joy' means. They have a religious marriage ceremony in her hospital room and, during a brief remission, a delayed honeymoon.  However this happiness is short-lived and she soon dies. The penultimate scene of Lewis and young Douglas falling into each others arms with uncontrolled tears in front of the fabled wardrobe is too moving for words.  I must have had a heart of stone the first time around.

I understand that the author first told his story as a television drama with Claire Bloom and Joss Ackland in the leads.  I have not seen this, but somehow I think I might have liked Bloom more than Winger; there was just something about her performance that seemed a little cold and calculating and, dare I say, unlovable. However while Ackland is also a fine actor, I doubt he could have given the complex Lewis character the same intellectual depth and genuine anguish that Hopkins brought to the table.

Guess what Folks?  It's FrightFest yet again so that's me out of general circulation for the next five days.  All things being equal, a more or less full report will follow....eventually!