Like his 2011 film Take Shelter, Jeff Nichols‘ Midnight Special was born out of fear, specifically the fear of losing his son.

“I think, really, we’re terrified of losing them, so we’re going to try to figure out who they are to try to help them. Help them become the ones who manifest their own destiny,” the director told me during an interview I conducted a couple of weeks back. That fatherly fear is at the core of the film, though the story blossoms into something much bigger, touching on themes of friendship, homeland security, science, and religion, all in the mode of a sci-fi thriller.

Michael Shannon stars as a man escorting his supernaturally gifted son to a secret location, all while evading an armed religious sect and U.S. military forces. Aiding them on their journey is an old friend (Joel Edgerton) and the boy’s mother (Kirsten Dunst); a government scientist (Adam Driver), meanwhile, tries to understand the family’s plight as he tracks their location.

Terrifically thrilling and deeply affecting, Midnight Special is yet another showcase by one of this generation’s very best visual storytellers and opens in theaters this weekend.

Some people consider your movies to be vague or overly ambiguous. That’s maybe the biggest criticism levied against you.
It’s funny how everybody wants to be polite. Obviously, I made the film with an open ending on purpose. It’s like, let’s talk about it! If you don’t like it…maybe, rather than just being entrenched in your position, if we talk about it, you might be illuminated on something. It was funny, I had a good conversation with a lady in Berlin about [the movie]. She had a very specific place where she thought I should end the movie. She was very specific about not liking the end of the movie, and I said, “That’s cool. Where would you end the movie?” She told me, and I thought, that would be a terrible ending! She was like, “Well, it’s right. That’s where you should have ended it.” I was like, I really don’t think you’re right! I didn’t convince her, but it was at least fun to have a conversation.

So you do enjoy those conversations.
I do, yeah.

I do, too. If I meet a filmmaker and I didn’t like their movie, maybe, and I get illuminated by their insight…I love that.
The reality is, making movies is really complex. It’s a strange algebra. There are so many variables that go into them. I would be shocked if you met a filmmaker who said, “My film’s perfect,” you know? I don’t know if I want to be friends with that person.

Tommy Wiseau.
[laughs] It goes beyond ego. I want these films to be conversation starters, so of course it makes sense that I would want to have conversations about them. As long as people don’t ask me too many specifics about things. It’s cool to see how people’s minds work on them and work on the problems I created. It’s cool to hear how people interpret things, sometimes random, sometimes spot-on, sometimes differently. It’s fun.

In some ways, this movie is like the Superman movie I always wanted in terms of tone and taste, do you know what I mean?
I do.

The existential crisis of Superman is something that’s seldom handled well.
That’s very interesting. I think Zack Snyder scratched the surface of it. I think someone—maybe it was JJ Abrams—was talking about [doing] a Superman film and he was like, “I just wonder how he didn’t kill anybody as a baby.” I know that there are other people who have takes on it. I never saw this character as a superhero—I just saw him as a boy. His illnesses I just thought of as being organic, even though they’re supernatural. The same thing happened with

The same thing happened with Take Shelter. To your comment, specifically—wanting to see a certain version of a kind of movie…This is going to sound ridiculous, but Take Shelter was kind of my zombie movie. Take Shelter was my take on all those cool feelings in a zombie film where people are preparing for a disaster or preparing for the zombie stuff. I just wanted to make a movie that lived in that part. Then you start to make it deeper and more meaningful and relate it to your life, but that was very much the case with Take Shelter and here [with Midnight Special] too. I really liked those movies of the ’80s and sci-fi movies from that period. I kind of wanted to live in that world for a little bit, which doesn’t negate, though, my approach to the story or how I broaden its veins into my own life. It doesn’t discount that feeling, that sense you get after having seen stuff like that. I felt that way with Mud, too. I had this notion of what a classic American film was. I couldn’t tell you one specifically, but I can tell you a combination of several. Cool Hand Luke, The Getaway…I kind of wanted it to feel like some of the things I felt during those movies.

Midnight Special applies to that. So many people try to make these one-to-one analogies with these films, especially with the endings and other things. Those are kind of lost on me. That’s not how I thought about them. I just thought about the essence of those films.

Hitchcock’s movies were driven by his personal fears. Would you say you’re the same?
Absolutely. One hundred percent. The interesting thing about Hitchcock is that he chose fear as a predominant format to work in, which makes sense because that’s best for directors.

How so?
The feeling of fear is most directly linked to the toolbox that a director has to work with. This shot plus this shot equals this feeling. This music here, this framing here. I’m not going to give you much lead space in front of your eyes, and that’s going to freak people out. It’s different in comedy or drama…they’re not really genres. They’re these feelings. Fear most directly relates most to what a director does. I approach it a little differently. Definitely in Take Shelter, there are some scary moments, and they’re intended to be scary. I was getting to use that toolbox. I approach fear more from the standpoint of a writer. I use fear as a catalyst. Fear makes for a scary scene—“This is going to be a scary moment”—that’s what I’m talking about with Hitchcock. What I’m talking about as a writer…fear is a catalyst for a bigger idea. It’s a catalyst for the thought that you’re trying to convey to the audience, which for me is always an emotion—it’s not a story. It’s not plot. It’s not, “I’m going to tell you a story about what happened to a guy.” It’s, “I’m going to tell you a story about how a guy feels.”

Fear is a great place to start from. Fear is what motivates us as humans to get out and gather the food and build the shelter. It’s like a foundational element of humanity. But fear is only a catalyst. For instance, this film is about the fear of losing my son. That brings up a lot of emotions and other things, but that’s not a thought in and of itself. I can’t just make a movie about a guy afraid of losing his son. What does he do with that? What’s he trying to do with that fear? I think that forced me to think about the actual nature of parenthood. What are we trying to do? We’re trying to, I think, define for ourselves who our children are, in the purest way we possibly can. Sometimes, our own point of view gets in the way and we project that onto our kids. But I think, really, we’re terrified of losing them, so we’re going to try to figure out who they are to try to help them. Help them become the ones who manifest their own destiny. We have no control over that destiny. We have no control over who they become. At best, we can try to help them realize who they are and help them become that.

That became a thought. Fear produced that thought, which became the backbone for this movie. In Take Shelter, I was afraid of the world falling apart. I was afraid of not being a good provider for my family, or an adult, or a good husband. I was afraid of all those things, and there was a bunch of anxiety that came from that. But that’s not what that movie’s about—that movie’s about communicating in marriage. That movie’s about the foundational principles of marriage, which I think is communication. That’s why I made the daughter deaf. I think, in order to get that, I needed to have fear. Shotgun Stories is about the fear of losing one of my brothers. But ultimately that’s not what the movie’s about. It’s about the fruitlessness of revenge, a revenge that was born out of that fear.

I think there’s a huge misunderstanding among moviegoers in this country. People are obsessed with plot. That’s how they critique movies—solely on the plot! From the stunning opening of this movie, it’s clear you’re not interested in exposition. This is cinema, that’s it. We’re dealing with emotions, images, and sound. I wish more people appreciated that. I think maybe they do, subconsciously.
Maybe they do, you know? It depends on what people want out of a film. At different times you want different things. A lot of people—and I’m this audience sometimes—want escapism. Look at the way people use score. Score, even more than expositional dialogue, is the way to telegraph a pass, like in basketball. You never telegraph a pass—you never want the defense to know where you’re looking, because they’ll know where you’re going to throw the ball and then they’ll steal it. You can telegraph so much by having two characters speak, and then you put this music underneath it. Everybody knows they’re supposed to be scared, or they’re supposed to be happy, or they’re supposed to be sad. When you remove score, which I mostly did in Shotgun Stories, it’s very offputting to people. All of a sudden, they’re having to judge a scene on its own merits, not on this feeling that you’re giving them. They actually have to start listening. That’s just an example of my broader approach: If you remove certain things, people have to listen.

Some people don’t want that experience when they go to the theater, and that’s okay. I’ll catch you the next time, or maybe I’ll catch you on a Sunday night, when you’ve got a little more free time. It’s my job, though, to try and understand the nature of how people receive stories. It’s natural to search for plot. That’s how our brains work. I don’t hold it against anybody, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to challenge them through a new type of organization of information. Because that’s all it is—you’re just organizing information in a certain way so that it lands at certain times. My movies have plot. I just don’t think it’s the going concern. I think writers are so concerned sometimes with just making things clear.

I know that studios are. They test these things to make sure that no stone is unturned and that people are getting what they want. But what people want isn’t always what they need. I’m fascinated by story dynamics. I’m fascinated by what works for an audience and what doesn’t, what keeps them engaged and what doesn’t. If you’re not working on the edge of all that, you’re never going to have a situation where someone says, “My nails were dug into the edge of my chair,” and one person writes, “This movie is boring as hell.” I have to be okay with both of those responses. I don’t think I could get either if I was just trying to walk down the middle of the road.

About the opening, again, which I love so much…
I think it’s the best opening I’ll ever do.

Some people might consider it disorienting, but I think, for this story, you get exactly the amount of information you need.
What’s funny for me is, I think it’s so obvious. I’m wondering, like, will people just know that, once he picks the boy up into his arms in the hotel room, that obviously he’s not a kidnapper? Yes, they do, but since it hasn’t been so specifically told to them, they feel it, but they don’t know it yet. That’s a really great place to be. To me, it’s just so obvious. “That mystery’s solved.” But it’s not yet. It’s not totally solved. I have this line of Sam Shepard revealing, “The birth father, Roy Tomlin.” I wrote that scene specifically to be a surprise to the FBI, because they haven’t had the ranch under surveillance long enough to know that he was the birth father. The thing I’m wondering is, is it a surprise to the audience? That’s what I [mean] when I talk about narrative mechanics. I’m just so fascinated. When did you know? Here’s when I tell you, or here’s where I specifically don’t tell you.

Obviously, Joel Edgerton’s profession in the film—that was really specific. I remember giving [the script] to this young girl who was going to be a PA on our film. I gave her the script, and maybe she wasn’t the sharpest tack in the drawer, but she read it and just so clearly was like, “You have to tell us sooner that he’s a state trooper. We need to know that because I was really turned off when he did what he did at the end of the film. If I had known that, I’d have felt a lot better about his character a lot sooner.” She was so earnest in her argument. But it’s like, don’t you understand that you having all these emotions is part of the process? It’s part of the story. It just made me smile, and she probably thought I was a dickhead.

Joel gives you so much.
He’s a great actor.

In that scene in particular, he tells you what you need to know in how he behaves.
There you go! I thought it was pretty obvious. He walks over to the fallen state trooper and speaks in a way that no normal person would speak on the police radio. I was like, well, I’m just letting people know there. That’s what his character would do. A bad version of that writing would be [for him] to go over and say, “Hey, hey, there’s a police officer shot.” That wouldn’t be honest to him either. He wants that guy to get help. That’s why he goes and does it. He did not want to go shoot that guy. You could have Jeff Nichols the writer brain go, “If I have him speak that way, I’ll show my cards too soon.” But that’s as dishonest as having him explain that he’s a state trooper. Both of those things are dishonest. My fear for this movie…any shortcoming is when I might have been to purposefully ambiguous in a scene. I’ve read that critique, and I’ve gone back in and I’ve looked at it, and I don’t know. I’ve been able to reason out why they would behave that way. Point being, character behavior trumps all narrative desire.

I paint myself into corners all the time. It’s like, okay, I have this very strict rule about character behavior and dialogue, but I need this piece of information in the movie. It’s my job to craft a scene that allows that piece of information to come through, or we don’t get it. Then I deal with that consequence. It’s like an austerity to the writing you have to apply. You really have to stick to it. You really do.

Kirsten Dunst’s character is one of my favorite motherly characters in a while. You don’t see this stuff often. Without spoiling anything, the things she does, the way she reacts to things—it feels authentic, it feels real.
I think she’s the strongest character in the film. I think she’s able to do something the male characters can’t, specifically Michael Shannon’s. I’m not just saying this to gain the pro-women’s lib lobby. Watching my son be born and what my wife did and then what she did the year that followed…there’s no doubt in my mind that women are the stronger sex in terms of fortitude and emotions. I was very struck in high school when I read A Doll’s House by Ibsen. It’s about a mother that leaves her children. I came from a home where that would not be possible. But it is possible. That’s why the mother in Shotgun Stories hates her children. She blames them for her place in life. Their existence lowered her, in her mind. I was fascinated by the idea that there could be a mother character that would come to the conclusion first of what the inevitability of parenthood is. It made sense to me that a mother would be the one to understand the cycle of parenthood before the father, who has undeniably committed his entire life to the safety of his boy. It takes the mother to realize the cycle that they’re a part of.

I don’t think Michael’s character understands it fully or is willing to accept it fully until the boy gets out of the car. I think it’s important, but it’s also a big narrative risk. You’ve built this father-son story, the mother doesn’t come in for the first thirty minutes, and she’s tangential. Then you do this physical handoff where she’s the one who physically represents their position to their child at the end of the film. I had no idea if it would work, and for some people, I’m sure it doesn’t. I reason out, character-wise, why it would work out that way. Like I said, she’s the stronger of the two. I’m glad to hear you say you like her…because I like her.

That moment you mention where the boy gets out of the car broke my heart.
Good! That’s the one. David Fincher talks about how every movie should have an emotional punch in the gut. That was mine. I have one in each of my films. I’m glad you liked it.

Sevier (Adam Driver) is great, too.
Adam Driver is, in my opinion, going to be one of the most important actors of our generation, irrelevant of Star Wars. I think he’s that good. He’s that interesting. I want to make a detective movie with him really badly.

Why a detective movie?
Because I want to make a detective movie.

[laughs]
Because I’m a huge fan of Fletch. I just want to make a private eye movie.

Back in 1966, French critic-turned-filmmaker François Truffaut published the book Cinema According to Hitchcock, which was comprised of conversations he had with Alfred Hitchcock about his career. In a new documentary about these famous conversations, Kent Jones establishes the context for the time period when this took place, citing how Hitchcock wasn’t considered a serious artist by the general public. Even up to the release of Psycho, Hitchcock was known more as a light entertainer than a true master of the craft. At times, Hitchcock even wondered if he was stuck doing the same types of films and not experimenting more; he spent most his time cemented in the studio system of Hollywood, using his name to sell films as well as superstar actors like Grace Kelly, Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, and James Stewart.

Truffaut set out to fix the misconception of Hitchcock as entertainer first and artist second. He promised to expose Hitchcock’s cinematic greatness to the world through in-depth analysis of his filmography, and the book was a major hit. Not only did it help shape people’s perception of Hitchcock as a serious filmmaker, it became a bible for film buffs. To this day, the book is still considered to be the holy grail for aspiring filmmakers, or anyone interested in frame-by-frame breakdowns of how the Master of Suspense approached film.

Jones interviews an elite group of modern directors including Martin Scorsese, David Fincher, Wes Anderson, Olivier Assayas, Peter Bogdanovich, and Richard Linklater about how influential Hitchcock is to their career. Listening to these auteurs gush over Hitchcock is inspiring—each respects him for their own reasons, but all seem to agree that it’s his ability to frame every shot perfectly that sets him apart.

Hitchcock provides a ton of captivating thoughts on what makes things work in film. He explains how not showing or saying something can make a scene operate better and brilliantly defends the implausible tendencies of his own films, saying “Logic is dull.” But perhaps the most fascinating insight of the entire conversation was listening to Hitchcock describe the importance of manipulating time. He claims the most powerful feature cinema offers is the ability to control time. Fincher echoes this sentiment by describing directing as simply controlling moments that should occur really fast and making them slow, and making moments that should occur really slow and making them fast. It’s true when you think about it. Compressing or expanding moments of time is indeed what makes cinema such a powerful medium for storytelling. The whole segment is a great example of the documentary supplementing a subject covered in the book.

It’s when Hitchcock/Truffaut devotes a large section on praising Vertigo that the film becomes a little off-balance. Jones details how poorly Vertigo did when it was first released, then contrasts it with how much of an impact it has on today’s filmmakers. This ends up being more of a puff piece for the film and Hitchcock instead of allowing the Master of Suspense to explain things himself. Some of the best parts of the film are listening to Hitchcock defend his decisions and talk about what he thought didn’t work (it’s fascinating to hear Hitchcock suggest how he’d fix a scene in Truffaut’s The 400 Blows). But the film often glosses over these moments in favor of celebrating Hitchcock for reasons which are mostly known at this point. And while it’s completely understandable that Hitch would receive the majority of attention, fans of Truffaut may be let down by how little his work is covered.

Truffaut revised the original book in 1985, updating it with conversations he had regarding the final stages of both their careers. With Hitchcock/Truffaut, Jones creates an unofficial third revision; offering additional perspectives from contemporary filmmakers who assure us that Hitchcock is every bit as relevant today as he was back then. However, the film isn’t nearly as essential as the book it’s based off, though it serves as a starting point for those who haven’t read the book and a modest companion piece for those who have.

After I came down from the McKellen high that had overtaken my body for a good couple of days, I got back into movie-watching mode and watched a pair of very different documentaries MVFF had to offer. The first was a film I had a deep personal investment in, Kent Jones’ Hitchcock/Truffaut, based on the eminently popular interview book of the same name. The subject matter of An Act of Love struck a chord with me as well, dealing with the controversial Methodist Church trials surrounding Rev. Frank Schaefer’s officiation of his gay son’s wedding. Although I had emotional (and dare I say, religious) ties to both films, only one rang true on a cinematic level.

Master Meets Grandmaster

Occupying the bookshelves of most serious movie lovers, “Hitchcock/Truffaut” is indeed one of my prized possessions. It’s a print version of a week-long, in-depth exchange about the filmmaking process Francois Truffaut and Alfred Hitchcock shared in 1962 that’s influenced virtually every prominent filmmaker since the book’s release. The documentary based on the book, directed by Kent Jones, couples archival photos and audio from the interview and does its best to make us feel like we’re sat in the room with Hitch, Truffaut and their translator. It is a pleasure to hear the legendary filmmakers’ voices and laugh along as they share laughs with each other, and the insights Truffaut mines out of his hero are as enlightening today as ever. A highlight is a moment of master/pupil critique in which Hitchcock suggests a pivotal scene in Truffaut’s The 400 Blows would have been better played had the characters not said a word. To hear these two talk so candidly and in such detail about their craft is as big a thrill on-screen as it is on paper, and as a cinematic extension of the book, Hitchcock/Truffaut lives up to its name. Jones also interviews several big names in the industry (Peter Bogdanovich, Wes Anderson, David Fincher, and Richard Linklater to name just a few) about the genius of Hitchcock, and their words of adulation are terrific, extra perspectives on Hitchcock’s work that you won’t find in the printed version.

Love in a Loveless Place

Following the defrocking by the United Methodist Church of minister Frank Schaefer after officiating his gay son’s wedding, An Act of Love provides a thorough outlining of the political maneuverings, biblical technicalities, and emotional traumas that stemmed from the controversy (which wasn’t limited to Schaefer’s case). The divide in the church created by a fundamental disagreement about gay marriage and the personal stories surrounding it are heartbreaking and inspirational, but the presentation of these stories by director Scott Sheppard is decidedly uncinematic, with talking-head interviews and archival footage strung together in an unsurprising, textbook way. A greater sense of narrative propulsion and shape would have made the film a more engaging watch, though there are a few pleasant departures, like a scene in which Schaefer and his wife return to their old apartment in Germany and laugh about an old indoor palm tree they decorated with Christmas ornaments one year, to the confusion of his mother. The movie’s not flawed in any major way, and its subjects, while not especially charismatic, are impassioned across the board.

Back in 1967 French filmmaker Francois Truffaut (The 400 Blows, Day For Night) sat down with legendary director Alfred Hitchcock to discuss his filmmaking style and career up to that point. This new documentary from Kent Jones acts like a companion piece to the book Truffaut wrote from his interview, which includes several audio recordings from the actual interview. He also calls in several prominent directors such as; Martin Scorsese, Wes Anderson, Richard Linklater, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, David Fincher, and others who offer insight on the master of suspense’s work.

Hitchcock/Truffaut premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in May and recently at Telluride and TIFF, and will open in New York on December 2nd. If you consider yourself a film buff, or simply curious to what made Hitchcock so special, be sure to check out the trailer for Hitchcock/Truffaut.

Earlier this week we celebrated Alfred Hitchcock’s birthday by ranking his films. Today we continue to celebrate the auteur’s work by listing indie films which remind us of his work. And because Hitchcock inspired so many filmmakers over the years with his innovative storytelling and crafty camera shots, we had a ton of films to choose from. The films below are the kind Hitch would have made if he were still live, or at the very least, films he would have enjoyed watching himself.

9 Indie Films That Remind Us Of Alfred Hitchcock

Tell No One

A married couple goes skinny dipping in a lake at night. After an argument, the woman swims to shore to clear her head. Suddenly, the man hears her scream and swims to shore to investigate only to be knocked unconscious by an off-screen culprit. Jump ahead eight years, and two bodies have mysteriously surfaced at the site where it’s believed the wife was murdered, reopening the case with the husband as the primary suspect. A classic cocktail of mystery, suspense and paranoia, Guillaume Canet’s Tell No One is a tense thriller with a knotty plot that harkens back to Hitch in its themes while satiating modern audiences with its brisk narrative momentum and elaborate action sequences. Francois Cluzet exudes intensity in the lead role, his frazzled charm making him a more volatile man-on-the-run than Cary Grant’s Roger O. Thornhill (North By Northwest) or Robert Donat’s Hannay (The 39 Steps), though he’s no less riveting. Like any good Hitchcock film (or any good mystery, for that matter), Tell No One always keeps you guessing and never fails to surprise, all while continuously building an emotional foundation that makes the shocker ending feel like a shotgun to the chest. [Bernard]

The Usual Suspects

Alfred Hitchcock was masterful at creating mesmerizing characters who often danced on the edge of suspicion. Sometimes mysterious, sometimes charismatic, but always fascinating, these antagonists (to call them villains is a little too much) aren’t necessarily the kind to root for, but it isn’t a bad thing they get away with what they get away with for as long as they can. More than just foils, the greats include Madeleine Elster (Vertigo), Uncle Charlie (Shadow of a Doubt), and even Lars Thorwald (Rear Window) who, in Hitch’s hands, is captivating as little more than an object of observation. The modern indie film equivalent of these delicious baddies, a character Hitchcock would have had a blast with, is Verbal Kint, from Bryan Singer’s The Usual Suspects. What makes Kint, as played by Kevin Spacey, the archetypical Hitchcock antagonist is how ordinary he seems—the most usual of the usual suspects—until he weaves a hypnotic narrative tale about five villains, three heists, and one crime lord: Keyser Söze, a man whose reputation is so fearsome, he’s more than legendary, he’s mythological. Yet from Kint’s lips to the cops’ ears floats a story told with such subtle conviction and drenched in such rich detail, every last word is believable. Or is it? This is the Hitchcockian genius of him. Kint is known to be one of those five criminals and a man who simply cannot be trusted, but his feeble physicality is disarming. This allows his hypnotic storytelling acumen to take charge (Verbal is verbal, indeed). As Hitchcock would have wanted, Kint is a character the viewer should see coming, and yet fails to do so. As for the stunning reveal at the end, it’s Hitchcockian too, and one of the greats of movie history. [Michael]

Buried

Hitch wasn’t just the master of suspense, but he was also an expert at single location filmmaking (Lifeboat, Rope, Rear Window). Rodrigo Cortés applied Hitchcockian attributes in his 2010 indie thriller Buried, where Ryan Reynolds (his best performance to date) finds himself trapped inside a coffin with only a lighter, a cell phone, and enough oxygen for 90 minutes. It’s a gripping race against the clock shot entirely in a claustrophobic setting. While it contains a super simple setup, the film is full of technical challenges. But Buried makes great use of constrained space, using careful camera framing and a sharpened sense of hearing to obtain a high level of suspense, all while opting not to show any shots outside the coffin. A less ambitious filmmaker would’ve added some flashbacks or cuts to a grieving spouse. But not Cortés. By leaving these shots out, the audience remains isolated with the character and the results are so suffocating they’ll leave you gasping for air. Hitchcock would have admired such an impressive feat. [Dustin]

Timecrimes

When one thinks of Hitchcock-inspired films, works of science fiction usually aren’t the first to come to mind. Nonetheless, Spanish filmmaker Nacho Vigalondo’s 2007 Timecrimes, proves that Hitch’s impact stretches to all corners of the contemporary cinematic realm and can even be found in the likes of foreign language time travel flicks. Like other modern films containing narratives dealing with the manipulation of time (such as Shane Carruth’s Primer and Bradley King’s recent Time Lapse), Timecrimes has a relatively complex plot that unfolds gradually and only fully presents itself to viewers during its third act. Vigalondo’s film follows a married ogler by the name of Héctor (Karra Elejalde). One quiet afternoon, after spotting a naked woman through a pair of binoculars, he wanders over to get a closer look; by the time he reaches the woman, she’s unconscious, slumped against a large rock, and suddenly Héctor is stabbed with a pair of scissors by a second, masked person. From there, the storyline only becomes more obscure though it certainly evolves in a fascinating and original manner. All originality aside, the Hitchcockian influence is surely present and can be found in qualities such as Timecrimes’ increasingly guilt-ridden protagonist and its utilization of voyeurism, in a similar vein as Hitch’s famous Rear Window and Psycho. [Eli]

Mulholland Drive

Many deem David Lynch a singular artist. Out of his influential oeuvre a whole new adjective was born; one that’s used to describe any picture cloaked in a mysterious, off-kilter atmosphere. So it’s interesting that this one decidedly unique filmmaker’s greatest film, the mesmerizing Mulholland Drive, borrows so directly the themes, aesthetics, and particles from Alfred Hitchcock’s most critically lauded film, Vertigo, in order to help create what’s arguably the most Lynchian atmosphere and story to date. Naomi Watts’ career-making role of a wide-eyed dreamer is an amalgamation of various Hitchcock “classic blonde” heroines, striking the biggest resemblance with Kim Novak from the 1958 classic. Not only is the 1950s aesthetic that provided the contemporary backdrop to Vertigo prevalent in the old-fashioned Hollywood look to Mulholland Drive, but it’s weaved into the thematics as well. Together with fear, manipulation, and spiraling madness, all of which permeate the tone of both pictures. Lynch contorted the very same type of suspense that Hitch mastered in his day; using audience’s’ imaginations and subconscious as a plaything to create unforgettable and influential art. [Nik]

Match Point

While Woody Allen has continued to churn out a movie a year for most of his career, his recent films seem to have narrowed in scope, losing some of the sharp-witted satire that marked many of his earlier films. One film that has poked through this listless drought is Match Point, a flick that saw Allen test the waters of the thriller genre, and most importantly, play homage to the godfather of suspense himself. Allen has never been afraid to wear any particular film’s influences on his sleeve, and Match Point is no exception. The premise alone is rife with nods to Hitchcock’s Strangers On A Train, a film that centers on a tennis star, murder, and, most importantly, chance, which in Match Point is redubbed as luck. The nods don’t stop there. Jonathan Rhys Meyers plays Chris, a handsome, talented charmer with sociopathic tendencies, much in the style of classic Hitchcock villains: men who can literally get away with murder. Most importantly of all, is Scarlett Johansson, the beautiful blonde temptress, the source of all this lust, the carrier of the unwanted child, the catalysis of everything. To put the sexual politics of Allen’s work in question is to be a conscious and critical filmgoer (which we all should be), but while off-putting and dated, the film stays true to its influences, for better or worse. [Gary]

Chuck & Buck

While maybe not an obvious selection for a Hitchcock-inspired film, Miguel Arteta and Mike White’s thoughtfully constructed and hilarious micro-budgeted black comedy, Chuck & Buck, owes a lot to the popular works of Hitchcock including Psycho and Rear Window. Chuck & Buck follows the reunion of two childhood friends, writer Mike White in the role of Buck and filmmaker Chris Weitz (About a Boy, American Pie) plays Chuck who now goes by Charlie. After Buck’s mother passes away, the two friends awkwardly reconnect at her funeral which is followed by Buck following Chuck (and his wife) to Los Angeles. Buck tries desperately to fit himself into Chuck’s life as his obsession becomes increasingly more sexual and invasive. Instead of taking the path of someone like Brian De Palma (whose fantastic Blow Out I nearly chose for this list) where the Hitchcock influence is more authentic and direct, Arteta and White twist the voyeuristic themes and Norman Bates-like qualities of Buck to a wildly different effect. It plays up these qualities pushing them to levels of uncomfortable and sometime gut-busting laughter as the film brilliantly satirizes the irrational homophobic fear that can exist in straight men. [Ryan]

Stoker

The screenplay of Stoker is what most recalls Hitchcock’s work. Revolving around a teenage girl (Mia Wasikowska) and her prickly mother (Nicole Kidman) mourning the loss of a father and husband as a mysterious relative (Matthew Goode) slowly moves into the picture, the plot draws comparisons to Shadow of a Doubt, but Director Park Chan-Wook makes it his own uniquely twisted beast. While the story pays clear homage in the structuring of gradually built dread and distrust, Park’s offbeat and richly sensual direction marks the singular vision of a true auteur. Through detailed mise-en-scène and slick, haunting visuals, we are steered through an unsettling vision of sexual awakening and hereditary depravity. The film crawls under one’s skin as it pries open narrative and thematic doors initially closed tightly. The film resembles Marnie in its Freudian hang-ups and Frenzy in its relative grittiness, and although it’s far bleaker and bloodier than Hitch had the ability to be in his time, something tells me that fans of his distinct brand of psychological terror would be tickled by this one-of-a-kind experience. [Byron]

Misery

It feels almost as though any horror, thriller, or psychological suspense film we could possibly think of and include on this list would feel obvious in some way. There isn’t a great movie out there among these genres that doesn’t herald back to something Hitchcock either invented or did so well it merited emulation. But in terms of Hitchcock signature moves, Rob Reiner’s 1990 Misery uses all the very best. Single-location by way of a secluded country house. Slow zooms into character’s faces as anxiety builds giving a sense of claustrophobia. And of course, a main character with alarmingly obsessive tendencies. Hitch knew that love could be a far scarier emotion than hate. Vertigo taught us the price of obsessive love, and Misery’s Annie Wilkes is a fan whose love of a book series is more than a little unbridled. Rear Window established that a character immobilized and trapped in a small space is more horrifying than any dark castle, and Paul Sheldon learns just how harrowing four walls are when your ankles are smashed to bits. Those who appreciate the simmering, confined, tension-filled thrillers Hitchcock made his name on, will find themselves satisfied by Misery. [Ananda]

Were he alive today, the Master of Suspense, Sir Alfred Hitchcock, would be 116. With over 50 films to his name spanning from silent films to talkies, black and white to colored, and in first Britain and then later America, Hitchcock was a true auteur. So many of the modern thriller and horror contraptions we’ve come to expect were devised by this brilliant man.  That frustrating mystery decoy, the MacGuffin, the hilarious—and rather meta—directorial cameo, and Hitch even discovered the appeal of the voyeuristic vantage point long before Bravo was shoving Real Housewives and Kardashians down our throats.

On his day of birth, we give thanks for a man who tapped into the very core of human nature, causing us to squeal, scream, gasp, jump, and “a-ha!” No one has raised hairs or provoked goosebumps as often or as well as the Master. And by way of thanks we’ve racked our brains and cast our votes to definitively rank the ten best films of Alfred Hitchcock. Whether you’re new to Hitch yourself or trying to decide how to introduce him best to your children, we say you start here. Just keep the lights on and prepare the edge of your seat, you’ll be sitting there a while.

One of Alfred Hitchcock’s finest works is also one of his most spatially confined. The first in his oeuvre to be shot in color and most notable for its use of the one take illusion, Rope tells the story of two young intellectuals who strangle their friend to death and hide his body in a chest prior to hosting a dinner party in the very same room where the corpse lies. The act is deemed “an immaculate murder” by one of the men involved and the Master of Suspense stages the aftermath beautifully, setting the whole affair in one apartment unit. Every frame carries the tension of whether or not the conspirators will break and Arthur Laurents’ script playfully alludes to the increasingly apparent elephant in the room through dialogue that is both darkly comedic and slyly referential. The film is gripping in its “will they or won’t they be caught” premise, but Rope truly impresses with its nuanced navigation of homosexual subtext as well as the theme of theoretical principles being twisted into wicked, irreversible deeds. [Byron]

One of the few traditional horror movies in Hitchcock’s filmography, The Birds is the godfather of modern nature-run-amok films. Marred only by some now-dated special effects, the suspense sequences in The Birds hold up remarkably well, and the scene of the schoolchildren being attacked by the violent airborne creatures is especially unsettling. In the hands of anyone else, The Birds was bound to fail, but Hitchcock approached the subject matter with such seriousness that it manages to work almost in spite of itself. It may not be his best film, but it could very well be his most impressive. [Blair]

One of Hitchcock’s more twisted crime mysteries is in fact amazingly simplistic in its scope. A posh ex-tennis player, Tony, discovers his socialite wife, Margot, is having an affair with a writer, Mark, and plots to have her murdered. Using one of his signature techniques, the majority of the action takes place within Tony and Margot’s sitting room. Tony blackmails an old college acquaintance to do the murdering and in a hair-raising scene he sneaks into her house and attempts to strangle her. What none of them expect is that Margot has more fight in her than they imagined. As a filmed adaptation of a play, the stakes never feel all that high, but Hitch gets around this with his attention to detail. He lingers on objects and plays with our sentiments toward each character. It’s the perfect example of Hitchcock’s ability to carefully build a mystery and then piece by piece deconstruct it, and the process is a slow and simmering thrill to experience. [Ananda]

Notorious> is a film so pulsating with sexual tension, rich imagery, forbidden romance and drunken desire that it’s almost too much to handle; watch it in the right environment and you’re liable to burst. It’s one of Hitchcock’s finest works (his finest in my book), an international spy romance starring Ingrid Bergman in her greatest role alongside Casablanca. Matching her greatness is Cary Grant, a U.S. agent who recruits Bergman to infiltrate a spy ring in Rio de Janeiro and get intimate with its leader (Claude Rains). The love triangle that emerges is the best in movie history, full of innuendo and jealous glances, all framed by a plot so well constructed it rivals any of Hitchcock’s more popular classics (even Vertigo and Rear Window). Filmmaking doesn’t get more elegant than watching Grant and Bergman descend that grand staircase at the end of the film, and it doesn’t get steamier than watching them lock lips in what was, at the time, “the longest kiss in the history of movies.” [Bernard]

Perhaps Shadow Of A Doubt has become more famous for being Hitchcock’s personal favorite than for the sum of its parts, but that feels grossly unfair to what is, essentially, a masterpiece. When Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) announces a surprise visit to his family in the small town of Santa Rosa, his niece and namesake Charlotte “Charlie” (Teresa Wright) is ecstatic. However, it’s not long before she starts to suspect her uncle of being the “Merry Widow” serial killer, and the plot unravels in the kind of hair-raisingly suspenseful way that would later become synonymous with Alfred Hitchcock’s name. In a rare twist of classic Hollywood convention, the leading man in this picture ends up being one of Hitchcock’s most memorable villains. Boasting the most opulent cinematography of any Hitchcock film (by Joseph Valentine), ridiculously immersive characterization of a small family unit, and a supremely original male-female dynamic that inspired Cotten’s and Wright’s mesmerizing performances; it’s easy to see why Hitchcock loved it so much. That slow-burning close-up of Cotten describing widows as “wheezing animals” is everything. [Nik]

Hitchcock’s paranoia-fueled tale of a man trapped in his apartment with delusions of murderous neighbors is my all-time favorite of his works. Jimmy Stewart’s wheelchair-bound photographer Jeff is the vehicle through which Hitchcock traps his audience into forced suspense. Through Jeff’s camera lens, we watch his various neighbors, and through his journalistic inquisitiveness and voyeuristic nature we start to see the same suspicious signs he does. His, at first, hairbrained schemes of murder by his neighbor across the way (played with perfect intensity by Raymond Burr) become more and more plausible the longer he (and we) watch from the darkened window of his apartment. With the bustling sounds of New York City providing a sort of humming background, Jeff’s neighbors live out their lives through their windows like a puppet show for his amusement, but as the truth of the danger he puts himself in by prying becomes clearer, it is Jeff who becomes the puppet, confined to his one room stage, and the denouement of Rear Window is by far among the most uncomfortably riveting of Hitchcock’s career. [Ananda]

Hitchcock’s timeless tale of exchanging murders poses a question that we’ve all asked ourselves, and in the process truly shows off the director’s mastery. Hitchcock constantly found ways to make even his most villainous characters empathetic, and that’s precisely what makes Strangers on a Train such an immensely engaging film. Despite being an abhorrent, sociopathic murderer, Bruno Anthony is strangely charming. Robert Walker approaches the role brilliantly, opposite the criminally underrated Farley Granger, who plays a perfect patsy in the form of Guy Haines. Over sixty years and countless viewings later, Strangers on a Train remains one of the most suspenseful movies of all time. [Blair]

Mistaken identity was part of Hitchcock’s arsenal as early as 1935’s The 39 Steps, but it reached iconic heights (literally and figuratively) in 1959’s North By Northwest. New York ad-man Roger Thornhill (Master of Swag, Cary Grant) is mistaken for a government agent by villainous spy Philip Vandamm (a perfect James Mason), and finds himself running for his life cross-country whilst falling hard for Eva Marie Saint’s mysterious blonde beauty Eve Kendall. The film is infamous for its action scenes, especially a bamboozled Grant barely escaping from an evil crop-duster in the middle of nowhere, so it’s easy to overlook the sly sense of humor on constant display and one of the greatest screenplays Hitchcock ever directed (written by the legendary Ernest Lehman). Without a single frame wasted, and a kind of cinematic rhythm that holds the answer to defeating time itself, there’s no mistaking North by Northwest as one of the master’s very best. [Nik]

When we think about Psycho, we think of its iconic scenes. The infamous shower sequence. The shocking twist. That unsettling final inner monologue in which the audience stares directly into the face of evil. As undeniably memorable as those moments are, though, Psycho is notable for more than its permeation of popular culture. Beginning as a tale of a woman absconding with a bag of money, the film deftly transitions into a very different kind of story, centering on a young man, his mother, a motel and a trail of disappearances. With his intelligent use of editing (cleverly obscuring grotesqueries while still managing to disturb), a discerning eye for darkly connotative imagery and a perfectly paced progression of terror, Hitchcock took B-movie material and made it into art. A watershed moment in horror cinema and a catalyst for the modern slasher movie, Psycho legitimized the genre and remains a vastly influential work 55 years on. [Byron]

In the darkest corners of Hitchcock’s mind hid his deepest, wildest obsessions and fears; with Vertigo, he digs them out, slaps them together and forms with his hands the purest expression of his true self he’s ever shared with the world. It’s a pretty, prickly thing that sends you into a state of paranoid euphoria, lusting after its beauty as you drown in cold sweats. As we become more and more immersed in the headspace of Jimmy Stewart’s Scottie as he chases the spectre of the quintessential icy blonde (embodied by Kim Novak) around San Francisco, we are stepping into Hitch’s very own shoes. As in most of his stories, his leading man is his proxy, and the dizzying fever dream that is Scottie’s pursuit is his way of saying, “This is me. All of me.” It’s all there: his debilitating fear of the police; his manipulative relationship with women; his resentment of the real world and its cruelty. Hitchcock much preferred the world of dreams. In his greatest shot, Novak walks slowly toward Stewart in a lonely hotel room, wading through an otherworldly neon green light. The image is paralyzing. Hitchcock is known for being less than kind to his icy blondes, but in this moment, he feels her pain. Good filmmakers take you on a leisurely stroll through the garden of the mind; great filmmakers drag you through the brambles. By this measure, Hitch was the greatest. [Bernard]

Some of the greatest directors of all time—F.W. Murnau, Alfred Hitchcock, Charlie Chaplin, and Carl Dreyer, to name a few—thrived in the silent era, and the best directors of today constantly refer to their work for inspiration and guidance. Knowledge of the silent era is essential to every true cinephile and greatly enhances the pleasures of movie-watching. The problem is, the only way to truly experience a silent film is by seeing it in a theater with live musical accompaniment, which isn’t necessarily doable for most of us.

But fear not! If you’re in the San Francisco Bay Area this weekend, you’re in luck: From Thursday, July 18^th to Sunday, July 21^st at the Castro theater, the San Francisco Silent Film Festival is going to be presenting an amazing lineup of beautifully restored silent films accompanied by gorgeous live music. This is the only way to truly enjoy these classic movies, and the experience will be a treasure you’ll never forget.

Festival director Anita Monga sat with us to talk about the festival’s history, why silent film isn’t “boring”, Alexander Payne, Citizen Kane, her favorite silent comedy star, and much more.

For festival information and ticket info, visit silentfilm.org

Let’s talk a bit about the history of the festival. How long has it been going on?
The festival started 18 years ago as a one day event. Steve Salmons and Melissa Chittick invented it. It was a success from the beginning. It’s now grown into a four day event, and we have events year round also. It’s probably the biggest and most successful event of its kind in the Americas.

How long have you been involved in the festival personally?
I think this will be my fourth festival.

I assume one of the main goals of the festival is to get people excited about silent film. Over the past four years, have you seen a growth in enthusiasm from the community?
My major focus is to get people into the theater. I think when people think of silent film, they think it’s going to be boring or that it’s something their college professor thought would be good for them to complete their education. Consequently, a lot of people saw their only silent films done silently or with horrible accompaniment, at the wrong frame rate, or they’ve seen a horrible print. A lot of these films are amazingly modern and have a lot to say about modern audiences. We always take great care to pair [these films] with musical accompaniment, and we don’t dictate to the musicians, but we pick them carefully, ones that have to have respect for films. We work with them closely to pair them with films that we think they can bring to life.

With silent film, there’s this hump to get over. Like you said, a lot of people view silent film as boring or irrelevant. I had the same apprehensions, but when I saw Murnau’s Sunrise, it was a revelation. How do you get people over that hump and get them in the theater?
That is really, really difficult. You just keep hounding. Really, it’s word of mouth. People who have been [to the festival] realize how extraordinary it is. We kind of have a reputation of making things fun so that people are willing to take a little bit of a chance on us, and once they do, they see how beautiful it is. We started an initiative which we are not doing this year because we asked several people who are too busy, but we do this thing called “The Director’s Pick” which we’ve renamed “The Filmmaker’s Pick”. We’re trying to draw this connection between modern filmmakers and the silent era. Filmmakers are well aware of what happened in the silent era. People who work, particularly people who have a strong visual sense, are very cognizant of the amazing strides that were made from the birth of cinema to Sunrise. It was all there. It was a way of telling a story visually and you had to supply your own music. It was an amazing art form that led to everything that happens today.

We’ve had Alexander Payne, Terry Zwigoff, Phillip Kaufman, and Pete Doctor come to introduce a show and talk about the filmmaking, something about the direction or the acting that draws for our audience that this was something that inspired them. Audiences appreciate that from a craft-person’s point of view.

People talk about silent film like it’s this ancient thing, but it’s only 100 years old. The techniques Murnau, Chaplin, and Keaton were utilizing are still just as effective today.
They’re very effective and they’re very informative for people making films now. Shakespeare’s plays have something for modern audiences. Our festival is not what I like to call an “etched in amber” approach. We’re not trying to recreate a historical moment. What we’re trying to do is bring these movies to life. I programmed the Castro for many years, and at one point there was a restoration of Citizen Kane. I showed it for a week and people were coming up to the box office and saying, “Is this really a good movie?” I think the feeling that, “This is a classic! You must see this!” make people think, “Boring!” When you see Citizen Kane, it’s unbelievable. It deserves every accolade you could possibly give it, but it’s like when people are force-fed Ivanhoe in school. People think, “This is good for me. It must not be entertaining.”

San Francisco is a very film-friendly place. The audience is the best in the world. But for silent films, you can’t do this at home. You can’t. You can stream any number of films, but you can’t recreate what we’re doing with live music. It’s a one-of-a-kind experience.

You’ve got a great lineup for this year’s festival, a lot of excellent films.
They’re all so amazing, but one that I hope doesn’t get lost in the fray is The Weavers. It’s based on an incident that happened in the 1840’s, an uprising. They ran the manufacturer out of town, they smashed the factory. It was known as the Potemkin of Germany. Prix de Beuté is wonderful for Louise Brooks. It was always considered a lesser film, but it’s actually pretty great. It has one of cinema’s most famous endings, but I’m not going to give it away! [Brooks] is spectacular in it. It was her last starring role. We’ve got a beautiful print of The Golden Clown from Denmark. The Outlaw and his Wife is hot off the presses. The Swedish Film Institute just did its complete restoration. I don’t think anybody has seen it in the United States. It’s exquisite, with Victor Sjöström directing. The script is so beautiful.

Who’s performing the musical accompaniment for that one?
The Matti Bye Ensemble from Sweden. They’re also doing The Golden Clown and The Joyless Street. Everyone needs to see The Joyless Street! We’re also doing two restorations that we had a hand in—The Half Breed, a Douglass Fairbanks film that was thought lost for many years. The restoration just happened in collaboration with Cinemateque Francaise. We’re giving the Silent Film Festival Award to the Cinemateque. The second film we had a hand in the restoration of is The Last Edition, which was filmed in San Francisco. It has this amazing footage of San Francisco in 1925. It’s all along Market Street , the Civic Center, in the Chronicle building. It’s a lovely, action packed film.

Then, there’s a last minute addition that we’re going to show before The Weavers. I got an email from Ken Winokur of the LA Orchestra. He was traveling in the Ukraine and went to the Dovzhenko Centre where they showed him a Dziga Vertov trailer for The 11^th Year. He was so excited about it that he and Beth Custer created a score they’re going to be presenting the world premiere of. The trailer is animated in this insane way. You wouldn’t believe that it was made in 1928.

You’ve got Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton in your “Kings of Silent Comedy” shorts program and Harold Lloyd in Safety Last!, which is your closing night film. Can you rank them from best to worst?
Oh, that’s easy. Keaton, Chaplin, Lloyd, Chase.

Ah, Charlie Chase in last place?
Between Chase and Lloyd, I don’t know how to rank them. Keaton is tops. Chaplin is amazing.

What’s your favorite Keaton? Sherlock Jr. is mine.
It’s hard. There are so many wonderful things in all of them.

I think Keaton is one of the best ways to bait somebody into watching silent movies. It’s easy to appreciate his work.
His films are so modern. Knowing that he did all of his stunts is amazing. Nobody does better or more amazing stunts than he. I love the whole Rube Goldberg [feel.] I think he’s very observant of human nature. For me, Chaplin is amazing, but there’s a little sentimentality that I don’t love. But, I think he’s absolutely genius. Next year we’re going to be doing major Chaplin stuff because it’s the centennial of the Tramp character.

The image of Lloyd dangling on the minute hand of the clock in Safety Last! is one of the most enduring images in cinema, but very few people have actually seen the film.
It’s so wonderful. Those effects are pretty amazing. In the ’20s, people did these extraordinary stunts, and one of the big stunts in New York City was “The Human Fly.” These people would scale the sides of buildings, and that’s where Lloyd got the idea for the stunt.

I think a lot of the visual discipline that was so key to the silent era is lost in a lot of modern cinema.
The great filmmakers have all learned from the silents. Take Alexander Payne. His scripts are so much about the script and the dialog, but the reason I grew to see his incredible eye is because I saw him at a silent film event in Los Angeles. I was like, “Oh! He loves this!” When I contacted him, he was incredibly enthusiastic because he does go to silent film events.

Not every film made in the silent era was great. There are people working today who have that discipline. As technology makes it easier for people to make films, I think you get more and more people who may not understand what goes into a film. You can make an adequate film. Your first film might be ok, but your second film might not unless you’ve learned these skills. The really spectacular filmmakers of today are still doing what the filmmakers of the silent era did in terms of thinking about their stories in visual terms. What Hitchcock did pretty obsessively was storyboard his films within an inch of their lives.

You’ve got a couple animated features included in the program.
Well, we have the Winsor McCay show. John Canemaker is this great writer and showman, and he’s going to present the program. McCay’s most famous characters were Little Nemo and Gertie the Dinosaur. Filmmakers were always thinking about how to incorporate drawing into moving image. You see this trope in Tex Avery bits where the animator’s hand will be bringing something to life. In Gertie, there are a couple of live action tricks with the person on stage interacting with the character. John is going to be interacting with Gertie. Then, of course, there’s Felix the Cat. He’s going to be in our Kings of Silent Comedy program which might be the best entry point for newcomers to silent film.

If you’re in the Bay Area this weekend, I highly recommend you check out the San Francisco Silent Film Festival, which will host the “Hitchcock 9”, a series of films from Hitchcock’s early days as a director in the silent era. These classics have been beautifully restored and will be projected on the big screen with live music. Silent films play a vital role in the history of cinema, and festivals like this are guaranteed to make all your future movie-going experiences richer!

In our first feature honoring the Hitchcock 9, we looked at 9 of the Best “Talkie” scenes from Hitchcock. With this feature we’re going to count down Hitchcock’s 9 Best “Silent” scenes. We chose to include only films made after the Hitchcock 9 to take a look at how he exhibited the tools and principles he learned and retained from the silent era in his later works. Though some of these scenes do have some dialog in them, it’s largely disposable and the scenes work purely because of the imagery and score. Using his vast visual vocabulary and some of cinema’s most unforgettable scores, Hitchcock plays us like Beethoven played his piano.

9 Best “Silent” Scenes from Alfred Hitchcock

#9 — Sabotage (1936) — Bus Bomb

This classic scene got a nice little “cameo” in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds. It’s an almost perfect example of Hitchcock doing what he does better than anybody—creating suspense. I say “almost” because, well…I’ll let the man explain for himself:

A boy is tasked with delivering a package which, unbeknownst to him, contains a bomb that will detonate within minutes. We’re aware of how much danger the boy is in (Hitchcock reminds us with cuts to various clocks), but he isn’t, which is a basic recipe for suspense. Other than the scene’s unsavory conclusion, it’s a classic example of Hitchcock pushing all the right buttons to get us to squirm in our seats.

Watch “Bus Bomb” scene:

#8 — Frenzy (1972) — Fingersnappin’

A serial killer has hidden one of his victims (a young woman) in a potato sack on a truck (Hitchcock was never big on practicality). Minutes later, he notices he’s missing his very distinctive (and incriminating) tie pin, which he realizes she must have snatched during the murder. He returns to the truck to search the mountain of sacks for the one containing the body, when the truck suddenly starts moving. Hilarity ensues! Hitchcock was a master at getting his audience to identify with his villains (see Strangers on a Train, Psycho) and this scene accomplishes this in the funniest fashion. The killer has difficulty wresting the pin from the corpse—he gets a cold dead foot in the face and even gets knocked on his ass a couple times. The body is stricken with rigor mortis, so the killer has to gruesomely break the poor girl’s fingers to pry his pin out of her cold dead hands. It’s like a morbid episode of Mr. Bean.

Watch “Fingersnappin” scene:

#7 — Rear Window (1954) — I See You, You See Me

The nightmare of a voyeur is for the person they’re snooping on to look straight back at them, and Hitchcock captures this vividly and thrillingly in Rear Window. James Stewart has been spying on his neighbors from his apartment window, and we peep along with him (an inventive use of Hitchcock’s patented “subjective” filmmaking). Grace Kelly invades the home of Raymond Burr, and we boil with helpless anxiety as Burr catches her in the act and gets violent. When Burr catches on to the plot and shoots an evil eye at Stewart (and us) it’s a terrifying shock. After countless shots of observing the neighbors from a god’s-eye-view, Burr’s stare feels like a knife in the gut. It’s a great Hitchcock moment.

Watch “I See You, You See Me” scene:

#6 — The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956) — Assassination at Royal Albert Hall

Man, this one’s a beauty. It’s also truly “silent”—there’s not a word spoken, only Bernard Herrmann’s gorgeous rendition of “Storm Clouds Cantata”, the lifeblood of the scene. Every shot—of the massive Royal Albert Hall, its grinning, opulent guests, the sea of white that is the choir, and our heroes, Doris Day and James Stewart)—is goddamn pretty. They’re masterfully composed, full of life, perfectly sequenced, and the colors are a revelation. Though it’s easy to get lost in the glorious eye candy, there’s real tension to this scene, which is sold brilliantly by Day. The shot of Reggie Nadler pointing his gun at the screen is as “3-D” as any “3-D” movie to come out in the past ten years.

Watch “Assassination at Royal Albert Hall” scene:

#5 — Dial M for Murder (1954) — Death by Scissors

No matter how many times I see it, the telephone murder scene in Dial M For Murder is always suspenseful, always nail-bitingly delicious. This is Hitchcock at his sharpest—every beat is orchestrated perfectly. The editing is immaculate—each shot adds a new layer of suspense and gives the scene momentum. When the camera semi-circles around from Grace Kelly’s front to her back, then cuts to her front again revealing Robert Cummings standing behind her in strangle mode, it’s truly terrifying (even though we know Cummings has been there all along). Dimitri Tiomkin’s score is as effective as Hitchcock’s visuals.

Watch “Death by Scissors” scene:

#4 — The Birds (1963) — A Murder of Crows

Tippi Hedren is leisurely smoking a cigarette on a bench outside an elementary school, waiting for the children inside to be dismissed. Crows begin to gather on a jungle gym behind her. At first, we see only a few of them, but then we glance away and look again to see several more have appeared without a sound, seemingly out of nothing. We look away and back again and gasp in terror as their numbers are now so great they resemble a demonic, jet-black cloud clinging to the children’s playground. There’s no telling when they’ll strike, but they surely will. The scene is so alarming because of the context the sound provides—the only sound is the faint sound of the children inside singing a youthful tune, reminding us of the stakes.

Watch “A Murder of Crows” scene:

#3 — Vertigo (1958) — The Green Ghost

By the time we reach this scene in Vertigo, James Stewart’s whirlwind of obsession is at its most turbulent. As Kim Novak floats into the room as Madeline, drenched in that uneasy green light, time stands still. We lose our breath, at once in awe and frozen with fear. Stewart’s face is full of desperation, yearning, elation, and pain, a face he only ever used once. Novak is a stirring vision, a guaranteed heart-stopper. Hitchcock was sometimes criticized for his stiff, immobile camerawork, but he circles his camera around Stewart and Novak to create a remarkable image. As we circle, the hotel room around them magically melts away and they’re transported to the stables where they’ve kissed before, then back to the room again, all in one sensuous effects shot. No other Hitchcock scene gets under the skin quite like this one.

Watch “The Green Ghost” scene:

#2 — North by Northwest (1959) — Nowhere to Hide

What I love most about Hitchcock was his defiant nature. He loved to challenge cinematic conventions. He noticed that in the early days of film (especially in German cinema, of which he was a student) chase scenes were claustrophobic, typically set at night in dark alleyways with armed mysterious men in trench coats lurking around every shadowy turn. So what did Hitch do? He set his chase scene in North by Northwest in broad daylight, in a wide-open field, with the pursuer being a dangerously low-flying crop duster. Hitchcock was breaking the rules, chuckling to himself the whole way. This is Hitchcock at his most precise and virtuosic, a symphony of masterstrokes that adds up to one of the most iconic scenes in movie history, only second to…

Watch “Nowhere to Hide” scene:

#1 — Psycho (1960) — Nothing Like a Hot Shower After a Long Hard AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

It’s hard to think of a scene more watched, more beloved, more dissected, more memorable than this one. Its mark on movies and pop culture is indelible. The bracing imagery and staccato cuts are taken to another world by Bernard Herrmann’s thrashing strings. The first people who saw the scene in Psycho had their whole world flipped upside-down when their heroine (the stunning Janet Leigh) was cut to pieces only 45 minutes into the film. They screamed, jumped, ran in the aisles, and collectively thought “What the hell happens now?” They were conditioned to expect movies to play out a certain way. Hitchcock exploited this with Psycho, and because of this scene he was now free to take them to places they’d never been. He pulled an epic swerve on them, the clever devil. As I write this I have the scene playing on repeat in the background. Moments ago I was sinking my nose into my laptop, absorbed in typing this blather, and the strings hit out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me! It’s a dreadful sound. Somewhere out there, Hitch is still chuckling.

Watch “Nothing Like a Hot Shower After a Long Hard AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!” scene:

Be sure to come out to the “Hitchcock 9” this weekend at the Castro Theatre in San Francisco!

From June 14-16 at San Francisco’s wonderful Castro Theatre, the San Francisco Silent Film Festival will host the “Hitchcock 9”, a series of films from Hitchcock’s early days as a director in the silent era. The films have been beautifully restored and will be projected on the big screen with live music accompaniment by the acclaimed Mont Alto Motion Pcture Orchestra, Stephen Horne, and others.

Arguably the greatest director to make a movie, Alfred Hitchcock was a product of the silent film era, which he revered. Greats like Murnau, Dreyer, and Chaplin were masters at visual storytelling, and as far as Hitchcock was concerned, this was the medium at its pinnacle. When silent films were elbowed out by the “talkies”, Hitchcock was crushed, as the advent of sound compelled directors to demote visual storytelling below the novelty of the spoken word. Hitchcock referred to this new style of cinema as “filmed theater”, as these films had lost all visual technique and appeal.

Hitchcock, however, retained the sensibilities and discipline he learned from silent film, and applied them to all his work going forward. The nine films included in this festival are paramount to understanding what makes Hitch—and all movies, for that matter—tick.

In the spirit of the festival (and the reason we chose nine), we’re going to explore Hitchcock’s work with a couple of fun lists. We’re going to work backwards, starting here with our list of Hitchcock’s 9 Best “Talkie” Scenes, taking a look at scenes where he demonstrates he isn’t a snob and can shoot dialog as well! Next, we’ll take a look at Hitchcock’s 9 Best “Silent” Scenes, in which he employs and builds on the tools he developed in the silents. These two lists only include films after the silent era. Finally, we’ll hit you with our coverage of this weekend’s Hitchcock 9.

Though Hitchcock held visual storytelling above everything and often treated actors (who he believed must be treated like cattle) and their performances as simply another filmmaking component—like sound or set design—he certainly let them shine when he thought it appropriate. These are our nine favorite scenes where Hitchcock embraced his actors’ gabbiness.

9 Best “Talkie” Scenes from Alfred Hitchcock

#9 — The Lady Vanishes (1938) — Zany Train

Hitchcock was a definite sucker for silly physical comedy (see the Frenzy truck scene, Family Plot runaway car scene). This scene, though not as talky as others on the list, stands out because the dialog is funny as hell and makes the scene better. Michael Redgrave and Margaret Lockwood are engaged in a hilariously choreographed “fight scene” over a pair of spectacles with a bulbous magician. They’re in a train car surrounded by an assortment of the magician’s things, like bunnies in a hat, birds, magic chests, and (funniest part) a life-sized cutout of the magician himself. As the two men scuffle on the ground, Lockwood worriedly bounces around them. “Don’t stand hopping about like a referee! Kick him! See if he’s got a false bottom!” commands Redgrave. The magician (naturally) escapes through the false bottom of his magic chest.

Favorite Quote: “Naughty naughty! That’s a very large nose for a very large pair of spectacles!”

Watch “Zany Train” scene: (skip to 7:45)

#8 — The 39 Steps (1935) — Hannay’s Babble

The 39 Steps has many scenes that blossom into better versions in it’s spiritual successor, North by Northwest, but its public speaking scene (echoed in NXNW by the auction scene) is still very good. Hannay (Robert Donat), on the run from a pack of pursuers, ducks into a random door off the street and is mistaken for a politician who is expected to make a speech at a political rally within moments. He takes this as an opportunity to, at least momentarily, evade the bad guys. Hannay takes the podium and uses his gift for gab and quick wit to dance around his complete ignorance of the issues of the evening. He addresses the congregation: “We’re going to discuss some topic. What shall it be?” A concerned citizen answers, “The idle rich!” to which Hannay cleverly responds, “That’s a bit of an old topic these days, especially for me, because I’m not rich and I’ve never been idle!” A master bullshitter.

Favorite Quote: “MacCrocodile.”

Watch “Hannay’s Babble” scene:

#7 — Strangers on a Train (1951) — I’ll Scratch Your Back…

Hitchcock has always been known to repeat himself in his works (the airplane scenes in North by Northwest and The 39 Steps, countless staircase scenes), and one of the most revisited scenes by the master is the oddly casual and detailed outlining of a hypothetical (?) murder. Perhaps the most eminent is this one, from the brilliant Strangers on a Train. “Wanna hear my idea for a perfect murder?” Robert Walker is as brazen as a child as he submits his macabre scenarios to the apprehensively dismissive Farley Granger, the other titular “stranger”. Walker relishes in his morbid fantasy while we identify (hopefully) with the more humane Granger, who is frightened by Walker’s enthusiasm.

Favorite Quote: “Your wife, my father. Criss-cross!”

Watch “I’ll Scratch Your Back…” scene:

#6 — North by Northwest (1959) — Auction Audible

Cary Grant, as the cosmopolitan wrong-man Roger O. Thornhill, is trapped at a bustling fine art auction, with goons blocking every exit. Out of options, his clever solution is to create mayhem. Hysterically, he begins making nonsensical bids on the valuable pieces: “13 dollars! That’s more than it’s worth!” The crowd begins to vibrate with annoyance, and Grant churns the chaos further: “How do we know it’s not a fake? It looks like a fake!”To which an irritated woman snips, “You’re no fake. You’re a genuine idiot!” “Thank you” replies Grant, pleased with his ingenuity. He hilariously knocks out a security guard, earning him a police escort out of the building. Cary Grant could do anything, and this is one of his finest and most endearing comedic performances.

Favorite Quote: “What took you so long?”—Grant, to the police officers.”

Watch “Auction Audible” scene:

#5 — Rope (1948) — Cat and Mouse

Rupert (James Stewart), in a state of shock, almost pleads with Brandon (John Dall): “Did you think you were God, Brandon? Is that what you thought when you served food from his grave!?” Brandon and Phillip (Farley Granger) have just hosted a party with the centerpiece being a chest containing their dead friend David (who they’ve freshly strangled). Strangely, they did it for the thrill, and they would have gotten away with it had it not been for their final party guest, the uber-intelligent Stewart. Granger’s neurotic paranoia explodes as Stewart begins to Sherlock their little scheme. “Cat and mouse, cat and mouse! But which is the cat and which is the mouse…” growls Granger. Stewart and Dall’s tug-of-war about the morality of a “superior race” is fascinating and was hotly relevant at the time. Stewart gets to show big emotion here, which fits nicely with Rope’s theater-esque presentation.

Favorite Quote: “If nothing else, a man should stand by his words, but you’ve given my words a meaning I’ve never dreamed of!”

Watch “Cat and Mouse” scene:

#4 — Shadow of a Doubt (1943) — Did He Just Say That?

When Uncle Charlie (played by Joseph Cotton, gifted with a classically evil face) sits with his sister’s family for a quaint, suburban, All-American dinner, he shatters the cheerful mood with a spit-take-worthy misogynistic tirade. We slowly zoom in on him as he pompously describes widows as “silly…useless…faded, fat, greedy women.” His good-hearted niece (Teresa Wright) defends the widows: “They’re alive! They’re human beings!” Cotton then, in a masterstroke by Hitchcock, looks straight at the camera and replies, “Are they?” Positively rattling. Uncle Charlie is one of the baddest baddies in Hitchcock’s oeuvre, and this is his moment. You can almost hear hundreds of moviegoers in 1943 collectively screaming “BOOOOOOOO!!!”

Favorite Quote: The whole dirty, rotten thing

Watch “Did He Just Say That?” scene:

#3 — Notorious (1946) — Heartbreak at the Races

An electric scene from my favorite Hitchcock film. Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman), an American daughter of a Nazi spy, has fallen for US government agent T.R. Devlin (Cary Grant), who is forced by his superiors to instruct her to seduce Alex Sebastian, one of her father’s old friends in order to obtain the [MacGuffin!]. They’re conflicted about the assignment, yet are too passive and stubborn to blow the mission and reveal their true feelings for one another, frustrating the both of them. In a (public) secret meeting at a crowded horse race, Bergman reports to Grant on her progress: “You can add Sebastian’s name to my list of playmates.” Grant viciously assures Bergman that her “loose” behavior doesn’t surprise him: “You almost had me believing…that a woman like you could…change her spots.” Bergman is heartbreaking as she hides her wet eyes behind her binoculars. Grant fights not to flinch as he suppresses his love.

Favorite Quote: “Dry your eyes, baby. It’s out of character.”

Watch “Heartbreak at the Races” scene: (skip to 8:10 for the scene)

#2 — Psycho (1960) — Dinner With Norman

Birds are a major motif in Psycho. In the most loquacious of the film’s numerous iconic scenes, our protagonist—Marion Crane from Phoenix—shares an unsettling dinner of sandwiches and milk in the Bates Motel back office with the schizoid mama’s boy Norman. The dynamic between Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins is as nimble as the stuffed birds on the walls once were, jumping from friendly to aggressive to empathetic to frightening, all seamlessly. Like magic, these two just click, giving performances of a lifetime. Hitchcock was often (unjustly) accused of mistreating his actors, but here he gives them his uninhibited trust. The funny thing is, despite these characters’ fates, they make a fleeting connection: “You’ve never had an empty moment in your whole life, have you?” says Perkins. Somberly, Leigh replies, “Only my share.”

Favorite Quote: “People always mean well. They cluck their thick tongues and shake their heads and suggest oh so very delicately…”

Watch “Dinner With Norman” scene:

#1 — North by Northwest (1959) — Sex on a Train

Eva Marie Saint is sex and seduction in the flesh sitting across from Cary Grant on the train in North by Northwest. This is one of the most suggestive, sexually charged scenes of dialog ever, especially considering the time period it belongs to. Marie Saint is thrilling in her bluntness: “It’s going to be a long night, and I don’t particularly like the book I’ve started. You know what I mean?” “Yes, I know exactly what you mean” replies Grant, who is as in awe of her lustiness as we are. When she gently puckers her lips to blow out a lit match in Grant’s fingers, it’s time to put the kiddies to bed. These are two of the most attractive movie stars ever virtually eye-fucking each other. Hitchcock believed that sex scenes should have an element of suspense to them, and by the end of this one we’re so worked up we could explode.
Favorite Quote: “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Watch “Sex on a Train” scene:

Check back soon for our list of Hitchcock’s 9 Best “Silent” Scenes and be sure to come out to the Hitchcock 9 this weekend in San Francisco!

For those who don’t know, Sight and Sound is one of the most well-respected film publications in the world. Since 1952, Sight and Sound have been asking critics and filmmakers to submit a list of the 10 greatest films of all time, and every decade since new lists are created and compiled into one big list. This year the rules around the list have gone under a few changes.

The biggest change would be the number of contributors, with “more than 1,000 critics, programmers, academics, distributors, writers and other cinephiles” asked and over 800 lists submitted in time. The lists themselves could be made in any way, with some people picking titles out of a bowl as a way to make their own list. So, with all of the changes were there any big surprises?

It all depends on how you take the results really. The biggest piece of news from the list is that Citizen Kane no longer holds the top spot. The title of ‘Greatest Film of All Time’ now goes to Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. The list also has a new addition this time with Dziga Vertov’s documentary Man With a Movie Camera placing at #8. Sight and Sound has also compiled a list that was taken from over 350 submissions by directors which has a few differences from the main list. Yazujiro Ozu’s Tokyo Story takes the top spot on the director’s list (it came in third on the main one) and includes more modern films like Apocalypse Now and Taxi Driver. The youngest film on the critics’ list is Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey which means nothing from the 1970s onward even cracked the top 10. You can see the two respective lists below.

The Greatest Films of All Time (The Critics)
Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941)
Tokyo Story (Ozu, 1953)
La Règle du jeu (Renoir, 1939)
Sunrise: a Song for Two Humans (Murnau, 1927)
2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick, 1968)
The Searchers (Ford, 1956)
Man with a Movie Camera (Dziga Vertov, 1929)
The Passion of Joan of Arc (Dreyer, 1927)
8 ½ (Fellini, 1963)

The Greatest Films of All Time (The Directors)
Tokyo Story (Ozu, 1953)
(tie) 2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick, 1968)
(tie) Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941)
8 ½ (Fellini, 1963)
Taxi Driver (Scorsese, 1980)
Apocalypse Now (Coppola, 1979)
(tie) The Godfather (Coppola, 1972)
(tie) Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Mirror (Tarkovsky, 1974)
Bicycle Thieves (De Sica, 1948)