As a young girl, I became familiar with films by Alfred Hitchcock. Although I was intrigued by his deadpan facial expression, posh accent and mannerisms plus his rotund yet ominous silhouette, I never watched his films because I was frightened by Hollywood’s “master of suspense.” On late Friday nights, my parents would watch his Alfred Hitchcock Presents…NBC show and insist, “watch with us; it’s not scary,” but I would always decline. But over the years his films found a home in my DVD collection in college and in later adulthood, my Netflix queue, often providing background noise during cooking or folding laundry. I was still intrigued decades after being introduced to his films, so I finally made a (daytime) date with myself to watch intentionally, no excuses.
Moody lighting. Black and white film. Haunting musical scores that I re-imagined as samples reworked for songs that existed only in my mind for my favorite artists (Wu-Tang Clan or Nas). A mysterious man whose smile belied his psychopathic nature. Then the credits appeared. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock. And just like that, I was hooked.
For me, watching classic films such as Hitchcock’s Psycho and Vertigo have become a masterclass on how to use visuals and dialogue to apply suspense and improve my own storytelling. For example, in the color version of Vertigo, the way the director uses color in the scenery and wardrobe helps shape the mood of different scenes and parts of the plot. Lush green fields punctuated by John Ferguson’s (portrayed by actor James “Jimmy” Stewart) sharp olive suit symbolize a second chance with Madeline, his unrequited love. And the now-famous winter white overcoat worn over a black ensemble by Madeleine (Kim Novak) symbolizes her ever-changing moods and her proneness towards despondence, an obvious contrast from John’s goofy, well-meaning charm. Hitchcock’s most praised film, Psycho, is another blueprint on applying suspense. In the film, there are notable scenes where simple, well-written dialogue foreshadows the upcoming suspense. The dialogue is subtle, natural and not heavy-handed, without being obviously scary or threatening, much like normal everyday conversation between two people. From the unwelcome, intimidating conversation started by the arrogant, chauvinist millionaire at the real estate office where Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) works, to the terse exchange between Marion and the overzealous policeman, whose aroused suspicion of Marion leads to him following her, each dialogue between characters builds toward the inevitable bad outcome you are certain is going to happen. And even if you cannot predict the outcome, the dialogue has now created an ominous mood that you cannot deny.
In Hitchcock’s films, things are often said and shown that you cannot un-hear or un-see, leaving you no choice but to examine them as you decipher the plot. For example, when the innocently handsome yet awkward Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) casually cites taxidermy as a hobby in a room adorned by stuffed owls and ravens, and quips “you eat like a bird,” to a visibly uncomfortable Marion, the viewer cannot deny the suspense. As I watched both Vertigo and Psycho, I went from passive moviegoer to an active watcher, as I dissected each scene for clues to help me predict each ending. Questions such as, “Why does Madeleine’s husband Gavin choose John, who has an obvious crush on the emotionally unstable Madeleine, to protect her from hurting herself?” and “Will Marion arrive in Fairvale safely and reunite with her lover Sam?” developed as I watched each film, all while keeping me on the edge of my seat without explosions or VFX and CGI-created gruesome monsters.
Watching films directed by Hitchcock have evolved from a fun past-time to an exciting crash course in suspense. I am both entertained and enlightened by his suspenseful storytelling and use of anxiety, timing and editing when making a film. Now instead of feeling compelled to reduce tension so as not to bore my audience, I am learning how to exist with it and write through it. Alfred Hitchcock did not just teach me about storytelling – he reminded me that the best stories speak softly before they scream.