I’ve recently realized a common thread amongst many (too many?) of my favourite movies. Aside from the good old depressing and cynical ending I tend to love, they invoke, in some way or another, voyeurism. Peeping Tom, The Ear, The Lives of Others, Rear Window, sex, lies and videotape, etc. I’m sure that says a lot about me and I’m sure Freud would have a fucking ball analyzing that statement, but for now I’m content with making this observation simply because upon what is probably my fourth viewing of Vertigo, the first in a loooong time as well as the first in a movie theatre, I realize its voyeuristic aspect is part of the reason why I love it so much.
Not just the fact that it plays with that concept, but also how it plays with it. One could argue film is inherently voyeuristic, considering it invites us to observe other people for a couple of hours and we might even become (emotionally) invested in them, I know I do it very often. But most of the time we take part in that voyeurism as ourselves, the audience, meanwhile in Vertigo, we take part in it together with James Stewart’s Scottie, who is just as much a watcher as we are. And we don’t just watch, by the way Like in Peeping Tom, we do it obsessively, constantly and intensely through our protagonist, and every bit of Vertigo knows it.
It’s hard not to feel inadequate about how much gazing involves Madeleine and Judy, or how while slowly but surely following Madeleine around town, our curiosity surrounding the apparent strangeness and eeriness of Madeleine’s behavior grows alongside Scottie’s, who is at first reluctant to spy on her but quickly becomes invested enough to wave any sort of unwillingness goodbye.
It’s fascinating to me how well Hitchcock communicates this obsession with the camera, in several scenes and with sometimes very little dialogue, as well as how everything in the film works together to never let us forget that, even though as an audience we have the “permission” to watch, we are, nevertheless, watching — perhaps way too closely and with way too much pleasure, too. Just like Scottie. Just like Hitchcock.
I remember watching Vertigo for the first when I was 14 or so, alone at home around lunch time on a Saturday, and it creeped me out. I felt kinda scared, but I was drawn to it. It was this psychedelic murder-mystery trip that I was amazed by, and I didn’t even know it until then but it was exactly what I needed? If you’re familiar with the feeling of watching a movie that feels tailor-made for you, then you know what I’m talking about.
Vertigo’s imagery is sublimely imposing. The colors jump out of the screen in dreamy technicolor, especially in those nightmare sequences. The camera movements are fresh and significative — no long take is there just for the sake of it, for example. Herrmann’s soundtrack is otherworldly. Kim Novak’s face is enough to cause a trance. San Francisco in broad daylight takes on a whole other facet — it can feel menacing and ghostly. Literally everything works for me. I mean, I’m far from being able to analyze or dissect this film but I had to try to at least write down why I like it so much, if only for future reference (or embarrasment) for me.
The mystery was what gripped me the most when I was 14, but now that I know what happens, what grabs me is that I am able to see it as a work about cinema itself, too, in all its voyeuristic glory. When I first watched it, I had never seen anything quite like it, and tonight after seeing it on the big screen and taking some time to think about it, I’m pretty sure I still haven’t.
This review was originally written on May 17th, 2018.
