Review: Hitchcock

Hitchcock is a study of the person behind the legend. Director Sacha Gervasi has attempted to paint an in-depth portrait of Alfred Hitchcock, using the filming of Psycho as his background. Also explored is the relationship with Hitchcock’s wife, who played a significant role in his productions. Gervasi has certainly managed to create an entertaining couple of hours, but I feel underwhelmed by such a lightweight treatment of this cinematically-profound subject.

Ed Gein, psychopathic murderer and inspiration for Norman Bates, is introduced as a representation of Hitchcock’s inner-self. Gein flits in and out of affairs to give the director parcels of wisdom. Now I’m no Freud, but it seems unwise to take relationship advice from a man who made belts out of people. While interesting, it is an exaggerated attempt to explore Hitchcock’s subconscious. For all that he would approve of artistic licence for dramatic effect, the comparison is a bit silly. It is representative of this superficial dissection of the personality: nothing is added that we didn’t know already.

The excellent acting is largely what holds the film together, even if the business of famous actors playing famous actors is like luvvies’ charades. Anthony Hopkins is a forceful screen presence as the master of suspense, balancing physical similarity with an intriguing replication of the personality. The prosthetics department must have worked overtime, because his every bloated movement perfectly imitates the great director. But the subtleties of his acting are what really bring the man to life. Helen Mirren plays his long-suffering spouse, Alma, revisiting her great creative influence. It is Mirren’s talented emotional range which conjures the woman, so the lack of facial resemblance isn’t an issue. Scarlett Johansson doesn’t look much like Janet Leigh either (perhaps the make-up budget had all been blown on Hopkins’ jowls), although her outpouring of glamour and charisma render this point moot. James D’Arcy transforms so uncannily into Anthony Perkins that people will surely start seeing him as Norman Bates.

Comparison must be made with The Girl, the recent HBO TV film, which focused on Hitchcock’s relationship with Tippi Hedren when filming The Birds. That production laboured the point that he was an evil sleazebag, but it did evoke more powerfully the dangerous effects of genius. Toby Jones was Hitchcock, and didn’t look the part nearly as much as Hopkins. I preferred the latter, who presented a better all-round character.

Hitchcock is a shallow handling of a fascinating personality, a routine establishing of facts. His cinematic genius isn’t explored nearly enough, we are simply told that he was a bit of a maverick. So the making of Psycho is not fully shown: a film that changed cinema is made to seem like just another box-office success, important characters appearing only momentarily. The exploration of Alma’s vital role is long overdue and thus welcome. Overall, it is an entertaining look at Hitchcock’s many flaws, but to be honest, kind of meaningless. I’d recommend just watching Psycho: it’s pretty decent.

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