NR | Rottentomatoes.com Rating:100% | 1954 |
(Thematic elements, suspense, mild nudity) | Picky Flicks Quote: "If you don't experience delicious terror, then pinch yourself--you're most probably dead." -Emanuel Levy, EmanuelLevy.com | RUNTIME: 2 hr. 55 min. |
Visit:www.screenit.com for complete details | Movie Mood:  All Wound Up |
You mention the name Alfred Hitchcock to a twenty-something these days, and chances are you’ll hear something like, “Isn’t he that old dude who did horror movies or something? Like The Birds? Oh, and Psycho, yeah Psycho!” And that’s if this guy/chick has taken the iPod plugs out of his/her brain in the last decade.
Of course, Alfred Hitchock is actually the dead dude who made those movies, plus a couple of others, including Rear Window, which many critics (and I’ll throw my hat in there with them) consider his masterpiece. Now, I’m hardly a Hitchcock aficionado because I’m the girl who can’t watch horror movies. I just heard someone say recently that he didn’t “get” scary movies because he didn't want to pay hard-earned money to sit in a movie theater and be tense for two hours. And I thought, “Huh, nicely put. I know just how he feels.” Which might explain why I’ve never seen Psycho and have seen only little tidbits of The Birds (the premise never appealed to me).
But I have watched several other of Hitchcock’s classics, including Vertigo, To Catch a Thief, North by Northwest, and, of course, Rear Window. Of those (and I enjoyed them all), Rear Window has the tightest plotting, the best dialogue, and the most suspense, without being a true horror movie. I like suspense/thriller, but I don't like horror. Did I already say that?
One of Rear Window's greatest asset is a starring performance from the incomparable (and incomparably grumpy) James Stewart. He’s only 46 in the film, and his lovely and charming co-star,Grace Kelly, is 25, but he looks a LOT older, and she…doesn’t. Check out the pic in the link if you don’t believe me: http://www.imdb.com/media/rm4182022400/nm0000038
Their May/December romance is a bit of a head-scratcher since L.B. Jefferies (Stewart) or “Jeff,” as Lisa (Kelly) adoringly calls him, is such a grouchy old codger. I’ve never read much about Jimmy Stewart’s real life, but after watching him play every possible version of a crank, I find it hard to believe he wasn't “acting” like himself half the time.
As it so happens, Mr. Grumpy Pants has a bit of a reason to be down. He’s a much-sought-after and respected photographer whose latest foray into the picture-taking world resulted in a broken leg. Said broken leg has him laid up in his cramped, sweltering Manhattan apartment where his only entertainment comes from his neighbors, whose antics he can clearly see through the windows they don’t dare shut or shutter for fear of dying of heatstroke.
But, of course, we can’t forget the delectable Lisa, a New York socialite who works in the fashion industry and is just as cool and put-together (and impossibly thin) as can be imagined. Jeff’s a bit rougher-hewn himself, and he’s just to the point of deciding that Lisa isn’t the gal for him—a conclusion his feisty nurse, Stella, fiercely combats. In her thinking, Jeff’s pretty darn lucky to have such an accomplished, beautiful, lively, intelligent, patient, stylish (the list could go on) woman putting up with his sour grapes. Anyone who’s seen Grace Kelly sweep into a room and tug off her gloves with exquisite poise would have to agree with Stella.
But Jeff’s made up his mind, and priority number one is breaking up with the perfect Lisa...that is until he starts noticing something other than the scantily-clad ballerina on the top floor opposite his and gets suspicious and distracted. A salesman and his invalid wife don’t get along too well. She nags, he scowls and stomps around, and Jeff watches it all with a cynical, “marriage is the millstone round man’s neck” expression. But one night when Jeff has insomnia, the salesman goes in and out of his house three times, carrying his metal sample case. It’s odd but certainly nothing to get terribly excited about. Unless of course, you’ve been cooped up in your boiling apartment for six weeks with an itchy broken leg sweating under an itchy cast, and you have nothing better do than come up with wild hypotheses about your neighbor butchering his wife and then carrying her limbs out piece by piece in his sample case.
And that’s how the rest of the movie plays out, keeping the audience guessing (I know because my husband was a first-time viewer, and he spent the entire time vacillating between “He did it, no, he didn’t”). Is the heat playing with Jeff’s idle mind? Or is there really something more diabolical at work here? Jeff manages to convince Lisa and Stella and even drag them into his voyeuristic sleuthing, but his detective friend, Tom, isn’t so sure.
I won’t give away the ending, of course, except to say that it wraps up a bit too tidily, perhaps, for all involved. But it’s a heckuva ride getting there, and when you look in your rear window, you’ll see you liked the movie you just watched a whole lot.
Until next Wednesday, stay picky. Your mind will thank you later!
Of course, Alfred Hitchock is actually the dead dude who made those movies, plus a couple of others, including Rear Window, which many critics (and I’ll throw my hat in there with them) consider his masterpiece. Now, I’m hardly a Hitchcock aficionado because I’m the girl who can’t watch horror movies. I just heard someone say recently that he didn’t “get” scary movies because he didn't want to pay hard-earned money to sit in a movie theater and be tense for two hours. And I thought, “Huh, nicely put. I know just how he feels.” Which might explain why I’ve never seen Psycho and have seen only little tidbits of The Birds (the premise never appealed to me).
But I have watched several other of Hitchcock’s classics, including Vertigo, To Catch a Thief, North by Northwest, and, of course, Rear Window. Of those (and I enjoyed them all), Rear Window has the tightest plotting, the best dialogue, and the most suspense, without being a true horror movie. I like suspense/thriller, but I don't like horror. Did I already say that?
One of Rear Window's greatest asset is a starring performance from the incomparable (and incomparably grumpy) James Stewart. He’s only 46 in the film, and his lovely and charming co-star,Grace Kelly, is 25, but he looks a LOT older, and she…doesn’t. Check out the pic in the link if you don’t believe me: http://www.imdb.com/media/rm4182022400/nm0000038
Their May/December romance is a bit of a head-scratcher since L.B. Jefferies (Stewart) or “Jeff,” as Lisa (Kelly) adoringly calls him, is such a grouchy old codger. I’ve never read much about Jimmy Stewart’s real life, but after watching him play every possible version of a crank, I find it hard to believe he wasn't “acting” like himself half the time.
As it so happens, Mr. Grumpy Pants has a bit of a reason to be down. He’s a much-sought-after and respected photographer whose latest foray into the picture-taking world resulted in a broken leg. Said broken leg has him laid up in his cramped, sweltering Manhattan apartment where his only entertainment comes from his neighbors, whose antics he can clearly see through the windows they don’t dare shut or shutter for fear of dying of heatstroke.
But, of course, we can’t forget the delectable Lisa, a New York socialite who works in the fashion industry and is just as cool and put-together (and impossibly thin) as can be imagined. Jeff’s a bit rougher-hewn himself, and he’s just to the point of deciding that Lisa isn’t the gal for him—a conclusion his feisty nurse, Stella, fiercely combats. In her thinking, Jeff’s pretty darn lucky to have such an accomplished, beautiful, lively, intelligent, patient, stylish (the list could go on) woman putting up with his sour grapes. Anyone who’s seen Grace Kelly sweep into a room and tug off her gloves with exquisite poise would have to agree with Stella.
But Jeff’s made up his mind, and priority number one is breaking up with the perfect Lisa...that is until he starts noticing something other than the scantily-clad ballerina on the top floor opposite his and gets suspicious and distracted. A salesman and his invalid wife don’t get along too well. She nags, he scowls and stomps around, and Jeff watches it all with a cynical, “marriage is the millstone round man’s neck” expression. But one night when Jeff has insomnia, the salesman goes in and out of his house three times, carrying his metal sample case. It’s odd but certainly nothing to get terribly excited about. Unless of course, you’ve been cooped up in your boiling apartment for six weeks with an itchy broken leg sweating under an itchy cast, and you have nothing better do than come up with wild hypotheses about your neighbor butchering his wife and then carrying her limbs out piece by piece in his sample case.
And that’s how the rest of the movie plays out, keeping the audience guessing (I know because my husband was a first-time viewer, and he spent the entire time vacillating between “He did it, no, he didn’t”). Is the heat playing with Jeff’s idle mind? Or is there really something more diabolical at work here? Jeff manages to convince Lisa and Stella and even drag them into his voyeuristic sleuthing, but his detective friend, Tom, isn’t so sure.
I won’t give away the ending, of course, except to say that it wraps up a bit too tidily, perhaps, for all involved. But it’s a heckuva ride getting there, and when you look in your rear window, you’ll see you liked the movie you just watched a whole lot.
Until next Wednesday, stay picky. Your mind will thank you later!
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