(Directed by Alfred Hitchcock)
by Kevin Murphy
Gone are the days when you’d mail a pistol via the postal service or bluff a killer’s phone call as the wrong number. And gone are the days when a man’s fate hangs on another’s word, when one man might send another to the chair simply because he’s got a convenient alibi and a crime scene explanation to boot. To be sure, technology has unburdened society the task of deducing who might be calling in the middle of the night; it has developed the service of DNA, and it would certainly crack Bruno Antony’s crisscross murder scheme within a few days’ time.
The issue at hand is even with advanced science and investigative tools, matters of murder and mystery remain interesting because the venerable ghosts haunting the minds of malicious humans have not been put to rest. Take for instance Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train. The plot and characters in this film are so remote, so implausible in today’s info-boot culture as to achieve an almost campy quality. They exist in those honest, decent times known as the past. Watching them today, a detached appreciation salutes the obstacles and schemes of yesteryear with a chuckle and wisp of nostalgia.
Consider this deceitful scenerio. Say I saw you riding the subway Tuesday morning. At approximately 9:45 a character fitting your description was seen stealing a woman’s purse. It wasn’t you, but it’d be simple to say it was, and I could establish a motive by saying I overheard you claim to have lost your money. Then I’d remind the police your features match those of the suspect. In moments a sketch artist renders your face, later you’re seen on TV. Tuesday night down at the station house, a red-faced butcher named O’Reilly blasts spit and vitriol into your terrified soul and demands a confession.
So you see, deceit is still alive and well; it just has a shorter life span.
The deceit muddled into Strangers on a Train is chewy. The film stars Farley Granger as Guy Haines, an ambitious tennis player with a politically connected mistress and a pregnant, distressed wife. Guy’s working towards a divorce from his unfaithful wife when he meets Bruno Antony (Robert Walker) on a train heading to Washington; Bruno is a hard-boiled nutjob with a snake’s voice and a brat’s grudge against the world. He has an especial bone to pick with his father, a wealthy man who expects his son to work hard and gain success. Bruno will not tolerate such drivel, and so hatches a fantastic crisscross murder scheme: Bruno will kill Guy’s wife and Guy will kill Bruno’s father. Neither will have a logical motive and so will go on to enjoy life’s pleasures in secure, guilt-free liberty. The only problem of course is Bruno’s insane. He alone agrees to the plan, and when Guy does not hold his end, Bruno starts popping up all over the place, slithering among D.C’s senatorial society with creepy quips and slimy tethers. In the end, Bruno’s a lurking menace with a taste for high-society. He’s a Truman Capote of the Psycho Killing Posse kind, the very nail flattening his grand scheme’s tire.
Nothing stalls this film, however, from capturing the subtle grace of blackmail, the discreet humor of society’s largesse, and the wicked delight found in a good murder. These are Hitchcock’s hallmarks, of course, and Strangers on a Train delivers them with the familiar heady, subversive charm known so well in his work.
Memorable scenes surface like a drowned girl’s pale skin. Beautiful, quiet, haunting, they register a moment after they’re gone and remain long after the screen’s gone dark.
As the film begins, the camera follows the footwork of two travelers. It’s an opportunity to glean character information from the two leading men, and a subtle maneuver with which to unravel this film’s tangled plot. Later, Bruno follows Miriam (Guy’s wife, played by Kasey Rogers) into a carnival’s Tunnel of Love, his shadow creeps along the wall, eventually overtaking Miriam. It’s an ordeal punctuated by a shrill scream, but we know she’s not dead yet, and she emerges playful and fit, riding along with her boyfriends. When Bruno does strangle Miriam, it’s on a dark, wooded island. The scene is shot looking through the cracked lenses of Miriam’s dropped glasses. Moving slowly, the murder occurs silently, distorted through the glasses, and achieves an eerie, impacting sense of presence, evoking appreciation and quivers. But by far the most notorious scene finds Bruno watching a tennis match. At this point he’s harassing Guy, and his presence at the match signifies his encroaching threat. Following the lob and arch of the tennis ball, the heads in the audience watch left to right. Sitting among them, in the center, is Bruno. His posture is that of an attentive fan, but his focus, along with his gaze, is steady, unmoving and potent. When Guy notices he shudders; Bruno stays still, intent on his sole purpose.
The film builds tension as Guy hurries to clear his name. Bruno continues to spit venom; the police follow Guy back to the scene of the crime; lives move in an out of jeopardy. Guy’s mistress and her family (Barbara Morton, the little sister, is played by Hitchcock’s daughter. She’s macabre, funny, and forward, and maintains a candid rationality as the rest of her family fritters) wait in D.C for an outcome, while Guy and Bruno finally duke it out on a runaway merry-go-round. That climactic scene, famous for the dramatic risk taken by the actor who actually crawled below the spinning carousel and emerged on the inside in order to shut down the ride, is the stock of cinematic lore. Hitchcock later said the scene was exactly what he wanted, but he’d never again permit such a risk.
Risk is essential to understanding Hitchcock. He mastered his art with curiosity, good humor, and sophistication. He was keen to his genre’s perks and pitfalls, and undertook to use them both as illuminating stanchions. It’s interesting to read his methods, his economical morality and input, his generous personality and wit, but at the end of the day I appreciate watching his films the most, as they are the vehicle upon which his vision travels.
So even if the plot of Strangers on a Train doesn’t hold long to contemporary scrutiny, it does have a momentum instinctive to us all. Whereas the tools ready to solve a crime in today’s world may have advanced, the strings pulled in a Hitchcock film remain unchanged and unfazed, and are always set to entertain.
