Much like how Alfred Hitchcock’s films have not lost their effectiveness through the decades, John Russell Taylor’s “Hitch” (1978, with a 1980 postscript after the director’s death) feels as thorough and accurate today as it did then.
Although this bio is authorized, it shows freedom and flexibility similar to an unauthorized work. Taylor, a London Times film critic who moved to America to work at the University of Southern California, was friends with the director, whom he calls “Hitch” throughout the biography. He interviewed Hitch, wife Alma and daughter Pat, and had behind-the-scenes access to “Family Plot” (1976), Hitch’s last film as it turned out.
He interviewed several people who knew Hitch well, or who observed his sometimes charged relationships with other famous folks, such as producer David O. Selznick, composer Bernard Herrmann and actress Tippi Hedren.
Interestingly, Taylor almost never uses direct quotes, which might go against common journalistic wisdom, but this enhances the conversational flow. Giving fair weight to all 53 Hitch films, Taylor gives short reviews of each, free from outside influence (although he notes public reception, box-office success, general scholarly opinion and Hitch’s opinion).
The whole 52 (or 53)
Despite being Hitch’s pal, Taylor notes Hitch’s bad behavior toward some actresses. (He didn’t know about Hedren’s experiences, as she gave her full account many years later.) Taylor gives thoughtful armchair psychoanalysis of what drove Hitch’s behavior: a mix of respect and a childlike fear of the opposite sex baked into his Catholic teachings and own DNA. His artistic desire to create perfect cinematic blondes clashed with the fact that the actresses were individuals, and it’s fascinating to see how some (Grace Kelly) slid smoothly onto his wavelength and others (Vera Miles) did not.
You’ll get film talk straight from the director in “Hitchcock/Truffaut” (1966), the only work of Hitch scholarship that’s more famous (both are regularly cited in the Hitch podcasts I listen to), but “Hitch” is concerned with its players on a human level more than an artistic level.
Not that the latter is overlooked. It’s remarkable that Taylor was able to view all 52 existing Hitch films. He expresses confidence – unfortunately not prescient so far – that the missing film, the silent-era “The Mountain Eagle,” will be found someday. I had thought that before the rise of home video it was difficult to access rarer films, but perhaps the author had connections.
I like that he chronicles the writing process of each film, as screenwriting was not appreciated in 1978 like it is today. More about Alma’s specific writing contributions would’ve been nice. “Hitch” makes it clear that Hitch couldn’t have done it without her, though. Taylor notes the massive alteration in the director’s psyche whenever Alma temporarily fell ill.
At the other end of the creative process is editing, and while Hitch’s meticulous planning meant that few of his films were shaped in the editing stage, this aspect does get overlooked in the book compared to script writing. Readers wanting a more thorough career retrospective should also note that Taylor doesn’t review Hitch’s 20 TV episodes, giving a nod to only a few.
‘This is only a movie’
The author’s insights into Hitch’s psyche are canonical now; he paints him as a man who let his fears and proclivities play out on screen, as a way to be open and honest with the public while sticking closer to a persona in interviews. He was contradictory, knowing how to shape public image via his hosting of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” but being modest in his lifestyle and not seeking the spotlight outside of story hyping.
He wore suits when working, in order to present the standard of professionalism, yet played practical jokes. I find it fascinating that Hitch was a meticulous planner, yet also had perspective. Through 90 percent of his career, he did not have total decision-making power, so in many cases he was working with actors he would not have chosen, yet he always completed the job as best he could.
When censors said he couldn’t do something on screen, he seemed to view it as a creative challenge. Sometimes he stuck with his original plan anyway, hoping they wouldn’t notice (which often worked); other times he found the best workaround.
When Kim Novak was overanalyzing her character’s motivations on the set of “Vertigo,” Hitchcock said “Kim, this is only a movie.” He aimed to put her at ease, Taylor suggests, but I think that truly was Hitch’s outlook.
Filmmaking as a way of life
When he felt he did something great, he acknowledged it; when he felt he did something bad, he acknowledged it. He found fame amusing, but he was fully aware he created diversions from life. I think he found life amusing, too, like many timid people do as a coping mechanism.
Hitchcock always moved on to the next film. Like some college football coaches and writers, retirement was not on his radar because he loved his work and subconsciously knew retirement was the equivalent of death. So he never officially retired – and, it seems out of an unspoken respect, no one in his sphere asked him to.
Instead, his death in 1980 marked his retirement. Forty-five years later, it’s clear his films (except “Mountain Eagle,” darn it) have lived on. Taylor knew they would, even at the time. Maybe he was stating what was readily apparent, but it’s undeniable that “Hitch” is a cornerstone of how we think of the director and the man.
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