As I said in an earlier post, writing on my blog about Hitchcock is one of the most embarrassing and humiliating experiences. I feel a little odd and sheepish when I say if this thing isn’t great, it would let him down in some way. I’ve been in love with this man’s movies since I was around thirteen years old. Maybe twelve. There’s almost nothing that hasn’t already been said, and yet, I chose him anyway. Why? Because I love him and I love the challenge. Before I get into the post, I want to say that “The Birds” has never been a favorite of mine. Oddly enough, Robin Wood (film theorist extraordinaire…and I will reference him later) said the exact same thing in “Hitchcock’s Films Revisited”. On the surface, it seems as though Hitchcock went out of his way to make a monster flick. Yes, it almost seems like he made a “flick”. How foolish the viewer can be. I find that the reason for this lies in the birds themselves. They seem like unprovoked monsters, hell-bent on killing by the dozens. There is no explanation in the film. At the end, there is no obvious resolution that has to do with the birds. I feel that unlocking the secret to the actual birds, or at least the outcome underneath the surface, is what makes this film amazing. I found that although I analyzed a few scenes specifically, I relied heavily on a general timeline of plot to watch Hedren’s character’s development throughout the film. I want to say that this post/essay will attempt to answer the cause of the attacks in my adolescent ways the best it can. I want to elaborate on the connection between Hedren’s character and the onslaught of the birds and I found that Freeland’s argument lends particularly (almost frighteningly) well to the argument I’ll make when discussing “the gaze,” as well as Wood’s theory on film analysis and the shadow, which allows Hedren’s character to be set free from her “shadow”…

I’d like to start, where most things do, at the beginning. The first things we see are the crows flying quickly back and forth across the title screen fading in. We hear the busy flapping of wings and squawking of what we can only imagine to be a large number of birds. It’s frantic, alarming us of restlessness, even danger, and making us, the viewers, very uneasy. Before we leave the title screen that is continuously spattered with black wings, the birds begin making high-pitched noises, almost like whistling. We then fade in to San Francisco, and the first person we see after these opening birds is Tippi Hedren, in the character of Melanie Daniels. She too moves quickly, is also dressed in black, and once she has crossed the street, we hear a high pitched cat call, sounding similar to the whistling of the crows during the opening credits. Cued right after the whistle is the sound of the birds chirping that we heard in the opening. This causes Daniels to look up to see a few hundred crows and gulls circling in the sky, right before she walks into a bird shop. Looking at this now, it’s hard to believe it can go over one’s head so easily, but alas, it happens. Because the first thing our attention is directed to happens to be the appearance and sound of both the birds as well as Daniels, (and the birds are cued directly after a whistle that we associate with her), we see a connection between them right off the bat. Please keep it in mind. She is linked through both physical and auditory triggers. She then meets Mitch Brenner, her romantic interest, in the shop. What is he looking for? Lovebirds. Oddly enough, when Daniels is speaking to the shop clerk, there is little to no chirping. When Brenner walks through the room in the next scene, the chirping is loud and obvious. There is a definite connection to Hedren’s love interest (or sexual aggression as many theorists claim…but ”your mileage may vary”). I personally believe that it has more to do with the “shadow” that Robin Wood talks about in his essay “Ideology, Genre, Auteur”. I’ll get to that in a second, though.

Here’s what makes things pretty entertaining: we also find in this pet shop scene that Melanie Daniels has a criminal record when Mitch says, “Don’t you remember one of your practical jokes that resulted in the breaking of a plate glass window?” We later find (from Mitch’s disapproving mother…oh, those Hitchcock mothers) that Daniels is also always in the newspapers for tabloid-worthy actions (swimming in fountains naked in Rome and the like). We know that Melanie’s recent past in her life has been on whims, and is still (due to the buying and bringing of the Lovebirds, bent on mischievous jokes and surprises.) She is reckless, “erotic,” as Wood says, and adventurous…sound familiar? It should. Please, if you will, keep this in the back of your mind a short while longer (I’m saving the best for last… ).

Daniels arrives at Bodega Bay to surprise Mitch with Lovebirds for his little sister, Cathy. Out of nowhere, a gull attacks her as she stands in front of Mitch trying to playfully discuss why she came there. Later that night, a seagull maliciously (we gather this from dialogue because there is a full moon out and therefore it’s pretty light outside) into Annie Hayworth’s front door-the place that Daniels happens to be staying. The next day, we find that none of the Brenners have had any attacks or malicious bird happenings. There should be warning signs going off in your head right about now-there is no reason in any theory why Daniels would not be related to the attacks. But why do they attack her first? Why dothey attack her and not the Brenner family? Do they seek her out? If so, for what reason? This brings me to Cynthia A. Freeland’s essay “Feminist Frameworks for Horror Films”. On page 744, Freeland cites fellow theorist Linda Williams’ idea that all women in horror films possess “the gaze”. Freeland says, “They are typically the first to get to see, inquire about, and know the monster. Similarly, although monsters may threaten the bodies of women in horror, even so, the fates of women and monsters are often linked.” In terms of story setup, Daniels is audibly and visually linked the “monster,” or birds as I just discussed. Daniels is the first in the film to see them circling overhead, Daniels is the first to be attacked. Later in the film, an angry town member shrieks at her, “They say when you got here the whole thing started” and “I think you’re the cause of all this. I think you’re evil!” Freeland’s winning argument of “the gaze” is all too clear in “The Birds;” “monsters may threaten the bodies of women,” and they do, twice for Daniels. She is also the link to the birds circling overhead in San Francisco. Note that as far as we the viewers see, Daniels is the only person to notice them. Also note that when they attack Bodega Bay and town members gain contact with outside counties, San Francisco never had any attacks. The birds could only have followed Daniels to Bodega Bay or else oh-so-conveniently migrated north at the exact same time. How could Freeland have been more right here about the link between women and monsters and their “intertwined” fate? You tell me.

For my second point, let’s jump back to the first major attack on Bodega Bay we’re aware of, at little Cathy’s surprise party. When the children start getting attacked, Daniels runs to help a little girl, bringing her inside. Here’s the kicker: after Mitch tells her he’d “feel a lot better” if Daniels stayed inside and didn’t leave so soon after the attack, the end of the scene shows us two little frightened girls, one looking out into the distance, and one looking up (literally and metaphorically) to Daniels. Also note that the girl next to Mitch isn’t looking at him, to imply a sense of natural,motherly hope toward Daniels, not Mitch. This is the first matronly shot we really see of Daniels, as well as the first time we see her doing something out of anything but her own interest. (Yes, she bought the Lovebirds for Cathy, but does anyone really buy that as her motivation for driving all the way up to Bodega Bay when she’s never even met the girl before?)

When Mitch’s mother finds the body of a neighbor/victim of a bird attack, she has somewhat of a breakdown. What does Daniels do? Serves her tea and comforts her. Before Mitch leaves to investigate, the first thing Daniels does is hug Mitch in a wife-like, comfortable manner and say softly, “Oh, be careful please.” After a loving and caring embrace, Mitch leaves, and she leans back against a wall of the living room with a small smile to herself-she has now established herself as the head of the household, and fills the role well, making tea in the kitchen for the family members, worrying, and seeming quite comfortable in the homestead (which doesn’t even technically belong to her). In this scene, Daniels becomes emotionally closer with Mrs. Brenner, as well as physically. In previous scenes, Mrs. Brenner’s disapproval and emotional distancing of herself from Daniels was obvious by the character placement onscreen. Even when they were in the same room together, they were almost always far away, usually on opposite sides of the room. Here, Daniels stays by her physically for almost the entire conversation. She fulfills the homestead woman’s role further by becoming the listening ear and the shoulder to cry on for the family-Mrs. Brenner opens up to her about her dead husband, whom she still loves and misses, even divulging that it is hard for her to continue living sometimes. Mrs. Brenner tells her about her constant worrying, saying, “I’d love to be able to relax. I’d love to be able to sleep.” She then asks Daniels to check on little Cathy, giving the role of worrying, matronly mother to Daniels. Daniels tucks in Mrs. Brenner in comforting, motherly manner, and the torch has been passed.

Due to the bird attacks, Daniels’ matronly/family inclination has been increasing. Not only have the birds placed her in positions of caring and looking out for others, but she now worries about them constantly, just as a mother would. Because Cathy’s real mother, Mrs. Brenner, is petrified by the attacks, Daniels goes to check on Cathy, but also on all of the children. Daniels is assuming yet another matronly role, caring about not just one, but all instinctively.

The tension in the scene increases. Hitchcock, gotta love him, does so by adding small numbers of birds behind Hedren until they are a looming cloud of blackbirds on the yard structure behind Daniels, watching and waiting. We hear the children stop for a split second, a fraction, and Daniels pauses lighting her cigarette, with a close-up of her extremely worried face-and this is before she knows about the mass of birds behind her. She is instinctively worried about the children, even without the knowledge of immediate doom. He also chose a repetitive school song the harmless children sing ad nauseam to be the only thing we hear when we see Daniels’ frightened close-ups. It’s somehow ominous and haunting-I feel like there is some symbolism in the repetition of the song and knowing what comes next, just as seeing the birds waiting, knowing they will soon attack is as well. This tension causes unrest in the viewer, and especially in Hedren’s character, bringing out and exaggerating the more worried, family-oriented side of the role. She frets over the children. She evacuates the children. (“Look. We’ve GOT to get these children out of here!.”) She leads the children to safety. Due to the attacking of the birds, Daniels becomes less and less of a wild, reckless, self-driven character. She becomes the ideal wife, caring for children, the mother, and the home.

This finally brings me to Wood’s article on the “ideal” figure of a woman in film. He defines the ideal woman (on page 719) as, “wife, mother, perfect companion, the endless dependable mainstay of hearth and home.” Seeing a trend? Wood then goes on to say, “Since these combine into an ideal…of quite staggering incompatibility, each has” her “own shadow…The erotic woman, (adventuress, gambling lady, saloon ‘entertainer’), fascinating but dangerous, liable to betray the hero or turn into a black panther.” Daniels begins as the wild, spontaneous, attractive and criminally recorded woman who happens to be at ease with her sexual prowess (recall: the cat call at the beginning and her smile in reaction to it). It is odd, then, that we find her transforming into Wood’s “ideal” woman throughout the film, but is only able to do so because of the bird attacks. (Otherwise, she would have left the next morning as she had planned to do, or else left the following night, and would not have been in the position to rescue and worry about the children and Mitch, as well as take care of and tuck in Mrs. Brenner.) I find that because there is an already established connection between Hedren’s character and the birds attacking, some aspect of herself within the birds is allowing her to become the ruler of the homestead. Wood claims that this is partially caused by “tension”…clearly some tension must lie in Daniels for her to operate so smoothly from one role to the next. How could she do so with such ease if she hadn’t pondered or worried about filling each type of role? At the start of the film, she is an aggressive, out-for-fun-and-herself-alone kind of gal, but only after the attacks have allowed her to stay longer, does she become the wife-like figure for Mitch, as well as the motherly figure for both Cathy and Mrs. Brenner. It is possible that this inner struggle and tension within Daniels begins even before she meets Mitch. The birds are circling overhead in San Francisco, as if they were waiting or restless, probably both. I feel the birds symbolize Daniels’ turmoil about a shift in her role in society (from single, naked fountain swimmer to a loving and caring household staple) and Mitch is only the harbinger of the release of the birds and therefore Daniels’ transformation. Perhaps, subconsciously, she is aware of the fact that these birds and their attacks are the only way to swap her role as the shadow to that of the “ideal” woman, which would explain why she so easily adapts to the homestead-bound wife/mother-like role in the small town when she has lived nearly her entire life as a big-city wealthy woman, as well as why the birds aggressively follow her to Mitch (who catalyzes her inner turmoil and eventual character development).

I would just like to say now that Freeland’s article, and especially Wood’s have helped me so much in understanding what is below the surface of this incredible film. Because of Freeland’s article, I was able to explain the concept of “the gaze,” which is pertinent is acknowledging the connection of Daniels to the birds that follow, attack, and even make her new, more “ideal” self possible. Freeland’s nod that even though the monster may attack the woman though their fates are still “intertwined” is incredible in this light, because Daniels is attacked numerous times, though she is the probable cause for the attacks. What we see from Hitchcock’s shots, auditory and visual choices to the birds to Hedren’s character, the “monster” is an integral part of Daniels. Robin Wood is a genius. The concept of shadow because of struggle is universal, not simply for this film, or this essay, or analysis, but for every single man or woman who ever lived. I found that this was the most sound argument within our FTC texts, and found it perfect for Daniels’ predicament. She is transformed, and due to a link we have already established through Freeland, we can infer that these birds are somehow are a part of herself. Because she appears to be more happy as a homestead mother/wife-figure, smiling to herself, it is possible that subconsciously she needed this part of herself, the birds, to allow her to break free from shadow and selfish to ideal and loving.

Part Two:

I found Tyler’s initial reaction to “Vertigo” really interesting in this post. Here, he says, “I’m not sure I have a lot to say about it yet. It was certainly very beautiful, certainly very interesting. Very strange. Parts made me shiver a little- but parts of the film are so strange that I can’t quite wrap my mind around them after one viewing. Heck, I’m still not sure what exactly happened. It seems to me that there is a chance that Judy wasn’t real at all.” As soon as I read this, I remembered the class discussion we had when we first launched into “Portrait of Jennie”. Many people in the class weren’t sure how they felt about Jennie-whether or not she was real, a figment of Eben’s imagination, a symbol for the potential to overcome obstacles, a representation of the general soulmate, etc. Even the film was slightly ambiguous. All that Eben had in the end was her scarf, but no more physical evidence aside from that. This is precisely “Vertigo”. Though it is implied that she is a real person; Judy, at least…she rents the hotel. So, physically, the Judy character (though how much of “Judy” is there in “Madeline” and vice versa, we do not know) must exist. But what does Madline/Judy represent? Does she, too, represent the unattainable as Jennie did? Both (Madeline/Judy and Jennie) were had by men who obsessed over them and gave nearly anything to be with them again-they were all happy for a short while, but in the end, all girls disappear. In this post Tyler also says, “Besides, Scottie even sees her as a ghost when he finally gets her hair in that bun.” I’m assuming he means the sequence involving the smoke/mist, the green lighting, and the moment of anticipation, and, as Hitchcock called it, climax. Interestingly enough, Dieterle uses mist which surrounds Jennie when Eben looks at her after finishing her/his portrait (also interestingly enough, Dr. C already told the class that this scene is his view of where the climax of the “Jennie” movie is…hmmm… ). It seems to me that initial reactions to Vertigo were extremely similar to those of “Jennie,” also in terms of plot. Both men are obsessed by something they can only attain for a short time, both women are mysterious about their pasts, both seem to overcome time barriers-Madeline in terms of Carlotta and Jennie in terms of actual time…however she does it. Also, it can be said that both women return from the dead in one way or another. While Jennie is known to have died physically years before Eben and Jennie met, she manages to return as though she had never left. Conversely, Madeline “dies” but returns through Judy, and in that ghostly scene in the hotel room, appears as though she, too, had never left. I found Tyler’s post to be so incredibly similar to my (as well as other classmates’) reactions to “Jennie,” both the text and the film, that just reading the reaction made me notice connections I hadn’t made between the women before. Thanks, Tyler!

In Dry Your Eyes, Baby…’s final post, a very interesting point is made about Hitchcock’s cinematography, namely about how he uses close-ups as a mechanism for audience members to act as detectives throughout the film. Through this, they argue, audience members get glimpses and hints of foreshadowing in the eyes and surroundings, even dialogue, from the characters. In this post, they maintain that audience members are supposed to piece together the mystery of Carlotta Valdez and Judy/Madeline from the subtle hints they receive. I found this startling and a great breakthrough, as Scotti himself is a detective. I mentioned in my previous post on Hitchcock’s “everyman” usage, the fact that the “everyman” draws us closer to the protagonist, but also gives us hope that we could end up in such fantastical situations. Clearly no one wants to end up in the situation of Scotti-who could ever want to lose a great love twice? (Or maybe just once, depending on how one views it… ) But Hitchcock’s “everyman” makes the situation more painful to the viewer and gives the story higher stakes as we become so invested in the characters. As we are tied to Scotti through the common practice of detective work, we are also related in the way that we learn things as he does for large pieces of the movie. I always find it interestng to notice how an audience relates to the characters and how this in turn affects the way they view the movie. Does being related to Scotti so deeply harm our conception of Judy when she is found out to have lied and been involved in a horrible murder? Do we side with him? Are we supposed to take sides? I’m not sure, though I’m very grateful to the post about our relationship to the film via close-ups and other skills and tricks in cinematography.

As for Freeland’s issues, I find some of them to be unfounded or unnessecary. She claims that Clover “assumes the validity of an alternative theory of gender and of our psychological conceptualizations of it,” then says of Laquer, “There are several distinct questions to raise here. First, one might ask on what basis we should be persuaded to adopt his particular theory of gender. Laquer is a historian of science whose views are by no means universally accepted, and so relying on his theory is a rather strange and arbitrary choice.” OK, FREELAND. FIRST of all, what is wrong with Clover’s acceptance of differing views of gender theory than your own? Why is a psychological understanding and conception of it so horrible? I find that a psychological approach to the conception of gender may actually be helpful, to at least attempt to determine why we conceptualize the way we do. Secondly, why should Laquer’s profession dissuade us from his theory? Why is the choice “strange”? Many writers and philosophers worked (and still work) jobs to provide a means of living but continue to theorize and create. I don’t believe one needs to be completely perfect and accepted at an unrelated job in order to be completely perfect as a theorist. I’m almost positive that Freeland’s views are not “universally accepted” everywhere. Does this make her as credible as Laquer?

I do, however, find that her approach to analyzing horror in terms of historical and social context is easy to agree with (at least for me, personally).  I find that how a film portrays women, or the monsters (linked either ot women or to men-a close viewing is required to determine this) can be greatly influenced by culture of the time the film was made. Understanding this gives the viewer a better reading of the meaning of the film, as well as the society and its views distorted into ghastly creations and plot points. Well done, Freeland, although your criticism of others seems slightly hypocritical.

I’m sorry that’s it’s taken me such a long time to write a post about this film-it’s just that I feel apprehensive about commenting on this material. Ben and I had a conversation today about the problems/stigmas that come with writing about Hitchcock. The main one being, of course, that so many have written, analyzed and theorized about his general work as well as specific films, right down to the very last frame, and I feel like I have nothing original to contribute to the conversation that hasn’t already been said and written about thousands of times over.

But about “Vertigo”…ever since I saw the film (I think I was around 13 or 14), the ending has always killed me…not as it killed Judy (or is it Madeline…?), but emotionally (though not to Scotti’s extent, of course). I find myself unable to move for a few seconds or else dreading it inside because I know exactly what’s coming. (That shot of Jimmy Stweart just completely destructed… ) I believe that most of the emotional outrage has to do with what Campbell was saying in class today-sort of the “everyone comes out in the end and tells the truth, but what does it matter?” issue. But I feel it’s more than that. I feel it isn’t our idea that everyone should be happy after everyone tells the truth. (The movie would be much less dramatic and interesting had Scottie said, “Well, well you know? Tha-that’s ok by me, Judy. Let’s get married right away.”) I feel Hitchcock toyed with us. This is a simple statement, but ponder it. We have so much invested in these two characters. We see Scottie developing, struggling and coping with his vertigo. We see him fall in love. Hard. We see him completely obliterated when he “loses” Madeline. We find him in a little institution, unable to speak or move. When he recovers, we find him driven by his memories, and we see him crushed in that last shot (I hate even thinking about it visually. Tyler and Megs can vouch for how much I hate those last twenty or so seconds). With Judy/Madeline, we see her in love, haunted with something that isn’t Carlotta Valdez. We see her fall in love. We find that she fell in love against her job. We see her risk everything to be with Scottie again, putting herself (not just appearance) behind her. (“Alright then, I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore about me.”) It’s remarkable to see someone willing enough to go through that for any reason.
We see them kiss and embrace in a room full of green light (I would also like to say that green in this film, not red, is the color of passion, interestingly enough. Scottie after he has undressed Madeline, when Scottie first sees Madeline in the room looking like a total fox, even when he sees Judy with all of her friends looking, again, very nice, etc.)

But through all of these things, I have to ask the Campbell question, “What for?” Hitchcock toys with us into caring so deeply about these characters then destroying both in different fashions-but why? I don’t believe it’s a, “what’s the point of anything, even if everyone tells the truth” thing…I have far too much faith in Hitchcock that he only made us care to hurt us in the end. What statement was he trying to get across? I feel it has to be much more than plot to do so. Maybe this was Hitchcock’s version of karma-that no matter who you are, how much you love someone, what you are willing to do, or the truths you’ve told to clear your conscience, you cannot escape without paying for what you initially did (and I believe that taking part in the murder of another man’s wife constitutes grounds for major karma.) WAIT! Stop the presses! If this is JUDY’S karma for helping in the murder of the real Madeline, perhaps this ghost-like nun has the appearance of the murdered Madeline (as Tyler pointed out to me), and even if only in Judy’s mind, she frightened her into falling to her death, thus giving the slain Madeline her revenge and justice (that, unless you’re French and/or British, you didn’t see happen with Gavin Elster). If this is the case, perhaps this is the one instance of the film when Madeline and Judy are separate entities.

Perhaps one reason why we become so involved in the characters of Scottie and Judy/Madeline is to undertand that revenge is almost always had, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps, even as Judy falls to her death, she and Madeline are one in the same. I’m not sure…

I would also like to say, that yes, of course film class can help you hone, if not entirely teach yourself, those skills. Since I have taken this course, I find myself looking at screen set-ups, and after that essay we all just wrote, costume, hair, makeup, and musical score.
You would never realize the same tricks they use in cinematography for specifics attention-drawers in films are used for sleazy ad campaigns…well, I suppose the connection isn’t too far-fetched, but I guess I never really thought about it before…in any case, I hope you all enjoyed ninja Poetry

The Glass Key

?” Oh, myself of little faith. Not only did it have much in common w/ our current book, but also with the entire *genre* (there it is again) of the Western. I was also blown away by the acting, cinematography, and eventually, yes, even the theme music (which initially was, admittedly, congruent w/ my expectations of the silly 1960s samurai gangster film I thought it would be). Now I freaking love that suite. “But I digress,” as Prof. Campbell would say.
I found that with the black and white in Yojimbo, as with other movies in b&w I have seen, it is much easier to contrast the archetypal themes (such as the scene we discussed in class where Yojimbo ‘Mulberry Fields’ is crawling between shadow and light, or death and life). Although color can be striking and impact a movie greatly (I always love Wes Anderson’s color choices, myself) I honestly love black and white for its aesthetic qualities, namely shadows. (Somehow it seems like that could reflect somehow on my psyche, doesn’t it?)
In terms of Yojimbo’s relation to The Glass Key, I found that there were more archetypal characters and less genre (uggghhh) folk (in my mind, I’m comparing the old helpful man of Yojimbo to well, I suppose…no one in The Glass Key, really because there was no one like that in there). There are more “stock” characters as Professor Campbell said, in genre movies…there were almost none in Yojimbo, save the big bumbling idiot of a gangster brother with that horribly unattractive smile. (Okay, so that was a little harsh.) There were quite a few similarities in themes too. Although Yojimbo (‘Mulberry Fields,’ laugh, laugh) himself did not gamble, the town’s problem began with that issue, and, more specifically, most scenarios (such as our protagonist being beaten to a pulp and then watched by two guards, one small, one ridiculously large, and then him escaping) still stand.
Over all, I felt Yojimbo was much more fun, and that theme music is so 60’s and hilarious…unfortunately, also catchy. I’ll leave you with this clip (if it will work) that I found on youtube of a horrible (but laughingly so) rendition of essentially one fight scene in yojimbo called ‘Yojimbo 2’…looks to be done by high schoolers(?) but the homemade theme music is what caught my eye…it’s also funny to see how many derogatory comments were left under the video if you look up the actual web page on youtube.

Enjoy!