Grace Kelly

Artume, if you scroll back through the thread, you will see more pics of said
meeting.
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Film Journal
REAR WINDOW

Abstract:
L. B. Jeffries (James Stewart), a news photographer, becomes a voyeur after he is immobilized in his Greenwich Village apartment with a broken leg. While his elegant girlfriend, Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly), aggressively pursues the possibility of marriage, Jeffries becomes convinced that one of his neighbors, a salesman named Lars Thorwald (Raymond Burr), has murdered his wife. Alfred Hitchcock's formal concept brilliantly expresses the emotions and themes of the material and provocatively implicates the viewer.


Summary:
REAR WINDOW is one of five Alfred Hitchcock films which cannot be seen in the United States. A legal dispute concerning the estate of Cornell Woolrich, author of the original novella upon which the script is based, prevents any showing, commercial or nontheatrical. Like VERTIGO (1958), however, which also cannot legally be screened, REAR WINDOW is one of Hitchcock's very best films and maintains that reputation even under its legal restrictions.

Hitchcock is widely regarded as the best director of the English and American commercial cinema. He was the first of the auteurs, and has been honored in every conceivable way, from the large numbers of books and articles written about his works, the college courses centered about his oeuvre, and the critical and industry awards, to the box-office successes. No other director, with the possible exception of John Ford, has managed to combine artistic and commercial success so well, and Hitchcock certainly has done it with greater regularity. Perhaps the greatest tribute to the "master of suspense" is the number of films made which are attributed (or unattributed) homages to his films. Francoise Truffaut's THE BRIDE WORE BLACK (1967) and MISSISSIPPI MERMAID (1969) are two of the best-known, but many French New Wave directors acknowledge their enormous debt to Hitchcock, as do such young American directors as Peter Bogdanovich.

REAR WINDOW demonstrates beautifully what Hitchcock is so justly famous for: the perfect expression of emotions and themes in the visual style of the film. It is about Jeff (James Stewart), a free-lance photographer who is confined to his New York apartment in a wheelchair with a broken leg (sustained in a crash while he was photographing a car race) during a heat wave. He spies on his neighbors across the apartment courtyard (first with binoculars, then with the telephoto lens of his camera) and becomes convinced that one of them, Lars Thorwald (Raymond Burr), has killed his wife. He finally convinces his girl friend Lisa (Grace Kelly) and a detective friend Thomas Doyle (Wendell Corey) that he is on to something and gets them to help him prove it after they find evidence in the garden that has resulted in a curious dog being killed by Thorwald. Lisa gets bolder and goes into Thorwald's apartment, barely escaping when he returns unexpectedly. When
Thorwald sees Jeff watching his movements and realizes that he is suspicious, he breaks into Jeff's apartment and throws him out the window, breaking his other leg. Thorwald is apprehended, and Jeff and Lisa seem to be closer to each other than at the beginning of the film.

REAR WINDOW is about a voyeur. Jeff is more interested in other people's lives than he is in his own, as evidenced by his profession (which requires him to travel extensively, putting down few roots), his relationship with Lisa (in which she is far more committed than he, as evidenced by his unwillingness to consider any different life style or even pay her the attention he gives his subjects across the courtyard), and his neurotic avocation of spying on his neighbors. Jeff's alienation from his own surroundings is clear in the first shots: the moving camera of the opening cuts as it reaches Jeff, just before discovering him asleep in his chair, binoculars in his lap. He is thus separated from his surroundings; but in the last shot, the camera first shows him alone, then, without a cut, discovers Lisa's legs on the sofa beside him. Thus, they are joined in a way that they had not been in the first shots of the film.

Jeff names one of the people he watches "Miss Lonelyhearts," since she is lonely most of the time. Even when she gets up the courage to bring a man home, he turns out to be so crude that she throws him out of the house without carrying out her clear intentions. In a beautifully economical composition, Hitchcock shows us Jeff's greater involvement with her life than with his own; he raises a glass of wine in an answering (and unheeded) toast to her as Lisa prepares their food and wine in the background. She is just out of focus while he and Miss Lonelyhearts are in focus, thus separating her from Jeff and joining him with Miss Lonelyhearts. This also indicates Jeff's inability to show emotion and commitment: he requires great emotional distance which can be provided only in a voyeur situation where no demands are made on him. He resists Lisa, considering her "too perfect" in her high-style dress and manners. His insistence that she would not fit into his
free-wheeling, traveling life seems to be an aspect of immaturity which is at least partially gone at the film's end.

Jeff's isolation is carried out visually as well as thematically in the film. That he becomes a voyeur might seem no more than an unhealthy extension of his profession, except that his relationship with Lisa makes it clear that he prefers to be on the outside of human emotions even in this aspect of his life. His physical relationship to the objects of most of his attention describes his isolation: each character is isolated in his/her own frame within the frame of the film. The kind of frame the characters have is an indication of their state of isolation from their own lives and from the rest of those in the apartment building. Lars Thorwald and his wife are separated by the two windows of their apartment, in a metaphor of their emotional separation. He occupies the first window, she the second, usually in her bed. When she is killed, that window becomes strangely vacant, even when he is in it. Miss Torso (so named because she exercises nearly nude in
front of her window and entertains many young men) is often alone, framed by her one big window, isolated from the rest of the world but not from anything inside her own apartment. The newlyweds are very much together, and through their one big window we can see their door leading to the outside, through which they come into their own world. Miss Lonelyhearts is seen through one of two windows in her apartment, and her isolation is emphasized by the fact that there is no one with which to share it. Whichever window she is seen through, she seems a little dislocated.

Hitchcock uses still another kind of framing in REAR WINDOW, this time to indicate the watching eye of Jeff and to emphasize his growing obsession with his neighbors and his further intrusion into their lives. First, he merely watches with his naked eye, which takes him only a little way into their apartments and lives. Next, he takes out his binoculars and we see his point of view through them: he is now much more involved with them by the simple device of his eye isolating the boundaries of their existence as we see them framed by the circle of the glasses. As his obsession grows still further, he takes out his long-lens camera in what is the most disturbing shot in the film except one. Before, his "Peeping Tomism" had a curious, innocent quality, but with the introduction of the long lens, it is almost as if he were pointing a weapon at them, entering and controlling their lives by his intrusion. The lens brings them closer to him, makes them appear
larger in the frame, almost as big and important in his point-of-view angle as Lisa is when she is in his apartment. He has thus totally entered into their frames, and this has implications for his own isolation. It is usually a condition which indicates moral weakness and lack of emotional contact and which must be remedied; but in REAR WINDOW, Jeff's intrusion into their privacy (especially in the case of Miss Lonelyhearts when he watches her humiliation in bringing home a one-night stand, then not having the fortitude to see it through) seems even worse than moral weakness. Since this is only one-way involvement, it is not healthy; and when it becomes two-way (when Lars Thorwald looks straight into the camera while the audience is looking with Jeff through his long lens) it is terrifying. It is as though Jeff were trying to play God and this is his subject turning on him. In trying to get inside their lives with no corresponding exposure of his own,
he has put both Lisa (who acts as his legs and goes into Thorwald's apartment after more evidence) and himself in danger.

As Jeff intrudes more and more deeply into the lives of his neighbors, first through idle watching, then by using binoculars, and finally through his long lens, he is farther and farther detached from his own life. This is one reason why it is so disturbing when he first picks up the long lens: he is really confining his experience to that little lens while projecting his emotions away from his own apartment and Lisa. It is not until he sees Lisa through this device that he really knows that he loves her and is willing to commit himself to her.

There remains a question of how deeply Jeff does commit himself: in the last scene Lisa is finally in a costume that would seem to be suitable for his way of life -- blue jeans -- but she sneaks a look at her own magazine, putting down the one he would like to have her read as soon as she knows that he is asleep. Still, this seems like a gesture of assertion of her own personality: the panning shot from Jeff to Lisa joins them, and its manner of discovering first her feet, then her leg, and finally her entire body, places her very firmly in Jeff's apartment. As for her commitment, it would seem that the compromise indicated by the blue jeans is a necessary movement for her as well. Her life is so formally arranged in the beginning of the film that it leaves no room for surprise or romance of a deeply moving kind, and she must come out of her own social isolation through danger to reach him. The chaos and danger of the murder and its discovery is a device
often used by Hitchcock to shake people out of their isolated, complacent lives and into contact with forces that are alive and volatile. Jeff and Lisa each must change in order for them to come together, and it is as significant that Jeff's back is to the window in the last scene as it is that Lisa is wearing blue jeans.


Release Date: 1954
 
e library

Three Masterpieces
As he awaited the release of The Wrong Man, Hitchcock weighed possibilities for his next picture at Paramount. The company owned rights to two novels that looked promising. One, Laurens van der Post's Flamingo Feather, was a spy thriller set in Africa. Hitchcock abandoned that project, however, after he visited South Africa, the planned location for the shooting, and met with government officials who showed little interest in cooperating with an American film company. This was just as well, since the other novel, D'entre les morts ("From Among the Dead") by the French writers Thomas Narcejac and Pierre Boileau, intrigued him much more.

An earlier book by the same authors had inspired a hit French thriller, Les diaboliques ("The Fiends"), directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot and released in America in 1955. Hitchcock hoped that his film of D'entre les morts might repeat that success. In Hitchcock's hands, the rather contrived mystery novel would be transformed into Vertigo. While its initial performance at the box office would prove disappointing, the film would endure as what many consider to be the director's supreme masterpiece.

Getting it to the screen, however, was itself a story with a few twists and turns. Casting the male lead was easy - James Stewart was perfect for the part - but the female lead presented some problems. Hitchcock originally wanted Vera Miles for the role, hoping she would indeed become the next Grace Kelly. That dream dissipated when the actress, who had recently married, became pregnant. Kim Novak, a performer with bigger name recognition than Miles, replaced her.

The screenplay stirred up even more anxiety than the casting. Fresh from writing The Wrong Man, Maxwell Anderson began work on the first draft in June 1956. When it became clear that Anderson's plotting and dialogue were just not working, Hitchcock again let his old chum Angus MacPhail give it a try. MacPhail, however, was still battling alcoholism and soon withdrew from the project. Another writer, Alec Coppel, improved on Anderson's efforts, but Hitchcock remained dissatisfied. Finally, Samuel Taylor, author of the play Sabrina Fair, took over, and he was able to breathe life into the characters and the story. In September 1957, 15 months after the process had begun, the screen-play - credited to both Coppel and Taylor - was ready.

It might have been finished sooner if Hitchcock's health had not caused additional delays. The director underwent minor surgery for a hernia and colitis (an inflammation of the colon) in January 1957, around the time Taylor was hired. Two months later, he suffered a much more serious problem involving his gallbladder. Timely surgery saved his life. As Hitchcock always worked closely with screenwriters, his hospitalization and recovery inevitably slowed down the preparations.

Once the script was completed, however, filming went smoothly - first in San Francisco, where the exterior scenes were shot, and then at the Paramount studios in Hollywood, where the interior work was done. In April 1958, however, as Hitchcock was putting the finishing touches on the film, another health crisis in his household added to the pressure. This time it was Alma who was affected; she was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and required surgery. The possibility of losing his life's companion terrified Hitchcock, but luckily, Alma recovered.

Vertigo was finally released in late May. What audiences saw was perhaps the strangest, yet most hauntingly beautiful film Hitchcock had ever made. At the time, its far-fetched plot drew a mixed response from critics - Time magazine sneeringly called the movie a "Hitchcock and bull story" - but today most agree that it is one of the director's most deeply felt pictures.

In Vertigo, a San Francisco police detective, John "Scottie" Ferguson (Stewart), resigns from the force when his fear of heights, or acrophobia, leads to the death of a fellow policeman during a rooftop chase. Afterward, an old friend, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), calls on him for a strange favor: He asks the ex-detective to follow his wife, Madeleine (Novak), who may be in danger. Scottie learns that Madeleine is apparently "possessed" by the spirit of her great-grandmother, who had tragically killed herself. Trailing Madeleine, Scottie sees some strange behavior. As if in a trance, she visits the grave of her forebear and sits before the woman's portrait at a museum. One day she tries to drown herself. Scottie, who has fallen in love with Madeleine, rescues her and vows to keep her safe. But his acrophobia again thwarts him: he cannot follow Madeleine to the top of a church tower, where she leaps to her death. Overcome with grief and guilt, Scottie
spends a year in a mental institution.

After his release, he continues to obsess about Madeleine. One day he spots a young woman, Judy Barton (also played by Novak), who bears a striking resemblance to his lost love. He begins a strange courtship, attempting to remake Judy into the image of Madeleine. What he does not know, however, is that Judy really is "Madeleine." She had been part of an elaborate plot by Elster, her former lover, to murder his real wife and make it appear to be a suicide. At the film's finale, Scottie discovers the truth, drags Judy to the top of the tower where the murder took place, and forces her to confess. He overcomes his acrophobia, but Judy accidentally falls. Stunned and devastated, the hero stands at the edge of the tower, gazing down at the body of the woman who is now truly lost to him forever.

Hitchcock said that what appealed to him about the Narcejac-Boileau novel was "the hero's attempts to re-create the image of a dead woman through another who's alive." Indeed, the film becomes most troubling in its last third when Scottie buys Judy a Madeleine-style wardrobe and bullies her into dyeing her hair blonde to match Madeleine's. He cannot love Judy for who she is; he can only love his memory of Madeleine. His romantic obsession has him teetering at the edge of madness.

His situation is made even more disturbing by the fact that we know what Scottie does not know - that Judy is the same woman, that the "Madeleine" with whom he fell in love was a fake. In a bold move, Hitchcock and Taylor decided to reveal this plot twist to the audience right after Scottie first meets Judy. Thus, as we watch the final scenes, we are held in suspense, wondering how Scottie will react when he discovers the truth. More important, we realize that Scottie is focusing his obsession on someone who was never real in the first place. Our feelings are complicated further by our knowledge that Judy actually loves Scottie and submits to the makeover only to win his affection. However, by this time we also know that Scottie's delusions and Judy's guilt - her role in the murder plot - have already doomed that love.

Many elements came together to help turn Vertigo into the unforgettable film that it is: compelling performances by the two leads, a lush, romantic score by Bernard Herrmann, and beautiful use of locations in and around San Francisco. It was Hitchcock's masterful control of such elements, all orchestrated to create a dreamlike atmosphere and stir powerful emotions, that made the film a triumph of both style and substance.

Although Vertigo would not be properly appreciated for years, the director's next production would prove an instant crowd-pleaser. The making of North by Northwest took Hitchcock for the first and only time to the studios of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. As he had done with The Wrong Man, he exercised the non-exclusive clause in his contract with Paramount in order to make the picture. Interestingly, though, North by Northwest was not the film he had originally agreed to direct for MGM.

That picture was supposed to have been an adaptation of Hammond Innes's novel The Wreck of the Mary Deare, to which MGM owned film rights. As Hitchcock and screen-writer Ernest Lehman soon realized, however, the book had an intriguing opening - a ghost ship is found adrift in the middle of the English Channel - but an otherwise tedious plot. Neither man could figure out a way to make it work on film, so they decided to do something altogether different. As Lehman put it, they set out to make "the Hitchcock movie to end all Hitchcock movies."

North by Northwest was a return to the territory of The 39 Steps. Like the British classic, it focuses on an ordinary man who is caught in a spy plot, falsely accused of murder, and forced to run for his life. Along the way he finds romance and endures hair-raising adventures. Although Hitchcock reportedly approached James Stewart about the part, he really knew from the beginning that it was better suited to Cary Grant, his other favorite leading man. Grant, now in his mid-50s, was as suave and handsome as ever - so much so that no one thought anything of it when Hitchcock cast Jessie Royce Landis, an actress born in the same year as Grant, as the character's mother.

After the seriousness of The Wrong Man and Vertigo, North by Northwest was a lighthearted change of pace, a return to the sort of Hitchcock film many moviegoers expected. Filled with witty dialogue and amusing situations, the story took the viewer on a wild and delightful ride from one picturesque locale to another - from New York to Chicago to the Black Hills of South Dakota. It contained what is probably the director's most famous action sequence, one in which Grant's character, an advertising executive completely out of his element, is terrorized in an open field by a small plane. Later, in a finale almost as exciting, the hero and heroine flee their pursuers by climbing down the giant stone faces of Mount Rushmore.

As in Rear Window, the light touch that makes North by Northwest so entertaining disguises deeper concerns. The illusion-versus-reality and false-identity themes that figure so strongly in Vertigo are here as well. Grant's character, Roger Thornhill, first becomes entangled in the spy plot when the spies mistake him for an American agent named George Kaplan. We soon learn that Kaplan does not even exist: He is a phantom decoy set up by U.S. intelligence to divert attention away from the real agent, Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint). The whole Kaplan charade underlines the superficiality of Thornhill's own personality. A glib ad man who tries at one point to wriggle out of his situation by declaring that he has "a job, a secretary, a mother, two ex-wives, and several bartenders dependent on me," Thornhill is a man who shuns commitment and revels in his own cynicism. Over the course of his adventures as "George Kaplan," however, he becomes a better man,
falling in love with Eve (who is also not what she seems) and learning to trust her.

Costing $4.3 million, North by Northwest was Hitchcock's most expensive film since The Paradine Case, which had been a gigantic failure. This time, however, the lavish production paid off: the film earned $6 million following its July 1959 release. Having fulfilled his single-movie deal with MGM, Hitchcock still owed Paramount one last picture.

He originally intended to make No Bail for the Judge, based on an English novel about a woman lawyer who must defend her father on charges of murder. A major star, Audrey Hepburn, agreed to play the lead. Although Hitchcock usually favored blonde actresses, Hepburn was one brunette with an elegance that matched Grace Kelly's. But her collaboration with Hitchcock was not to be. Just as Vera Miles had done with Vertigo, Hepburn withdrew from the project when she became pregnant. Furious at this turn of events - as if Hepburn's pregnancy were somehow a personal betrayal - Hitchcock lost interest in the film and quickly put another project into motion.

Always a keen observer of box-office trends, the filmmaker had recently noticed how successful a number of low-budget horror movies had become, especially with young audiences. American-International Pictures, for example, had made small fortunes from such fare as I Was a Teen-age Frankenstein and I Was a Teen-age Werewolf, both released in 1957. Meanwhile, an independent producer-director named William Castle was enjoying similar success with a string of shockers, including Macabre (1958) and The Tingler (1959). Such movies were usually silly and poorly crafted. Hitchcock wondered how a cheaply made horror film might turn out with a master director in charge. That, he believed, would be an interesting challenge.

The source material he chose was Robert Bloch's recent novel Psycho. Bloch was a prolific spinner of horror yarns who had also written scripts for Alfred Hitchcock Presents. His book had been inspired by the grisly exploits of a midwestern serial killer named Ed Gein, and while its details were much less gruesome than those of the actual Gein case, it still contained some bloody shocks for the reader. Barely 25 pages into the novel, one character - an attractive young woman - steps into a motel shower and is murdered moments later by a knife-wielding maniac.

"I think the thing that appealed to me and made me decide to do the picture," Hitchcock said, "was the suddenness of the murder in the shower, coming, as it were, out of the blue." This was unusual for Hitchcock, who usually favored suspense over surprise. But of course he would be sure to pack Psycho with plenty of suspense as well.

Before he could start production, however, he hit a snag. Paramount executives thought the story was too lurid and balked at financing it. Hitchcock responded with a counter-proposal. He would make the film with his own money, using the crew from his television show and filming it at the Universal studios, where the weekly TV episodes were shot. And like the TV show, it would be made in black and white on inexpensive sets. Paramount would only have to market and distribute it. Hitchcock even agreed to go without salary in exchange for 60 percent ownership of the film. Feeling they had little to lose, the Paramount bosses gave Psycho their approval.
 
Newsweek
A Chip Off the Old Block?

Byline: Anonymous
Volume: 145
Number: 20
ISSN: 00289604
Publication Date: 05-16-2005
Page: 75
Section: Newsmakers
Type: Periodical
Language: English

Ever since Prince Rainier married Grace Kelly back in 1956, the Mediterranean principality of Monaco has seemed less like a real country than the setting for an operetta. Rainier died last month, and for a while there it seemed his son, Prince Albert, 47, was going to let the place down. But last week Paris Match ran a front-page story alleging the prince is the father of a 19-month-old son, whose mother is an African-born former Air France flight attendant. The magazine even printed a photo of His Most Serene Highness with the kid. The government of Monaco issued a statement saying it would have no comment-"not today, not tomorrow, not in a month"-which doesn't sound like a denial to us. Sigmund Romberg is long dead. Elton John, call your office.

Copyright Newsweek, Incorporated May 16, 2005
 
Compton's

Grace;
Compton's by Britannica 12-01-2005




Grace
(formerly Grace Kelly) (1929–82), princess of Monaco. Grace Patricia Kelly was born on Nov. 12, 1929, in Philadelphia, Pa. A graduate of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Kelly worked in theater and television before making her film debut in ‘High Noon' (1952). She won an Academy award for her performance in ‘The Country Girl' (1954). In 1956 she went on to perhaps greater fame by marrying Prince Rainier III of Monaco and thereafter worked to improve conditions for the citizens of that state.
 
Cineaste

"If I were to make the film, I would put the girl in a dark-gray dress and I would put a neon tube of light inside, around the bottom of the dress, so that the light would only hit the heroine. Whenever she moved, there would be no shadow on the wall, only a blue light. You'd have to create the impression of photographing a presence rather than a body. At times she would appear very small in the image, at times very big. She wouldn't be a solid lump, you see, but rather like a sensation. In this way you lose the feeling of real space and time. You should be feeling that you are in the presence of an emphemeral thing, you see."

"It's a lovely subject," commented Truffaut. "Also a sad one."

"Yes, very sad," Hitchcock agreed. "Because the real theme is: If the dead were to come back, what would you do with them?"

Though Hedren gives an extraordinarily moving, underrated performance as Mamie, playing Mary Rose probably would have been too much of a stretch. She was too mature and soignee to step believably into the part of a childlike eighteen-year-old girl. But that did not matter to the obsessed Hitchcock. Donald Spoto's The Dark Side of Genius: The Life of Alfred Hitchcock reports that Hitchcock came to Hedren's dressing room during the making of Marnie to tell her of a recurring dream he was having. The dream seemed straight out of Mary Rose: "You were in the living room of my house in Santa Cruz, and there was a rainbow, a glow around you. You came right up to me and said, `Hitch, I love you-I'll always love you,' and we embraced. Don't you understand that you're everything I've ever dreamed about?"

"But it was a dream, Hitch," objected Hedren. "Just a dream."

Hitchcock's relationship with the actress was tense throughout the filming of The Birds and Marnie, partly because he put her through such grueling physical and psychological experiences. After Marnie finished shooting, Hitchcock cryptically told Peter Bogdanovich, "Svengali has a few more gray hairs." Spoto revealed that Hitchcock made an "overt sexual proposition" to Hedren near the end of shooting. That was in late February 1964, shortly after Allen finished scripting Mary Rose. Hedren's rejection was a shattering experience for the emotionally fragile old man. All Hitchcock would say of it was, "She did what no one is permitted to do. She referred to my weight."

"I am convinced that Hitchcock was never the same after Marnie, and that its failure cost him a considerable amount of his self-confidence," Truffaut observed. "This was not so much due to the financial failure of the film (he had had others), but rather to the failure of his professional and personal relationship with Tippi Hedren."

"I was agonizingly sorry for both of them," Allen told Spoto. "It was an old man's cri de coeur. She had her own life, and everyone was telling her not to make Hitchcock unhappy. But she couldn't help making him unhappy! By the end of the film he was very angry with her."

That spelled doom for Mary Rose. Lew Wasserman, president of Universal's parent company, MCA, and Hitchcock's former agent, "didn't like Marnie," the screenwriter added. "It was made at a time of career crisis for Hitch. And they didn't like the first drafts of Mary Rose. They knew it would make him fall back into the Tippi trap."

Wasserman's lack of enthusiasm for the material predated the crisis over Tippi Hedren, Allen told me: "I don't know whether it was because it was period, whether it was because it was costume stuff, maybe marginally intellectual, I have no idea, but Lew Wasserman was on record as not being interested in it to begin with. Hitch never had a green light for the project, never. He just went ahead on his own. By the time Mary Rose came up for greenlighting, Tippi was out of the picture, and I think that is possibly why Hitch didn't fight for it. He might have given up more quickly than otherwise because of the fact that he and Tippi came apart during the filming of Marnie."

However halfheartedly, Hitchcock did try to sell Universal on making Mary Rose with another actress. For a while, Claire Griswold, the young wife of director Sydney Pollack, became another of Hitchcock's intended Grace Kelly clones. He signed her to a seven-year contract when she played a small role in a 1962 TV show he directed, "I Saw the Whole Thing." Griswold subsequently starred in an elaborate screen test Hitchcock directed, playing not only a scene of Ingrid Bergman's from Anastasia (opposite the distinguished British actress Cathleen Nesbitt) but also a scene from Hitchcock's own To Catch a Thief in which Griswold uncomfortably was forced to recreate Kelly's performance with slavish exactitude.
IMAGE PHOTOGRAPH
Hitchcock and his star Tippi Hedren on location for Marnie (1964), a psychological suspense drama scripted by Jay Presson Allen, who also wrote the script for Hitchcock's unrealized Mary Rose film project (photo courtesy of Photofest).

For Universal, it was a case of deja vu all over again when Hitchcock suggested casting Griswold as Mary Rose. She eventually rebelled against Hitchcock's attempts to dominate her life, leaving the business after becoming pregnant with her second child. Hitchcock agreed to dissolve her contract. Today she is best remembered for playing The Doll opposite Robert Duvall in the classic 1963 Twilight Zone show "Miniature."

In a telegram to production manager C. O. (Doc) Erickson on May 31, 1964, Hitchcock outlined his plans for the months ahead, already referring to Mary Rose partly in the past tense: "I have a script ready for a short scheduled feature of Sir James Barrie's play Mary Rose, which I intended shooting before Christmas." On August 31 of that year, MCA acquired all outstanding stock in Hitchcock's production company, Shamley Productions. The deal made him and his wife, Alma, MCA's third-largest stockholders, but it involved the surrender of a certain degree of his creative freedom.

Albert Whitlock recalled, "I used to ask him what happened with the front office and their acceptance of the [Mary Rose] idea, and he said, `They believe it isn't what audiences expect of me. Not the kind of picture they expect of me."' While this may have been partly a rationalization by Universal executives wanting to avoid a direct confrontation with Hitchcock over the "Tippi trap," even Hitchcock, with all his success, never had carte blanche in Hollywood. In the late 1970s, he wrote Truffaut that he was "completely desperate for a subject. Now, as you realize, you are a free person to make whatever you want. I, on the other hand, can only make what is expected of me; that is, a thriller, or a suspense story."

Hitchcock attempted to resuscitate Mary Rose after the commercial success of Frenzy in 1972, but once again Universal's Black Tower refused. He controlled the film rights to Barrie's play through 1987, but died in 1980, four years after the release of his last film, Family Plot. Perhaps Hitchcock could have persuaded Universal to free him from his contract temporarily to make Mary Rose as a low-budget independent production. "That would have been a cheap movie to make," Allen noted. "Simple, no big locations or anything like that, just a little island," even though Hitchcock toyed with the idea of shooting partly on location in Scotland.

While talking with Truffaut during the Seventies, I lamented the forced inactivity of directors in the Hitchcock-Howard Hawks generation. Truffaut surprised me by saying he had little sympathy for wealthy old filmmakers who could afford to finance their own work but did not do so because they would have found it too humiliating. In any case, Allen doubted that Universal would have let Hitchcock make Mary Rose independently because "he was on a pretty tight contract."

When I visited Hitchcock on the set of Family Plot at Universal in 1975, I told him I hoped he was still planning to make Mary Rose. He said Wasserman actually had put a clause in his contract stipulating that he could not make Mary Rose. I have not been able to verify that statement, since Hitchcock's contract is not among his papers at the Margaret Herrick Library. But like a sly little boy delightedly getting away with a prank, Hitchcock told me how he had outwitted Wasserman by sneaking some elements of Mary Rose into the opening scene of Family Plot.

That film begins with Julia Rainbird, a wealthy old woman played by Cathleen Nesbitt, holding a seance with a phony spiritualist, Madame Blanche (Barbara Harris). Tormented with guilt, Julia is seeking absolution for her action forty years earlier in forcing her sister Harriet to abandon her illegitimate baby for fear of scandal. Julia tells her sister's ghost, in words that could have been addressed to Mary Rose, "If he's still alive, I'll find your son, and I'll take him in my arms and love him as if I were you, poor Harriet." Pretending to speak through the dead, Madame Blanche reassures the distraught Julia, "In the end there will be happiness. From the tears of the past, the desert of the heart will bloom."

Jay Allen, who had not known about that borrowing until I told her, responded, "Oh, God, how funny! Well, that's very Mary Roseian. He was very mischievous." The scene in Family Plot, with its moving performance by Nesbitt, is much sadder than the rest of Hitchcock's final film. Hitchcock largely was content to treat the subject of occultism as an oddball jeu d'esprit rather than as the artistic testament Mary Rose might have been.

Perhaps another director may yet bring to the screen something resembling Hitchcock's vision for Mary Rose. "You should make the picture," Hitchcock told Truffaut rather despondently. "You would do it better. It's not really Hitchcock material." The French filmmaker did not take Hitchcock up on the suggestion, even though his own fascination with morbid love stories might have suited him to the subject. In 1986, Steven Spielberg's Universal Television/NBC series Amazing Stories ran a blatant imitation of Mary Rose titled "Without Diana." Written by Mick Garris and directed by Lesli Linka Glatter, it involves a troubled eight-- year-old child (Gennie James) who vanishes on a country excursion with her war veteran father (Billy Green Bush). She returns unchanged forty years later to take her dying mother (Dianne Hull) to heaven. Although more prosaically handled than in Barrie's play, the situation remains affecting in this Americanized borrowing.

If anything, Mary Rose would speak more clearly to audiences today than it might have in Hitchcock's time. It would address our contemporary obsession with youth and our fascination with childlike women, which suggests a misogynistic aversion to mature womanhood. Spielberg might be the director best suited to make Mary Rose now, if the failure of his 1989 film Always has not soured him entirely on fantasy love stories. For Mary Rose, he could cast the ethereal, waifishly elegant blonde Gwyneth Paltrow, who appeared as Young Wendy in Hook, his 1991 gloss on Barrie's Peter Pan.

Perhaps the most melancholy fact about Hitchcock's failure to make Mary Rose is that Universal forbade him to make it precisely because it was such a personal and idiosyncratic project. The depth of Hitchcock's emotional involvement is indicated in the closing narration for the film, which he wrote himself. The narrator is the island's boatman-turned-clergyman, Cameron, whose sibilant Scottish Highlander dialect is indicated in the script:

Once more THE ISLAND as we saw it first, a sweet solitary place, a promising place. And now again, we hear CAMERON's voice.
 
Variety
Hitch bewitches; Gray, Timothy M
Variety 12-23-2002



Hitch bewitches

Byline: Gray, Timothy M
Volume: 389
Number: 6
ISSN: 00422738
Publication Date: 12-23-2002
Page: 33
Type: Periodical
Language: English

IMAGE PHOTOGRAPHIMAGE PHOTOGRAPH
KELLY GIRL: Edith Head said the film was a personal fave.

TO CATCH A THIEF

A Paramount Home Video release of the 1955 Paramount release. Produced and directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Screenplay, John Michael Hayes, based on a novel by David Dodge.

Release: Nov. 5.

With: Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, Jessie Royce Landis, John Williams.

Paramount's release of "To Catch a Thief" is filled with extras that may not enlight-- Alfred Hitchcock scholars but are sure to please his fans. Interestingly, the best of the add-ons is a tribute not to the director, stars or writer, but to costume designer Edith Head.

Head, who won eight Oscars in a 60-year career, said that of all the films she worked on, "Thief" was her favorite. The 14-minute docu here, produced by Light Source & Imagery, covers her work habits and aesthetics and gives an overview of her place in Hollywood history.

Included are interviews with her biographer, David Chierichetti; fellow designer Bob Mackie, who says she was probably not the greatest designer in films but was "brilliant" at packaging herself; and Rosemary Clooney, whom Head dressed for "White Christmas." The short film is enlightening and entertaining as it covers Head's relationships with stars, directors, producers, production designers - and the public.

As for the rest, it's fun, if familian There are three mini-docus, varying from seven to 17 minutes in length, all written, directed and produced by Laurent Bauzereau (who also serves as Steven Spielberg's DVD producer). While the extra material is slight, it's appropriate to the film, which was designed as frothy fun.

The three films focus on the making of "Thief," the writing and casting, and an appreciation of the film. The comments of the director's daughter, Pat Hitchcock, and granddaughter, Mary Stone, are affectionate, but don't reveal anything new (the helmer planned everything so meticulously that the actual lensing was almost boring to him; he was fascinated with such themes as an unjustly accused man, etc.). But along the way are some amusing anecdotes by French continuity man Sylvette Baudret and production manager Doc Erickson.

Copyright Cahners Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier, Inc. Dec 23, 2002-Jan 5, 2003
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