Friday 8 February 2013

Hitchcock (12A)

Biopics are tricky waters to go paddling in. Whoever you choose as your subject, someone somewhere will love that person and be distraught at your portrayal.

The best you can hope for is to capture a moment in your subject's life that encapsulates what they were known for and go from there.

Which is what Sacha Gervasi has done with Hitchcock.

Focusing on the making of Psycho, Hitchcock tells us how the great Alfred and Alma mortgaged themselves to the hilt to make a film that no one wanted them to make, from a book that shocked Hollywood, while Alma flirted with a screen writer and Hitch fixated on his latest star.

We also learn that Alma directed some scenes of Psycho while Hitch was laid up in bed. Or that could be all made up.

Writer John J Mclaughlin seems to have played a tad fast and loose with the facts surrounding one of the legendary man's defining films, but does this really matter? After all, according to some reviewers, this is a fitting portrayal - a film the good man would have been proud of.

Granted, while his ego would be massaged at the thought of being the focal point of a movie, I'm not sure he'd have approved of the way the whole thing is put together.

For a start, no one dies.

For seconds, it's as suspenseful and thrilling as Mary Poppins.

Which is not to say it's a bad film per se. It's not. It's just not great. Which is a shame. You can't fault the performances. Anthony Hopkins as Hitch is good, delivering a surprisingly measured - if a bit 'panto villainy' - performance, capturing Hitchcock's more sleazy side alongside his drive and ambition.

But it's the women who steal the show here. Scarlett Johansson is wonderful as Janet Leigh, the woman behind the shower curtain, while Jessica Biel more than holds her own as the somewhat jilted Vera Miles (who, if the film is to be believed, had the audacity to put family first, thus snubbing Hitch film desires). Then there's Toni Collette (playing the much put-upon Peggy Robertson), who's rigidity and icy calm could hold up buildings.

Helen Mirren, meanwhile, IS the film. As Alma, she is waspish, bitter, loving, supportive... everything you'd want from your real-life leading lady.

Which is one of the problems with the film. Yes, it's called Hitchcock - but he's in third place here.

The film is about the making of Psycho (appreciate you can't call the film that...), and it's about how much Alma had to go through (either real or made-up for dramatic effect here). It really should have been called Alma. It's her film. She takes centre stage in every scene she's in, showing more style and personality than Hopkins manages throughout the film (and, as I said, his is a fine performance).

The other problem I have with Hitchcock is the way it's presented. While I quite enjoyed the 'Alfred Hitchcock Presents' approach at the start, it actually takes away from the dramatic intent of the film, giving it a Sunday afternoon feel it never quite manages to shake off. And the less said about Hitch's chats with the ghost of the killer Ed Gein (the inspiration behind Norman Bates) the better.

Presumably these scenes were meant to be haunting or a quick psychological thrill - instead, they show Hitchcock as a man who gets spooked easily and talks to the wall...

As a tribute to the great man, Hitchcock falls some way short. As a harmless piece of cinematic fun, it fits the bill.

Pretty sure that's not what he would have wanted.

No comments:

Post a Comment