Unquantifiable Mix of Good/Great and Sexist

5. REAR WINDOW

Could there be a more pitiful portrayal of scopophilia than James Stewart distracted from kissing Grace Kelly, remembering something he watched earlier that day?

This may sound backwards, but: REAR WINDOW is a very De Palmaesque Hitchcock film. No plausible deniability exists for L.B. Jeffries, an unapologetic voyeur from the start. He makes no pretense of being drawn into conspiracy by circumstance. Quite simply, the film's plot is driven by his desire to dig up people's secrets. His libidinal impulse not only generates a narrative, but also begets its many breaches of privacy, up to and including the ironic reversal of Thorwald entering Jeffries' apartment.

It's often said that De Palma hyperbolizes the perversity inherent in Hitchcock. But Hitchcock was hardly so coy himself. Jeffries and his companions succumb so quickly to morbid fascination that one wonders how much resistance their superegos ever offered. Distance has removed whatever propriety they exhibit face-to-face, their watchful eyes now ravenous for scandal. Unburdened by social taboo, they commune in Jeffries' apartment to act out panopticon fantasies of omniscience, speculating with abandon about a missing wife's grisly fate. Thorwald the murder suspect is just a pretext for their shared onanistic ritual.

Of course, we as viewers aren't let off the hook. Hitchcock's metaphor for watching movies is weaponized against us too. We are faced with two options: to recoil in disgust at these 'perverts' and shut the movie off, or to watch them watching Thorwald and, thus, to allow our pre-existing voyeurism to become vicarious as well. It's a double-layered trap, and we are implicated in it far more than these fictional characters could ever be.

If REAR WINDOW isn't widely acknowledged as Hitchcock's most devious work, it's probably because many get wrapped up in its mystery long before self-consciousness takes hold. (There's a reason that skeptical detective Thomas Doyle isn't our protagonist!) Hitchcock knows however much they protest to the contrary, most viewers will identify with Jeffries unconsciously, automatically, enthusiastically. And considering this is among his most beloved films, it's safe to say that bet paid off.

6. ROPE

7. SHADOW OF A DOUBT

8. SABOTAGE

Don't look now, but this might be Hitchcock's most unsettling 30s films. One key early shot: secluded in a modest aquarium, Mr. Verloc (Oskar Homolka) convenes with a conspirator, backs turned to the camera while they mutter about the plan in heavy accents. The effect mimics eavesdropping, but as an image it's disarmingly opaque. We can barely see their faces, let alone make out their feelings about the titular sabotage. And indeed the sabotage remains mysterious itself, with Scotland Yard suggesting that all they can do is catch the middlemen of a larger, murkier conspiracy. So SABOTAGE burrows into its sleepy corner of London, wandering somnambulantly amidst the city's various small businesses. There is even a cinema where movies are often seen playing, reinforcing the sense that excitement is being projected elsewhere while we observe Mrs. Verloc (Silvia Sydney) drifting through her domain. For her part, she overlooks her older husband's shifty behavior, preferring to perceive him as just a harmless feature of her sedate existence. But the uneasy dream descends into a nightmare when Mr. Verloc's bomb goes off on a crowded bus, taking the life of his wife's young brother (Desmond Tester) with it. Suddenly all his squirmy dissembling appears to be masking profound evil. Mrs. Verloc stabs him in terror after an especially unpleasant dinner, only to sink into morose abjection when the domineering detective arrives. The murder is less an act of triumph than one of desolation.

The films ends with a second bombing as Mrs. Verloc's pushy companion spirits her out of London, away from reality's awful upheaval. No resolution can comfort Mrs. Verloc while her world goes up in flames, so Hitchcock doesn't even bother. Maybe she'll be caught, or maybe everyone will carry on and leave her to grieve in exile. "The End."

9. THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

Off-balance in engaging ways. Contains: a battle in which thrown wooden chairs are the weapon of choice; a church of sun worshippers, led by blonde-streaked Peter Lorre; and a merciless, bloody shootout that seems to engulf an entire block of townspeople.

10. JAMAICA INN [3.5]

Cloaked in Expressionist shadows beneath an all-seeing moon. Wilder and darker than I expected. The malevolent atmosphere is well-earned.

For my money, Hitchcock's favored template of "man and woman caught up in tumultuous circumstances" gets its best workout here. While his previous British films felt overdetermined to me, there is a jolting unpredictability to JAMAICA INN. Maureen O'Hara and Charles Laughton give off enough energy that the script's spidery structure is hidden behind their performances. For once, Hitchcock is following his leads rather than shepherding them. This is the right film for such a reversal.

11. THE LODGER: A STORY OF THE LONDON FOG

Already, at the very beginning, Hitchcock uses psychosexual tension to raise the narrative stakes. It could've seemed unnecessary in a film like this: a serial killer is enough of a threat without having to be a romantic rival too! But in fact, that masculine competition is key to the meaning of THE LODGER. Because there are two male protagonists, Hitchcock is forcing us to choose. Do we think the cop is right? Or is the suspected serial killer innocent after all?

We can see that the cop's obsession with catching the serial killer is motivated by jealousy. He clearly feels emasculated by the seductive newcomer living upstairs. To put him in jail would assert the cop's professional prowess as well as re-establish his dominance. His sleuthing is anything but impartial.

Hitchcock, by playing coy about whether The Lodger is the serial killer or not, provokes confirmation biases in his audience. Some will see themselves in the resentful cop; others will assume The Lodger is the wrong man.

Spoiler alert, I suppose: The Lodger is innocent. His strangeness is just part of his personality, and his suspicious attire is a coincidence. It fooled me anyway. I was sure Hitchcock would take the jealous cop's side. But then I guess if there's one thing Hitchcock hates more than women, it's cops.

Not that he had much say in the matter, though. It appears that the studio mandated Ivor Novello be proven innocent. But the preceding ambiguity is crucial. If the cop had been right, the film's meaning would have changed entirely. The cop's imperiled ego would've been salvaged, and his female companion would've learned that cops are more trustworthy than dark, handsome strangers. The phallic power of the police would remain uncontested.

Again, this conclusion was out of Hitchcock's hands. But the implication exists regardless. In thrillers, the social order is threatened to generate anxiety in the viewer. The director can then choose whether or not to assuage the viewer's fears of social collapse. They can restore normalcy or further undermine it, depending on their sensibility. Hitchcock's films are not always outright conservative, but several conclude in reactionary fashion nonetheless (THE RING stands out as an particularly egregious example). I never quite know what to expect from him because of the dueling tendencies in his work. But THE LODGER shows me that he's always been well aware of how to manipulate expectations and identifications. It's like a cautionary tale of what might've happened if Hitchcock were fonder of cops. For now, for this film, I'm glad he isn't.