In this golden age of home viewing, the Criterion Collection still provides some of the best editions of the best movies ever released, usually with a rich selection of extras and often including audio commentaries (a feature they pioneered, and perhaps the greatest gift ever to film students and cinephiles alike). This column features one Criterion release per week, based on where my interests lead me.
Alfred Hitchcock made a lot of great movies, but he also took a lot of risks that didn’t always pay off. That’s how it goes when you venture beyond the tried and true and I certainly appreciate successful directors who don’t just repeat themselves over and over. I also realize that a big-budget film has a lot of people with their thumbs in the pie, that egos and priorities can clash, and that the end result of a lot of people’s best efforts may be a film that pleases no one.
You can feel the conflict between producer David O. Selznick and director Alfred Hitchcock from the opening credits, which should operate to prepare you for what you’re about to see, but instead feel oddly out of joint. Actually, “out of joint” is a pretty good description of the film itself, so I guess the credits could be scored a success in that sense, although presumably that was not what was intended by either the director or the producer. When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled, the grass in this case being the film.
Following an overture whose inclusion screams “prestige picture!,” the title credits are presented against an image of a slender tree whose leaves are blowing in the wind, while the music is by turns threatening and romantic. It seems like we wandered into a Douglas Sirk melodrama*, but this opening is followed by a sequence of Very Serious Screen Cards offering a a Shakespeare quotation followed by a sort of Idiot’s Guide to Psychoanalysis 101.
The story (screenplay by Ben Hecht, which makes significant departures from the source material) begins in the “Green Manors” mental hospital, where Dr. Constance Petersen, deglammed with glasses, a bun, and a baggy lab coat) and the current director Dr. Murchison (Leo G. Carroll) is about to be replaced by Dr. Anthony Edwardes (Gregory Peck). They’re both so pretty they can’t help but fall in love, but matters are complicated by some startling revelations from Edwardes which convince Petersen he needs psychoanalysis to recover his lost memories. The rest of the movie is concerned with working it all out and my goodness is it complicated.
Spellbound is an old-fashioned melodrama that traffics heavily in unfortunate stereotypes about professional women and includes without condemnation scenes of workplace sexual harassment that would probably end up in court today. OK, things were different in 1945, but it’s still tough to watch (and there are several other incidents of sexual harassment and demeaning language, the latter from a character we’re supposed to like). The portrayal of psychoanalytic practice is just plain silly but that’s also of the time. The central romance is remarkably non-convincing considering the acting chops of the parties involved (plus the fact that they were lovers in real life, if one can trust the Wikipedia).
On the plus side, there’s a knockout sequence including art by Salvador Dali (which was intended to be much longer, but Selznick ordered it cut), the technical aspects are well done, and there’s a real humdinger of a scene near the end that’s also a technical marvel. Spellbound was both a commercial and critical success in its day, but today it takes conscious effort to appreciate. Is it worth it? I think so: Spellbound is a misfire, but it’s an interesting misfire and definitely worth a look, especially if you have a particular interest in Hitchcock films, Selznick productions, or in the influence of psychoanalysis on American popular culture in the 20th century (which is quite a subject unto itself). | Sarah Boslaugh
*Yes I’m aware that Sirk’s best films came after—I’m not suggesting historical influence but thematic similarity.
Spine #: 136
Technical details: 111 min; B&W; screen ratio 1.33:1; English.
Edition reviewed: DVD.
Extras: audio commentary by Hitchcock scholar Marian Keane; illustrated essay on the dream sequence by James Bigwood; excepts from an audio interview with composer Miklos Rozsa; 1948 Lux Radio Theatre adaptation with Joseph Cotton and Alida Valli; portfolio of photos, ads, posters, and other publicity materials; booklet with essays by Hitchcock scholars Lesley Brill and Leonard Leff (according to the Criterion website; missing from the library copy I viewed).
Fun Fact: David O. Selznick was a true believer in psychoanalysis and insisted on having his own analyst, May Romm, MD, serve as a technical advisor on the film, to the annoyance of his director.
Parting Thought: Composer Miklós Rozsa won an Oscar for the score to his film, the only winner out of 6 nominations. Rósza thought it was one of his best, but Hitchcock didn’t like it, saying it interfered with his direction. In truth, Selznick had his assistant replace some of Rósza’s score with previously-written music by Franz Waxman and Roy Webb. Was the music really the problem, or do you think Hitchcock was expressing his frustration with Selznick’s interference on this and so many other occasions?
