A film that tends to get buried under prejudice and preconception - It's a remake! Doris Day is in it! She sings! - Hitchcock's second crack at 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' is his most under-rated film, and arguably a fully fledged masterpiece in its own right.
This is, in more ways than one, Doris Day's film. Not only does she give the finest performance of her career, more than holding her own against James Stewart, but the whole film is subtly structured around her character rather than his. This is, after all, a film in which music is both motif and plot device. What better casting than the most popular singer of her generation? Consider: Day's Jo McKenna has given up her career on the stage in order to settle down with her husband and raise their son. This seems to be a mutual decision, and she doesn't appear to be unhappy. But look at the way Stewart teases her in the horse-drawn carriage over her concerns about Louis Bernard, implying that she is jealous that Bernard wasn't asking her any questions about her career. This is clearly a recurrent joke between them - she responds with a 'har-de-har-har' that denotes the familiarity of this gag, suggesting that she has a certain latent resentment about her confinement, and that they both realise it.
After their son has been kidnapped, Stewart insists on doping her before giving her the news. This is a cruel scene, brilliantly played by both actors, which illustrates the power imbalance in their marriage - he is seeking to control and subdue her reactions, in essence using his professional knowledge to suppress her voice in the marriage just as his medical career has suppressed her singing career.
The potency of that voice is demonstrated in the Ambrose Chapel sequence, when she has to reign in its highly trained clarity and volume to blend in with the congregation of female drudges - they almost act as a warning of what will become of her if she continues to suppress her talent. At the Albert Hall, it is her need to cry out, to exercise those impressive lungs, that saves a man's life, and in the Embassy finale, it is her talent and reputation that allows them to locate their son. By contrast, all of Stewart's masculine activity is counterproductive - his visit to the taxidermist is a dead end, he gets left behind at the church whilst everyone else moves on to the Albert Hall, and his efforts there only succeed in getting the assassin killed, thus depriving the Police of potentially useful information. It is only when his action is joined to his wife's voice, in the rescue of Hank from the embassy, that he actually succeeds in doing something useful.
Far from being forced into the film to give Day an opportunity to sing, 'Que Sera Sera' acts as the first musical device in the film, foreshadowing the nightmare that is about to engulf the McKennas; 'the future's not ours to see' indeed. It also neatly prepares the way for the finale, in which the close bond mother and son share through music will allow Doris to save the day.
The most famous sequence in the film makes music the central feature - the build up to the assassination attempt in the Albert Hall. This lengthy wordless sequence may be the single most extraordinary thing Hitchcock committed to film, the ultimate expression of his belief that films should be stories told visually. We see people conduct conversations in this sequence, but we never hear a word they say. We don't need to - the images say everything. It is also his most exquisite suspense sequence, with the pieces moving slowly into place as the music builds. The editing is incredibly tight, matched to the music perfectly. There isn't a frame out of place - anything that doesn't relate directly to the assassination is giving the viewer a sense of the environment, the geography in which all this is playing out. It builds slowly, but by the end the suspense is nearly unbearable. When Jo screams, it isn't just a relief for her, but for the audience.
The Ambrose Chapel sequence is witty, and particularly effective for anyone who has had to sit through a service at a particularly stick-in-the-mud Nonconformist church. The Embassy sequence seems a little flat after the Albert Hall one that preceded it on first viewing, but second time around actually seems more effective, with the final walk at gunpoint really benefiting from the gorgeous use of Day singing in the background, reminiscent of the music-as-ambient-noise in 'Rear Window'. The score as a whole is subtle, allowing the music from on-screen sources to be foregrounded effectively.
Bernard Miles is a low-key villain, a little banal, but with a dry wit. He's outshone by Brenda de Banzie as his wife, who walks a fine line between sinister and sympathetic. Just look at the way she smokes a cigarette whilst her husband preps the assassin - her stance is pure gangster's moll, belying the Middle-England exterior, but she clearly has a soft side, and possibly maternal feelings towards Hank.
Stewart is excellent, although if Hitchcock really did always cast him as 'Everyman', as the Director's daughter seems to think, then it confirms that Hitchcock had a cynical view of his audience. Stewart played a hypocritical intellectual who espoused fascist ideology in Rope, a voyeur who mistreated his girlfriend in Rear Window and an obsessive necrophiliac in Vertigo. Day is nothing short of phenomenal. Just look at her reaction to the news that her son has been kidnapped - she never overdoes anything, but neither does she sell it short. This is one of Hitchcock's most emotionally effective films. He never lets us forget what the stakes are for the McKennas; they feel the most fully human of all his central characters.
This is, in more ways than one, Doris Day's film. Not only does she give the finest performance of her career, more than holding her own against James Stewart, but the whole film is subtly structured around her character rather than his. This is, after all, a film in which music is both motif and plot device. What better casting than the most popular singer of her generation? Consider: Day's Jo McKenna has given up her career on the stage in order to settle down with her husband and raise their son. This seems to be a mutual decision, and she doesn't appear to be unhappy. But look at the way Stewart teases her in the horse-drawn carriage over her concerns about Louis Bernard, implying that she is jealous that Bernard wasn't asking her any questions about her career. This is clearly a recurrent joke between them - she responds with a 'har-de-har-har' that denotes the familiarity of this gag, suggesting that she has a certain latent resentment about her confinement, and that they both realise it.
After their son has been kidnapped, Stewart insists on doping her before giving her the news. This is a cruel scene, brilliantly played by both actors, which illustrates the power imbalance in their marriage - he is seeking to control and subdue her reactions, in essence using his professional knowledge to suppress her voice in the marriage just as his medical career has suppressed her singing career.
The potency of that voice is demonstrated in the Ambrose Chapel sequence, when she has to reign in its highly trained clarity and volume to blend in with the congregation of female drudges - they almost act as a warning of what will become of her if she continues to suppress her talent. At the Albert Hall, it is her need to cry out, to exercise those impressive lungs, that saves a man's life, and in the Embassy finale, it is her talent and reputation that allows them to locate their son. By contrast, all of Stewart's masculine activity is counterproductive - his visit to the taxidermist is a dead end, he gets left behind at the church whilst everyone else moves on to the Albert Hall, and his efforts there only succeed in getting the assassin killed, thus depriving the Police of potentially useful information. It is only when his action is joined to his wife's voice, in the rescue of Hank from the embassy, that he actually succeeds in doing something useful.
Far from being forced into the film to give Day an opportunity to sing, 'Que Sera Sera' acts as the first musical device in the film, foreshadowing the nightmare that is about to engulf the McKennas; 'the future's not ours to see' indeed. It also neatly prepares the way for the finale, in which the close bond mother and son share through music will allow Doris to save the day.
The most famous sequence in the film makes music the central feature - the build up to the assassination attempt in the Albert Hall. This lengthy wordless sequence may be the single most extraordinary thing Hitchcock committed to film, the ultimate expression of his belief that films should be stories told visually. We see people conduct conversations in this sequence, but we never hear a word they say. We don't need to - the images say everything. It is also his most exquisite suspense sequence, with the pieces moving slowly into place as the music builds. The editing is incredibly tight, matched to the music perfectly. There isn't a frame out of place - anything that doesn't relate directly to the assassination is giving the viewer a sense of the environment, the geography in which all this is playing out. It builds slowly, but by the end the suspense is nearly unbearable. When Jo screams, it isn't just a relief for her, but for the audience.
The Ambrose Chapel sequence is witty, and particularly effective for anyone who has had to sit through a service at a particularly stick-in-the-mud Nonconformist church. The Embassy sequence seems a little flat after the Albert Hall one that preceded it on first viewing, but second time around actually seems more effective, with the final walk at gunpoint really benefiting from the gorgeous use of Day singing in the background, reminiscent of the music-as-ambient-noise in 'Rear Window'. The score as a whole is subtle, allowing the music from on-screen sources to be foregrounded effectively.
Bernard Miles is a low-key villain, a little banal, but with a dry wit. He's outshone by Brenda de Banzie as his wife, who walks a fine line between sinister and sympathetic. Just look at the way she smokes a cigarette whilst her husband preps the assassin - her stance is pure gangster's moll, belying the Middle-England exterior, but she clearly has a soft side, and possibly maternal feelings towards Hank.
Stewart is excellent, although if Hitchcock really did always cast him as 'Everyman', as the Director's daughter seems to think, then it confirms that Hitchcock had a cynical view of his audience. Stewart played a hypocritical intellectual who espoused fascist ideology in Rope, a voyeur who mistreated his girlfriend in Rear Window and an obsessive necrophiliac in Vertigo. Day is nothing short of phenomenal. Just look at her reaction to the news that her son has been kidnapped - she never overdoes anything, but neither does she sell it short. This is one of Hitchcock's most emotionally effective films. He never lets us forget what the stakes are for the McKennas; they feel the most fully human of all his central characters.