(1945) Directed by Alfred Hitchcock; Written by Ben Hecht; Based
on the novel The House of Dr. Edwardes
by Hilary Saint George Saunders and John Palmer; Starring: Ingrid Bergman, Gregory
Peck, Michael Chekhov, Leo G. Carroll and Rhonda Fleming; Available on Blu-ray
and DVD
Rating: ****
“Selznick at the time thought I only wanted Dalí for
publicity purposes. That wasn’t true. I had felt that if I’m going to have to
do dream sequences, they should be vivid.” – Alfred Hitchcock (from interview with
Peter Bogdanovich)
“I sometimes wonder whether I am not – as all my friends
insist – a sadist.” – Alfred Hitchcock (from 1946 interview “Mr. Hitchcock
Discovers Love,” by Frank S. Nugent, excerpted from Alfred Hitchcock Interviews, edited by Sidney Gottlieb)
What makes a Hitchcock film a Hitchcock film? I’m not the
first, nor the last to raise this question, and I don’t profess to have the answers,
but there are several key elements that distinguish his work. Hitchcock often used
some sort of “MacGuffin,” a red herring that sends the plot careening in
unexpected directions to keep the characters off-guard. He also employed POV shots
(what Hitchcock referred to as “the purest form of cinema”), which would
actively engage the viewer, immersing someone in the mind of the heavily flawed
protagonists. His customary cameo,* short on screen time but long on impact,
also became a trademark. Spellbound fit
the bill for these criteria, and long intrigued me for its famous Salvador Dalí-designed
dream sequence (more on this in a moment), yet it somehow eluded me until now.
* Fun Fact #1: Watch for Hitchcock’s blink-and-you-miss-it
cameo, exiting a hotel elevator with a violin case.
Ingrid Bergman stars as Dr. Constance Petersen, a promising
young practioner at Green Manors, a psychiatric hospital. She’s immune to the
charms of her older male colleagues, conveying a demeanor of professionalism
and emotional detachment. Her icy veneer melts, however, in the presence of the
new hospital director, John Ballantyne (Gregory Peck), who shakes up the establishment’s
status quo. In opposition to the other men in the facility, he’s young, casually
charming, and handsome. They strike up a relationship, which appears to
transform Petersen’s stodgy appearance overnight. There’s just one little thing:
he lapses into a trance whenever he sees parallel lines (no, I’m not talking
about the cover of the 1978 Blondie album), momentarily losing consciousness. As
Petersen succumbs to her infatuation with Ballantyne, she takes it upon herself
to become his therapist, to uncover the underlying trauma. Complicating matters
is the reality that the new director isn’t the man he appears to be, but someone
who assumed the identity of Ballantyne. She’s faced with the prospect that the
man she’s in love with could be a murderer, and that uncovering the mystery of
the false Ballantyne’s amnesia, could jeopardize her safety and professional reputation.
She enlists the aid of her mentor, Dr. Brulov (Michael Chekhov, in a standout
performance). Brulov comes across as absent-minded and eccentric, belying an
intellect that’s constantly working to uncover the mystery around Ballantyne. Fearing
Petersen has lost her objectivity regarding Ballantyne, he subjects her
companion to his own barrage of tests.
While Hitchcock frequently revisited Freudian (and
pseudo-Freudian) themes and psychological concepts in his films, Spellbound is arguably one of his most
blatant. With its mental asylum setting and focus on psychoanalysis,* the film contains
a stew of repressed memories, guilt complex, post-traumatic stress, and sublimated
sexuality. Bergman’s Dr. Petersen, as she first appears in the film, is a model
of repressed sexuality. A knife, scissors, and shaving blade take on phallic
properties. As if to reinforce her male colleagues as part of an exclusive men’s
club, they appear in a scene, sitting around a table, smoking cigars. As she
opens up to Ballantyne, it’s not difficult to see the obvious yonic implications
of the scene of a hallway and successive opening doors, signaling their
burgeoning relationship. Hitchcock actively engages the audience, toying with
our perceptions. In the film’s climactic scene (SPOILER WARNING), a character
shoots himself (as seen through a POV shot), and there’s a brief flash of red (two
color frames in an otherwise black and white film), creating an almost subliminal
effect on the viewer.
* Fun Fact #2: According to the DVD commentary, Mary Romm, credited
as the film’s psychiatric consultant, was producer David O. Selznick’s analyst.
Miklós Rózsa’s music adds another dimension to the suspense
and romance, with its recognizable themes. The soundtrack boasts one of the earliest
appearances of the Theremin, an early electronic instrument with an inimitable,
otherworldly sound. Its presence heralds each time Ballantyne lapses into a
dissociative episode.
* Fun Fact #3: According to the DVD commentary, Spellbound would have been the first
film appearance of the Theremin, but after production was delayed, Lost Weekend (also scored by Rózsa)
became the first.
Sigmund Freud described dreams as “the royal road to the
unconscious,” which would account for the significance of Spellbound’s much-touted dream sequence.* Hitchcock takes this
concept and runs with it, in his collaboration with artist Salvador Dalí. It doesn’t disappoint, with its surreal images and
distilled Freudian themes. The giant scissors cutting across the depiction of an
eyeball (according to the DVD commentary by Thomas Schatz and Charles Ramirez
Berg) is an allusion to Dali’s former collaboration with Luis Buñuel, Un Chien Andalou. The parade of surreal
visions includes curtains with eyes that conjure omniscience and judgement,
distorted landscapes/perspectives, and a bent wheel held by a masked paternal/authority
figure. The original sequence ran 20 minutes, of which we only see snippets.
When Selznick was displeased with the footage,* production designer William
Cameron Menzies was called in to complete the sequence. As a result, we can
probably attribute the final product as much to Menzies as Dalí.
* Fun Fact #4: Hitchcock initially wanted the dream sequence
to be shot on the studio backlot, in bright sunlight, with the intention that
the images would appear sharper, compared to the more diffused footage of the
rest of the film.
** According to David O. Selznick’s harsh assessment, “The
more I look at the dream sequence in Spellbound, the worse I feel it to be. It
is the photography, set-ups, lighting, etc… all of which is completely lacking
in imagination.” (excerpt from Selznick’s memo in the 2008 featurette, “Dreaming
with Scissors: Hitchcock, Surrealism and Salvador Dalí.”)
Like any good psychological thriller, Spellbound doesn’t show its hand until the climax. We’re kept in
the dark about Ballantyne’s innocence as long as possible. The element of doubt
hangs precipitously over our heads, and Hitchcock exploits this, using his formidable
bag of tricks. Spellbound is essential viewing for Hitchcock fans, psychological
thriller enthusiasts and anyone interested in the depiction of psychoanalysis
in movies.
* On a side note, apropos of nothing, I opine that “You have
mogo on the gogo,” the delightfully arcane phrase spoken by Ballantyne, should
find its way back into modern vernacular.
