Archive for Secret Agent

The Crimes of Gavin Elster

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , on November 3, 2009 by dcairns

0121Is this the face of a killer?

In VERTIGO, shipping magnate Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore, who had played a minor functionary in SECRET AGENT), perhaps the only movie villain to be called Gavin, carries out a fiendish plan to murder his wife by throwing her from a church tower. In order to make it look like suicide, he has an impersonator (Kim Novak) play the part of his wife, and hires a detective (James Stewart) to follow her around, counting on the man’s fear of heights to prevent him from pursuing her to the top of the tower.

(Speaking to the BBC, screenwriter Samuel Taylor not only couldn’t summarise the story accurately himself, he was reduced to a fit of giggles just thinking of it.)

The plan is brilliant in its simplicity. Nothing left to chance. And it would have worked, too, if the detective had not fallen in love with the impersonator, then met her again after the scheme had been carried out, failed to recognise her as the same woman, but noted her resemblance and tried to make her over, before figuring it out and chasing her to her death up the same clock tower…

I wondered if this ingenious bit of homicide was Elster’s first offence. It seemed unlikely. Surely he must have honed his skills on other nefarious plots. I assigned Shadowplay’s own international man of mystery, Guy Van Stratton, to investigate Elster’s shady past and compile a confidential report detailing any other criminal conspiracies in which Elster had a hand…

1914. The young Elster makes his first foray into illegality, while still a mere schoolboy. Determined to pass a maths test, he hires an impersonator to take the place of the boy sitting next to him. As the teacher watches, another boy, bribed by Elster, copies the answers from the impersonator, who is actually a midget mathematician of celebrated intellect. While the teacher is apprehending the copycat, the impersonator throws himself from the window, into a waiting haywagon, which is whisked from view before anyone knows what has happened. Taking advantage of the confusion, Elster swaps his answers with those of the copycat.

Result: Elster and the copycat are caught and expelled, the midget fractures his collarbone.

1926. A crime of opportunity. Elster spots a Bentley limousine with the keys left in the dash. Spontaneously hiring a passerby to impersonate a chauffeur, Elster has himself driven to a shady car dealership, where he trades it for a station wagon. Then, disguising himself as the chauffeur, he steals the limousine back and abandons it in a No Parking zone where it will get towed. Selling his station wagon, Elster buys a beat-up old Bentley and has it repainted to look like the stolen one. Breaking into the pound, he exchanges the run-down limo for the new one, swapping license plates. Elster will now be the legal owner of the car he stole.

Result: Elster is mauled by a guard dog and arrested for grand theft auto.

1930. Elster robs a bank with a big gun.

Result: Elster escapes with $50,000.

1931. Refining his previous plan, Elster robs the same bank with a trio of trained attack dogs and a canister of poison gas. Taking hostages, he deliberately sets off the silent alarm and announces by telephone that he has smuggled heroin into the country so that the FBI are called in. Disguising himself as a hostage, he hits himself with a hammer to induce amnesia so he can pass a lie detector test, after feeding a package of priceless industrial diamonds to one of his dogs. Then he blows up the bank and escapes disguised as a dog.

Result: Elster spends a year in a coma, in the dog pound.

1939. Traveling to Europe, Elster tries to enlist as a war criminal, but is rejected by the German army due to his flat feet. He then steals the Mona Lisa from the Louvre, replacing it with a mirror. By blind chance, the next 3,0012 visitors to the Louvre all bear a striking facial resemblance to Da Vinci’s La Gioconda, so his deceit is not reported for three days, by which time he is in Belgium, under arrest on a charge of impersonating Tintin.

Result: the painting is recovered. Hergé sues.

1942. Elster is released from jail as part of twelve-strong task force of hardened criminals, sent on a suicide mission behind enemy lines. Learning that suicide is against the law, Elster attempts it repeatedly, before the dozen can even arrive at their destination.

Result: Elster is abandoned at Charenton insane asylum, where he passes the war with amateur theatricals.

1946. Back stateside, Elster busies himself wooing America’s wealthiest shipping heiresses, intending to add bigamy to his extensive rap sheet.

Result: Olive Strewage, Elster’s first victim, turns out to already be bigamously married, so her marriage to Elster isn’t legal. This means his marriage to Madeleine IS legal, and he has failed at bigamy.

1950. Elster plans to sink his biggest ocean liner, the Gargantic, and claim the insurance, while simultaneously extorting a ransom from his own company by anonymously threatening to blow the vessel up. Elster creates a fictional terrorist, George Kaplan, assigning him a complete wardrobe, history and psychological profile, but his plans are thwarted when the non-existent Kaplan is recruited by the CIA.

Which brings us up to VERTIGO, whose deleted tag scene informs us of Elster’s probable extradition for murder from the South of France. But what of his subsequent activities? Perhaps YOU can fill me in on those.

The Blackface Strangler

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 20, 2009 by dcairns


And so to the delightful bonbon that is Hitchcock’s YOUNG AND INNOCENT, penultimate film in the classic thriller sextet that closed out Hitchcock’s British period (with the afterthought that is JAMAICA INN following on behind) and maybe the most underrated and underscreened movie in that sequence. With the exception of one scene, the justly famed crane shot through the Grand Hotel ballroom, leading into an extreme close-up of a killer’s twitching eyes, which is often quoted in Hitch documentaries, this movie is relatively little-discussed, and the discussions rarely acknowledge how charming it is. Maybe because charm is hard to analyse.

In Rohmer and Chabrol’s Hitchcock: The First Forty-Four Films, the authors observe that Hitchcock is not excited by his leading lady, Nova Pilbeam, but I certainly am. Having been moved by her intense performances as a child in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH and especially Berthold Viertel’s LITTLE FRIEND, it was pleasing for me to find her here in near-adult form. She’s grown into her extraordinary face, which always made her look like some kind of mildly sinister elf, without losing any of her naturalness and appeal. She has the best, most convincing smile of any actress in early Hitchcock, and he wisely ends the film on it. It should be noted that not only was Hitch giving Nova her first grown-up role, but he developed a follow-up project for her, so my impression is that he was quite pleased with her as a leading lady. (Don’t know why the follow-up fell through, but remind me to tell you about it.)


As the hero, Derrick DeMarney is perhaps slightly less satisfactory, seeing as he looks a bit drippy and sounds as if he’s fighting a heavy head cold, but he’s nevertheless likeable and understated. (I have to dismiss memories of him being pervy and sinister in UNCLE SILAS though.) It could be argued that this is a rare Hitchcock with normal people instead of stars in the lead roles. Of course, numerous among Hitch’s Brit flicks didn’t have true stars, but usually that was a problem. Here it feels like a refreshing novelty, and makes the title work all the better.

A struggling screenwriter is implicated in the murder of a Hollywood star, and sets out to prove his innocence with the aid of the chief constable’s teenage daughter. Tracked by the police, he seeks the raincoat whose belt was used to strangle the victim — a raincoat last seen in the possession of an elderly tramp.

From the opening strains of “Nobody Can But the Drummer Man” over the credits, this film comes on with gusto, an effect maintained by the first scene, in which the soon-to-be killer and his soon-to-be victim argue savagely, filmed by Hitchcock in an elaborate single take, with the characters twisting around each other like fighting cats, hissing insults at each other. It’s a complex piece of blocking and focus-pulling, with the choice of focus often rather interesting —


After the woman turns up dead on the beach, young Derrick finds himself caught in a (rather flimsy) web of circumstantial evidence. One might think that, given the body’s location, the issue of footprints in the sand might be a key one, but nobody shows any interest in that sort of nicety. I suspect that Josephine Tey’s source novel, from which the writing team led by Charles Bennett borrowed only the initial set-up, may have made play with this kind of investigative stuff, but Hitchcock is interested more in the chase and the set-piece obstacles along the way. In other words, he intends to copy THE 39 STEPS, and not for the last time.

Boy meets girl at the police station, where Derrick faints and Nova, happening by, offers first aid. This leads to two delicious moments, the first being a bit of period slang, as Nova vigorously rubs the unconscious man’s ears: “Brings them round like fun!”


The second is the moment where young Derrick awakens with his head resting on the 17-year-old Nova’s modest bosom, and Hitch smirkingly cuts to a close-up of him for the exact moment he becomes aware of this, then back to medium shot to show nova becoming all to conscious of it too. A saucy moment worth any number of Megan Foxes.

Then we have a very funny scene with Derrick’s court-appointed lawyer (“We mustn’t despair. Not actually despair.”). JH Roberts is terrific here. Well, he ought to be: looking at his credits, it seems he played nothing but doctors and lawyers his whole career. The  useless solicitor strikes such a glum note that Derrick instantly resolves to flee justice and prove his own innocence in the best comedy-thriller tradition. Meeting up with Nova en route, Derrick slowly entangles the lass in his schemes, as she reluctantly offers succour, first out of guilt, then a sense of adventure, then love.


“I’m absolutely terrified of policemen.”

The first part of Nova’s seduction into crime is particularly nice. Accepting some change from Derrick to pay for petrol, she dumps him at an old mill-house and drives home in her decomposing jalopy, resolved to have no more to do with the  business. But when dining with her family (dad is the reliably sweet Percy Marmont, recovered from his Alpine tumble in SECRET AGENT) she learns from the array of little brothers that Derrick had given her his last few pennies, and now may be starved into surrender — or death! The child actors are all excellent (none are credited, although the youngest has the Pilbeam brow, and may be a genuine sibling), and it’s another suspenseful meal, of the kind Hitchcock had already exploited in BLACKMAIL (altogether now: “Knife!”) and THE 39 STEPS and would perfect in SHADOW OF A DOUBT. I’ll say it again: food is important in Hitchcock.

Dogs, too: while Nova’s pooch, Towser, is the only real featured player among the assorted hounds in British Hitchcock, every damn one of them features a dog of one kind or another, making the canine walk-on a more constant signature than Hitchcock’s own cameos. Again, this insight comes to you courtesy of Charles Barr’s English Hitchcock.

And this is a very English Hitchcock, reprising the dynamics of THE 39 STEPS, but with the rolling hills of England instead of the more rugged Highland landscape of the earlier film. As a result, the adventure is a bit more gentle — there’s only one killing in the film, off-screen, and the jeopardy is what the censors would call “mild”. It feels like Hitch wanted a light-hearted, even light-weight story after the heavy tragedy of SABOTAGE.

The escape from the mill-house is perhaps a little tame, in fact, and it’s not helped by the implausibility of Nova escaping unrecognised, despite the cops spotting her very distinctive doggie and car. The trail then leads to a transport cafe (is that a young Anthony Asquith washing dishes in the background, hoping to meet some rough truckers?) where a brawl breaks out, but Nova obtains the information Derrick needs, and thence to Nova’s aunt’s place, so Nova can alibi her absence from home with a quick visit. This leads to another favourite Hitchcock device, the tense scene played out during a family gathering. In THE 39 STEPS and SABOTEUR, the master-criminal is surrounded by his wife and kid/s, creating a surreal disconnection between the sinister plotting and the outward innocence. Here, it’s the protagonists who are the furtive ones, trying to allay the suspicions of the nosey aunt (Mary Clare, THE PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK, THE LADY VANISHES) and make their exit as swiftly as possible. They are aided in this by the timely arrival of Basil Radford, not yet associated with the role of his life, playing Charters opposite Naunton Wayne’s Caldicott: Hitchcock’s next film, THE LADY VANISHES, would cement that relationship.

Finally identified by a policeman, and thus incriminated, Nova takes shelter with Derrick at a railway yard, where the lovers part for the night (Nova: “I’m tebbly, tebbly tired.”), she to sleep in the car, he to seek shelter at the flophouse, where he also hopes to find the tramp who nicked his raincoat.


The railway yard is a classic Hitchcock miniature, impressive in scale and detail, and almost entirely convincing until the camera captures two miniature protagonists, a little replica Derrick and Nova, with car. It’s like Trumpton! I sure wish I had a pose-able Derrick DeMarney action figure when I was growing up. I wish I had a Nova Pilbeam right now.

Derrick in the flophouse recalls Jon Finch, decades later, bedding down at the Sally Army Hostel in FRENZY. Finding his prey, Old Will (Edward Rigby), Derrick practically abducts the old boy and there’s a daring escape (miniature and life-size trains and cars), leading on to the action sequence in the abandoned mine, where they drive to shelter from the law. The car promptly crashes through the mine floor, in a smashing bit of FX engineering, and Nova gets some cliffhanging in ~


Caught going back for her dog, Nova is sent home to daddy, who feels forced to resign his post because of the disgrace his eldest has brought upon the family. Suddenly I’m reminded of the TV show Veronica Mars, a favourite in this household, where detective daughter was always getting into scrapes and compromising her detective/sheriff dad. There’s something quite powerful and moving about the idea of the independent and highly capable teen who, through youthful exuberance, oversteps the mark and brings disgrace upon the normally proud parent. 

A clew! The recovered raincoat, which was missing its belt and therefore more incriminating than exculpating, turns out to have contained a matchbook from the Grand Hotel (ah! the old matchbook clue! always a favourite), a place Derrick’s never been. The person who stole the coat and gave it to the tramp can be assumed to have strangled the woman with the belt, and may be a habitué of the hotel. The trio of fugitive, cop’s daughter and tramp unite to trap the killer in his (possible) lair.  

(Why did the killer give the incriminating raincoat away? That’s the kind of question it’s maybe not too profitable to ask, except to explore the dream-logic and daring of Hitch’s storytelling.)



This leads to the spectacular crane shot, moving across the dance floor to pick out the twitching eyes of the murderer, as he sits blacked-up, playing the drums. And at the last moment, a musical motif enters the movie, by way of the song “Nobody Can Like the Drummer Man,” directing our attention towards the culprit even as Hitch’s camera alights upon him like the eye of God. It’s even better because the guy’s eyes twitch in time to the music.

The killer’s freaking out and confessing is somewhat pat, but I’ll forgive that for the lovely shot of Nova, looking from dad to Derrick and smiling her smile — the thriller has served as new romance once more, creating a little family unit.

Hitch was aided on this outing by a regular team of collaborators with whom he had built up secure working relationships: cinematographer Bernard Knowles and editor Charles Frend, both of whom would go onto directing careers of their own; production designer Alfred Junge, who would go on to design A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH; and writer Charles Bennett, as usual complimented by a team of associates.

But the movie marked a break for Hitchcock from his partnership with Michael Balcon and Ivor Montagu, with whom he had quarrelled on SABOTAGE. And since Balcon had been acting as Hitchcock’s unofficial (and unasked-for) agent, rejecting all offers from America, Hitch now started to receive approaches from across the Atlantic. It was not inevitable that the risk-averse homebody would seek adventure in the west, but the allure of big budgets and high technical standards was powerful… but first, a project intended for the American director Roy William Neill would fall into Hitch’s chubby lap, and prove highly suitable.


The author is anxious to contact anyone who can furnish him with a Nova Pilbeam action figure. No questions asked. The Tippi Hedren one just isn’t doing it.

Intertitle of the Week: May 10th

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , on May 10, 2009 by dcairns


The first image after the titles of SECRET AGENT. Seemed too apt not to mention, since today is intertitle day, and May 10th.

On Saturday I encountered an intertitle, or actually a sort of subtitle (Duvivier practically invents the subtitle in his silent melodrama LE TOURBILLON DE PARIS) which read “Tomorrow I return to Scotland,” which seemed like a personal message from Julien Duvivier to me, across eighty-two years.

Cheers, JD!

Guess this is my last post from the US, I’ll be back on Scottish soil Monday, expect more then!