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Robin Wood writes, “Throughout the first part [of Vertigo], Hitchcock uses the technical apparatus of point-of-view shooting/editing systematically to enforce identification with the male viewpoint. The very first sequence after the credits employs this more emphatically than any other Hitchcock opening: thereafter, we see through Scottie’s eyes and we are prevented from seeing virtually everything that is beyond his consciousness.” (Wood, HFR, 363) And yet, take another look at one of the more famous “subjective” sequences in the film — the scene at Ernie’s where Scottie first sees “Madeleine.”
When Kim Novak enters the bar area, we get a close-up from what we believe must be Scottie’s point of view. Indeed, Scottie’s subsequent fascination with “Madeleine” seems to hinge on our belief in just that — that this is the moment in which Scottie is bewitched. In a shot that is in the trailer but was cut from the final film early in the editing process, Novak looks directly into the camera, a technical no-no (breaking the fourth wall) but a very clear signal to the audience as to how to read this set-up. But then we cut away back to Scottie, in a medium shot that reveals he is looking at “Madeleine” only out of the corner of his eyes, using the very limits of his peripheral vision. The POV shot, then, could not possibly reflect what Scottie sees in those moments—”Madeleine” occupies the center of its frame. She is not occluded at all, as she would be if she were occupying a peripheral space. Instead, the shot must represent the view of someone sitting next to Scottie, turned fully towards Novak in that instant. But there is no such person at the bar. We look, with the camera, and there is only a couple turned away from the room, towards the bar, engrossed in a private conversation we cannot hear. In all subsequent so-called “subjective” shots, we will find that the camera occupies a space other camera angles reveal is absent of observers, too. It is thus a ghost who looks over Scottie’s shoulder, seeing the things that he ought to have seen — seeing things as he might see them with reflection but not as he sees them in the moment. We, the audience, see only what is “beyond his consciousness.” It is precisely the fact that he is blind to this part of himself, this self beside his self, that leads him to the Mission, to the Tower, to the inquest, and back through them all.
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[The first shot of Madeleine, at Ernie’s] is not (cannot possibly be) a point-of-view shot, yet it has the effect of linking us intimately to the movement of Scottie’s consciousness. The camera movement is unlike anything in the film up to that point, introducing a completely new tone, the grace and tenderness underlined by Bernard Herrmann’s music. Madeleine is presented in terms of the ‘work of art’ (which is precisely what she is): her movement through the doorway suggests a portrait coming to life, or a gliding statue; when she pauses, turns her head into profile, the suggestion is of a ‘cameo’ or silhouette, an image that will recur throughout the film. As ‘work of art’ Madeleine is at once totally accessible (a painting is completely passive, offering itself to the gaze) and totally inaccessible (you can’t make love to a picture).
(Robin Wood, Hitchcock’s Films Revisited)
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How does a writer go so far inside her character that she comes face to face with her mirrored self?
(Judith Kitchen, Distance & Direction)
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My girlfriend and I had once worked at the same non-profit. I was a grant writer there, but I hated the job and couldn’t wait to leave. A month before I quit, one of our coworkers told me someone in the office had a crush on me. It was common for people there to sleep together — something about the stress and the subsistence wages — but I had never been that type of person. Because I had been overweight most of my life, I found it difficult to believe anyone could find me attractive and so, to avoid embarrassment, I rarely asked anyone out. But the coworker’s comments gave me courage. I thought for sure it was one of the four administrative assistants, the only people there who had taken an interest in my writing. Two of them were married, so I guessed it must be one of the other two. I asked her out. The whole thing was so long ago I can’t remember what we did on the date, but I do remember that when we’d gone back to her place and were sitting on her couch, she asked me why I’d asked her out. I remembered she’d looked genuinely curious. I gave her an answer that seemed appropriate — it was complimentary but vague, since I didn’t really know her that well — but I remember thinking I had guessed wrong. There was no second date.
A week later, I put in my notice. Things weren’t awkward between the woman and I, if anything, she was friendlier than ever, but it was clear that she felt no attraction to me, and vice versa. When I told her I was leaving, she congratulated me — no one wanted to work there; everyone was biding their time — and said, “Oh, she’s going to be so sad.” She told me who it was who had the crush on me. She didn’t know that I’d asked her out because I’d thought it was she. It was a surprise, then, for both of us.
It was a relatively small office, so I thought it would be better to wait until after my last day to approach this woman, the one who actually had the crush on me — to tell the truth, I was probably just scared — but if I wasn’t working there anymore, it would be that much more difficult to approach her. I was going out of town, and, being a coward, I figured the best way to do it would be to send her an email asking her out, using as my excuse for not doing it in person the fact that I was out of town and didn’t have her phone number. Later, on our second date, she told me it was lucky I’d emailed her at work and not at her private email address, because, just before I’d written that email, someone had hacked her account and she’d been locked out ever since. I didn’t know her private email address at the time, so there was never any question I would use it, but I didn’t say anything. I let her tell the story.
Whoever had hacked her account had sent emails to people in her address book — she found out when her brother forwarded one to her at work — telling them she wanted to meet them at such-and-such a place at such-and-such a time. The email said only that it was very important they be on time. The addresses were all far away, so no one she knew had actually gone to one of these meetings (she hoped no one had, and worried it was some kidnapping thing, even though she told me it was probably really a scam and this was just the first step), but one of her bosses had asked her if she was OK, and another person in the office had given her funny looks, and she had wondered why she couldn’t log in to her email. Then her brother forwarded her the email and she found out what had happened. In the end, she abandoned the hacked email address and set up a new one, and never really thought about it unless someone mentioned sending an email to her there.