“There are twenty million women in this island, and I've got to be chained to you..."
This is the earliest Hitchcock film I've yet to blog, and it's rather good; a cleverly and appropriately directed tale of paranoia where reality is a slippery thing and, brilliant, the spy plot remains somewhat vague and unreal throughout, leaving us to question our sense of reality no less than Richard Hannay himself.
Redundant though it may be to say so, the suspense is exquisite. Robert Donat is excellent, despite his questionable Canadian accent, with Madeleine Carroll excellent too. The two of them are convincing in the tempestuous yet sexually charged situation in which they find themselves, with lots of sexual chemistry. A very young John Laurie is also superb as a religious zealot and, unlike literally all of the other characters in a film largely set in Scotland, has a genuine Scottish accent.
Yet this is a film about how the world we think we know may have less comfortable realities lurking bebeath, which feel almost supernatural in their unreality. The thirty-nine steps; the missing fingertips; the shadowy nature of the whole conspiract and, of course, the grand guignol circumstances of the mysterious woman's murder all combine to give us a film which establishes a creepy mood well beyond its mere plot. There's nothing supernatural here on the surface, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. Superb.
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