The 39 Steps (1935)

 “There are twenty million women in this island, and I've got to be chained to you..."

I ought to begin with a confession that I've never read the John Buchan novel.

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.

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

"He's a very queer looking gentleman, Sir."

This isn't the first time I’ve seen this film, of course, but it’s been a bit of a while. It’s as good as ever this time round, of course, one of cinema’s great sequels, but a different experience after so many years. It’s a lot more noticeable this time, for one thing, how the delightfully camp Dr. Pretorius, making Henry Frankenstein look even more neurotic by comparison, strives to separate Henry from his heterosexual relationship so the two of them can do things together of which society disapproves, for which Pretorius has been banned from academia, and which are generally considered (it being a vague Romantic period or 1935, depending on how diabetic we wish to be) to be going against God. Hmm. What are we saying here, Mr Whale? Incidentally, I love the little people with their silly costumes.

The other thing that surprised me this time round is just how late in the film the “Bride” appears; just for the last four minutes. Elsa Lanchester looks and is superb, however. And it is of course the real tragedy that the monster, having known a little friendship from a blind man rather keen to push smoking on to him (“No, no, this is good. Smoke- you try.”), is hated by all and the fact that his intended mate is terrified of him too is simply the final straw. He can have no connection with others, thus no happiness, and so he wants to die- bringing Pretorius and the Bride with him. There’s a hint of violent male attitudes towards rejection by women there, I think. It’s also hard to keep my inner Alan Partridge in check as both the title “Bride of Frankenstein” and the fact that Pretorius says the line for no diegetic reason at his moment of triumph seems to call the monster “Frankenstein”. But it’s hard to deny what an absolute work of genius this film is.