"...and then I'll be free of the past:" Vertigo and the perversity of resurrection
Last week, it was announced that Paramount Pictures will be producing a remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 romantic thriller, Vertigo — allegedly with Robert Downey Jr., a.k.a. Iron Man, one of the project’s executive producers, assuming the lead role.
As a devotee of classic Hollywood cinema and, in particular, the works of Mr. Hitchcock (his movies are what ignited my love of the medium), I can say with all due humility that I was distressed, embarrassed, and appalled to learn this. To think that a man who is known for his garbled, smarmy depiction of a self-aggrandizing tech billionaire should deign it his imperative to colonize what is widely regarded as one of the finest films ever made and, in the process, impose himself over perhaps the most refined, sinister yet sympathetic role of James Stewart’s career, is enough to make an erudite snob like me throw away the pen and scramble to the gym — so that one day, I can use more than words to give Mr. Downey Jr. a piece of my mind.
Remaking this movie is tasteless, yes, but Paramount’s decision also goes beyond any question of good taste. It is an act of corporate vandalism, yet a further affront to the vast catalog of rich, compelling masterpieces that languish in that very company’s vault. Corporate interests have trained the American public out of having meaningful relationships with films that preclude any framework for marketing paraphernalia; if you can’t merchandise it, or if it doesn’t flatter present-day sensibilities or prejudices, then it doesn’t matter.
To forgo a re-release of the original Vertigo in favor of an uninspired retiree’s pet project is to scuttle one’s own integrity. It treats a great film as nothing more than a bit of prestige to validate the whims of an aimless, inept, and boring man.
What’s so ironic about this whole mess is the fact that Vertigo is, in fact, about the perversity of resurrection. It tells the story of Scottie (Stewart), a retired detective who falls in love with Madeline (Kim Novak), the wife of an old friend, whom he’s been asked to follow; when she dies by suicide, he floats through life in despair until meeting a young woman named Judy, whom he darkly sets out to change until she physically resembles his beloved Madeline. The film’s central theme is that any attempt to replicate a good thing — be it a person, or a movie — is nothing more than a necrophilic impulse. It’s damaging to re-orchestrate reality to the melody of a lost tune; it disregards the potential of the present moment, ignoring actual love or magic in favor of a hollow tribute to something that no longer exists.
How terribly fitting that the former star of an ongoing franchise which only knows how to pay tribute to its past successes should be drawn to play a man who similarly rejects life in favor of stubborn romantic indulgence.
Of course, there’s an underlying psychoanalytic import to Scottie’s demands, too: by having Judy not only dress and act the part of Madeline, but also, ultimately, re-perform Madeline’s suicide, he absolves or “frees” himself of his traumatic memory and neurosis. This act of transference can be likened to Hitchcock’s own behavior as a director, which was defined by his varying treatment of women actors. He could be paternal, or he could be violent; the testimonies of Madeleine Carroll and Tippi Hedren more than account for the latter. And this was a pattern that was visible in his onscreen depictions of women — Judy wasn’t the first Hitchcock heroine to fall victim to her male counterpart’s coarse machinations (e.g., Alicia in Notorious, Miriam in Strangers on a Train, Margot in Dial ‘M’ for Murder, Jo in The Man Who Knew Too Much, etc).
Might we draw a parallel between the impulses of Hitchcock and those of Downey Jr.? Aren’t both men working to underscore their conservatism, to “resolve” some ineffable, vicious desire to alter reality so that it conforms to their limited worldview? The difference is that, for Hitchcock, the film he made was a gamble — it was a personal and artful excavation that, at the time, failed critically and commercially. This is not a risk Mr. Downey Jr. is willing to take; rather than cull something new, something unseen from the depths of his own psyche, he’s elected to regurgitate safe material that will cushion his reputation.
Even if it’s bad, even if it doesn’t do well, he’s at least shown us that he knows who Hitchcock is. Or was.
