SUSPICION

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 139, 20 February 1942, Page 14

SUSPICION

(RKO Radio)

[t is true, I suppose, of most forms of dramatic expression that the most ticklish spot for the producer or

author is in the last five minutes or the last five pages. It is certainly true 9f the majority of dramatic films. If the dénouement is muffed in those last critical minutes, the whole film, however excellent it may have been up till then, is likely to be judged in the light of that failure. Now, in the case of Suspicion something happens in the last five minutes which has perhaps given me a rather jaundiced view of an otherwise excellent Hitchcock melodrama. Something has

gone wrong somewhere, just enough tc throw the whole dramatic structure slightly out of plumb. But what the exact trouble is I am not quite sure, though if I had read Behind the Facts, the story by Francis Iles on which the film is based, I might have a better idea. The obvious, superficial explanation would be that the producer, in a spirit of what the Americans call " box-officiousness," has tampered with the plot in order to give it, by hook or by crook, a happy ending; but that theory won’t hold much water, for the play depends for its effect on a hoax. It is the crux of the film that the audience should be made to share with the wife her mounting suspicions of her husband’s behaviour, crystallising eventually into the terrifying belief that he intends to murder her-only to discover

at the very last that these suspicions are based entirely on a series of coincidences capable of innocent interpretation. The audience is then presumably expected to feel the same joyful relief as the wife at this happy ending. But it doesn’t. Or at least I didn’t. And I’m certain that the feeling of dissatisfaction and frustration which I took away from the theatre was caused, not by annoyance at having been hoaxed or at finding a happy ending thrust so unexpectedly upon us (because from the nature of the play no other ending is possible), but by some other factor which eludes me: we * * OWEVER, you'll be wanting to hear something about the story, though it is, of course, only by seeing Suspicion itself that you can possibly appreciate the suspense which the ingenious Hitchcock technique has woven into. the narrative. It starts almost in a comedy vein, with Johnny, a charming, well-connected young Englishman (Cary Grant) playfully but tempestuously wooing the levelheaded daughter (Joan Fontaine) of a retired general (Sir Cedric Hardwicke), On the verge of becoming an old maid, she tumbles head over heels in love with him, and the mood of the story changes to one of true romance as he, rather to his own surprise, finds himself just as deeply in love with her. But wait! A suspicion that something is not quite right first enters when the happy couple return from their honeymoon and it is revealed that, although the husband has charming manners and expensive tastes, he has no bank account and no job, is deeply in debt, and is relying on his wife’s income or his father-in-law to see him through. But one can’t, and the other won’t, and gradually the sense of impending tragedy grows stronger as the husband is shown up as a liar, a gambler, and an embezzler. However, his wife doesn’t desert him, because she still loves him, and neither does his best friend (Nigel Bruce), because "after all it’s only old Johnny. He’s always been like that, and you make allowances for old Johnny." But all the love and all the allowances in the world for this likeable rascal aren’t sufficient to prevent him becoming the object of some very sinister suspicions when his best friend, with (Continued on next page)

FILM REVIEWS (Continued from previous page) whom he is financially involved, dies in strange circumstances and his wife next discovers that he is interested not only in an insurance policy on her life but also in studying the science of poison. It all adds up to some very unpleasant circumstantial evidence. And then, suddenly it’s all blown out, and you're given proof that although Johnny may be a bad boy he isn’t a vile one. * * * x HitcH " has always been a master of the technique of investing simple objects and situations with sinister purpose, and here he has something of a field-day. An innocent glass of milk glows with a malignant light; there is horrid significance as a Home Office Analyst at dinner delicately carves a chicken with the casual observation, "Such an interesting corpse dropped in on us to-day"; the camera has grim meaning as it sweeps from the top of a cliff to the rocks below. It is a measure

of Hitchcock’s success in building up a mood of shuddersome anticipation that his happy ending comes as a complete surprise; but somehow there is a hitch (or maybe fot enough "Hitch") in bringing off this dénouement. Perhaps he does it too baldly; perhaps, after all, it is just that this sort of thing tan’t be done as successfully on film as it can on paper. Anyway, even if those last five minutes are five mighty important minutes, they aren’t by any means the whole film, and I hope that not too many people will miss all the other good things just because of them. Apart from the Hitchcock touch, there is some highgrade acting. We don’t see enough of Sir Cedric Hardwicke, but what we do see is good; there is more of Nigel Bruce as the apologetic, good-natured friend, and he is even better; and while my own pet choice for the husbend’s role would have been Robert Montgomery, Cary Grant handles it very capably. But best of all is Joan Fontaine, whose change

from spinsterish primness to the gaiety of a bride, and finally to "green and yellow melancholy" as (rather like the girl in Twelfth Night) she lets concealed suspicion "like a worm i’ the bud feed on her damask cheek," marks her as one of the screen’s top-flight dramatic actresses. It is a role very similar to her Rebecca and, from the point of view of execution, almost as good. In fact, if our little man wasn’t thinking of those last five minutes, he’d be standing up instead of sitting down to clap.