Der Fremde im Zug

Strangers on a Train directed by Alfred Hitchcock is a crime drama, which follows a tennis star who is recognised by a stranger. Their compelling conversation on the train is followed by a series of deranged events, which immensely torments the tennis star, unexpectedly placing him on the cusp of crime. Going into this film I was expecting great things. Although this film didn't meet my expectations... it exceeded them. Where can I start. The performances are all outstanding. The black and white cinematography is creative, expressive and beautifully artistic. This film contains sequences which are so thrilling, I was genuinely invested, due to how well they hold up. I particularly loved the subtle visual imagery and symbolism which enforces a major concept explored in the film. Strangers on a Train has you invested for the entire runtime. The script is so riveting, as it explores a range of tones without ever slowing down. Many individuals today refuse to see films which are black and white, believing that they are not entertaining. Strangers on a Train rebukes that misconception on every level. This film is an incredible film making achievement so therefore I give it a 9.

Strangers on a Train boasts a neat central idea (the 'swapping' of murders), several classic Hitchcockian moments, and a fine performance from Robert Walker as psychotic socialite Bruno; but despite these admirable qualities the film fails to qualify as a complete success thanks to a severely flawed final act that makes one wonder what the hell Hitch was thinking.

Farley Granger's tennis-pro Guy Haines being coerced into discussing murder by charismatic lunatic Bruno—all well and good. The nutter carrying out his side of the plan as discussed—great stuff. Haines afraid to go to the police for fear of being implicated in a murderous pact with a clearly deranged Bruno—hey, why not? People don't always make the wisest of decisions when under pressure.

The whole ridiculous fairground finale, however, cannot be so easily brushed aside. Bruno develops telescopic arms, the police act like bumbling trigger-happy fools, and a merry-go-round achieves warp-speed before a toothless old guy confuses a self-destruct lever for the brake. It's like something out of a fever-dream—illogical, perplexing and utterly deranged—a dreadful way to end what was proving to be a very enjoyable thriller.

6.5 out of 10, rounded up to 7 for IMDb.

When it comes to Cinema's hall of fame of screen villains Robert Walker's Bruno Anthony has to rank up there with the best of them. Outwardly harmless, he possesses the twisted psyche of a spoiled mummy's boy who is all too willing to resort to murder to get his own way (sounds a little like Norman Bates, doesn't it?).

Walker graces the role with sly hints of effeminacy that hint at his character's sexual orientation, something that in 1951 would have contributed to the overall impression of louche decadence. And what a loathsome creature he truly is, almost toadying towards tennis player Guy Haines as he ingratiates his way into the hapless athlete's life only to turn it upside down with his diabolical 'criss-cross' plan. To be fair, Haines is a tailor-made victim, and the passive indecision of his character is perhaps the film's biggest flaw. As others have no doubt noted, Haines would only need have gone to the police to sort everything out because Bruno's suave mask is clearly as fragile as an eggshell, and even a novice interrogator would quickly determine that something's not right about him.

As murder plots go, it's not a bad idea – apart from the unlikelihood of two like-minded strangers meeting, discussing and then agreeing to such a plot in the first place. Bruno takes the vaguest of affirmations – distractedly delivered by Haines to shake him off – as confirmation that his plan is a goer and promptly murders Haine's estranged wife in a justifiably famous fairground murder scene.

The psychological subtext is laid on pretty thick for an early fifties film, making it a piece of work that rewards repeated viewings. Walker's character grows increasingly menacing as the film progresses, not through any changes of attitude or manner on his part, but because of what the audience learns about him as the story unfolds. For the most part, however, his role in the film is simply as a villainous foil for the clear-cut Haines, which is a shame as it would have been interesting to see just how Bruno became as twisted as he was. Nevertheless, Strangers on a Train deserves the classic status it enjoys, and is worth a couple of hours of anybody's time.

'Strangers On A Train is rarely mentioned as the best movie he made but it is definitely one of his finest. I have watched a few of his movies recently and I regard this as better than 'North By Northwest', 'Notorious'. 'The Wrong Man', 'Vertigo', 'Spellbound', 'Rope'. Indeed I would put it right up there with 'Psycho',

Robert Walker is simply fantastic as the psychotic Bruno and why he wasn't even nominated for an Oscar is ludicrous. The fact that he died in tragic circumstances not long after this movie was finished compounds the fact that he had an amazing career ahead of him. Also I must give mention to Patricia Hancock who gives a really fine performance as Babs. Every actor is on point here and there are so many memorable scenes.

'Strangers On A Train' is a good movie, it really is that simple. A director at the peak of his powers and a performance from Robert Walker that lingers in the memory.

One would have expected Hitchcock's return to major studio filmmaking to err on the side of chastened caution. Surely few expected his most riotous, unrestrained film, a gleeful melange of vicious black comedy, exciting suspense, mocking manipulation, and astonishing flights of fancy. But that is precisely what they got: STRANGERS ON A TRAIN.

What is remarkable is how much Bruno's transgression disrupts the world of the film. Much has been made of the masterly crosscutting motif, but its immediate effect is to completely obstruct the straight line of progress Guy is making of his life, and hence the society he represents or is eager to join. Guy is the archetypal American, the working-class boy made good, moving in influential circles, athletic, successful, handsome. Bruno is his destructive opposite, gay, decadent, 'European' (he lives off his father, in a Big House, and just lounges about dreaming of murder). Bruno's life is one of repetition, circularity, whereas Guy moves straight ahead. It is Bruno's achievement to move Guy into his realm (represented by the merry-go-round) and force HIM to transgress (break the law, hope for murder (Bruno's)).

Bruno is quite literally fighting patriarchy. All the authority figures in the film are criticised - Bruno's father, a man whose brutality we get a glimpse of, but the true horror of which is constantly alluded to in the film (especially in Aunt Clara's paintings - that incredibly intense negative energy must come from somewhere); Anna's incredibly Machiavellian, self-serving father; the insensitive judge who thinks nothing of lunching after an execution; the tennis commentator whose smugly authorative comments are always mistaken. Far from being the mother-hater of legend, Hitch, as Robin Wood perceived, is deeply hostile to fathers and patriarchy.

Bruno's transgression turns the world topsy-turvy. This is Hitch's most surreal film. Whenever Guy is in his plot, he is filmed straight, with conventionally romantic music. But whenever Bruno intrudes, the atmosphere becomes carnivalesque, bizarre, much more fun. This is Hitch's first truly American film, revelling in the primitive detritus of Americana. Grown men puncture little boys' balloons, or try to throw them off merry-go-rounds. Distinguished professors of mathematics sing about goats on trains. Elderly society matrons are strangled at elegant soirees. Washington is filmed like a series of spare lines in a vast desert under a huge sky, like a haunting Dali painting. There is one of the greatest, and funniest, scenes in all cinema when we see a motionless, smiling Bruno in a sea of turning heads at a tennis match, an image worthy of Magritte. Just look at any scene with Bruno in it, and watch it derail into the bizarre.

Phalluses abound in the most ridiculous permutations - check all those balloons (Hitch had obviously just seen THE THIRD MAN) - as well as in more staid environs: Washington will never look the same again. STRANGERS is also, VERTIGO notwithstanding, Hitch's most overtly sexual film - as well as the phalluses, there is the sustained homoeroticism, the remarkable play with 'riding' horses; the gobsmacking fellatio joke when Hitch's daughter spills powder over the policeman.

And yet Hitch doesn't stint on good old suspense. In the very proper endeavour to show what a great artist he was, critics tend to overlook what made him famous in the first place. Much has been made of Bruno as a prototype of Norman Bates, and Hitch plays merry havoc on audience identification, willing Bruno into murder. There is a hilariously painful sequence where Bruno loses the lighter with which he intends to frame Guy down a drain. The gasps of tension and sighs of relief on the part of the audience I was a part of in support of an insane murderer is inherently funny, slightly disturbing, and highly revealing about our true reactions to conformity and success. And Hitch milks it with callous glee - listen to the mocking music and exagerrated compositions, and kick yourself for taking it all so seriously.

STRANGERS is one of Hitch's five best films, and therefore one of the greatest things in cinema. The dialogue is so strange and brilliant, I can't believe it wasn't written by Chandler. Patricia Hitchcock is a wonderful imp, standing in for her cheeky father as she taunts Guy. The fairground finale is a remarkable, dizzying fusion of exciting, tense set-piece, black comedy and symbolic site. If Bruno's final words condemn him to hell (according to the Catholic precepts Hitch is supposed to embody: compare with a similar ending in THE KILLERS), we applaud his integrity, infinitely preferable to Guy's debased serving of self.