Interlúdio

Notorious is absolutely one of Hitchcock's best films. The suspense sneaks up on you, and I found myself on the edge of my seat. Cary Grant is in love with Ingrid Bergman, (but who wouldn't be) caught in a triangle of love, deceit and lies. They both shine as the super stars they are in this meticulously filmed masterpiece. Hitchcock's hand is all over this film. And as is usual for the master, he never misses a beat, never puts in a sloppy scene, and sees it all in his mind's eye (and on paper) before committing it to film. This is why he is The Master of his craft. Bergman is at her lovely best, that sometimes smiling, sometimes pouty mouth, that cute nose, and those stupendously beautiful eyes. This film, which I've just seen for the first time (why, oh why, did I wait so long?) is up there, near the top, I have to see it again and again.

One of Hitchcock's most thrilling examinations of psychosexual ambiguity, with the Grant-Bergman relationship veering from an initial meet-cute to genuine (beautifully conveyed) mutual delight to sadistic manipulation - he makes a whore of her and forces the fact again and again into her face, seldom giving an inch until the very end, where his change of heart has a largely tacked on feeling. We first see him from behind, quietly, predatorily watching at one of her drunken parties; they go for a drive and we see his hand poised to grab the wheel even as he pretends to submit himself to her drunken control over the car - it sets the tone, for Grant never relents on his desire to possess her, and reacts all too like a spurned lover to events, belittling her love even as she continually reasserts it; the callousness with which he distances himself from her after learning of her assignment is breathtaking. The main plot can hardly match the complexity of the central relationship, even though it's an excellently constructed yarn, with the fine set pieces of the party and the ultimate escape, which is essentially a battle between Rains and Grant for possession of the weakened Bergman - a finale which emphasizes how she's always been a prisoner, of her father's myth, of the male system, of her own emotions.

Notorious is one of my favorite Hitchcock films. Like so many of his later features it is saddled with a highly suspect plot that is driven by a set of poor decisions made by a handful of characters of such alarmingly low emotional intelligence it is a miracle they survive the first half of the film at all, yet it works. It keeps company with the likes of Strangers On A Train, Psycho, Rear Window, The Thirty-Nine Steps, North by North-West, The Lady Vanishes: it is a classic. It is tempting to put it all down to Ingrid Bergman's portrayal of Alicia Hubberman - which is faultless - but Bergman alone could not have made Notorious what it is: she also starred in Spellbound and Under Capricorn and was unable to save either of those films from limping into mediocrity. It is also appealing to suggest the obvious: that it is the combination of breathtaking cinematography, flawless supporting cast and Ben Hecht's cracking script that make it so good. But I believe that the primary reason Notorious excels is because of the abiding friendship, professional respect and unrequited love that existed between Alfred Hitchcock and Ingrid Bergman as they stepped up to make the film. The archetypal > themes that comprised their professional partnership inspired, amongst other things, Hitchcock's/Hecht's Alicia - a woman in a barren marriage desperate for love - and all those tender beautifully lit close-ups. It also allowed Bergman - and here a precedent was broken - to contribute, and to act upon, her insights as to the motivations and behavior of her character.

Hitchcock didn't suffer the opinions of his actors lightly, yet

where Notorious was concerned, he made an exception. For the duration of the shooting of the film, Bergman was Hitchcock's closest collaborator. I have a strong sense that the very thing that could have made Notorious lame - Hitchcock's unrequited love for Bergman - is also the very thing that saved it from obscurity and that we may have much - we will never how much - for which to thank Bergman.

There are many moments that make Notorious Bergman's picture, but I think the most extraordinary is the kiss outside the wine cellar. In all her films, Bergman always brought a vulnerability to her love scenes that imbued them with a real sense of intimacy, and Notorious is no exception: think of her in the infamous balcony scene or during her final descent down the staircase. Yet when Dev - ever the mercenary genius of improvisation - makes full use of Rains' approach and, pulling Alicia to him as they stand outside the wine cellar, orders her to kiss him, Bergman actually surpasses her own track record.

Suddenly in the arms of the man she really loves she is overcome with emotion; and for one second, maybe two, she separates her mouth from his, and in an attempt to give voice to the indescribable and to forge, experience and register a moment of pure intimacy, she utters one word, his name, 'Dev!' and all hell breaks loose. Never in the history of cinema has one word carried such an erotic charge. They could not be closer. He doesn't flinch. They barely move, but it is all there. And it's not just her voice, it is also her eyebrows. Just as she utters his name, Bergman furrows them. They tremble. They, along with her tremulous whisper, betray her true feelings, so that within the space of two seconds we witness Bergman experience both the heightened rush of intense sexual desire as well as the instantaneous relief afforded her by the act of surrender to it.

All this with one word - 'Dev' - and the furrowing of a pair of eyebrows. So much emotion conveyed with so little and in such a brief period of time.

It is because of moments like these that Notorious is timeless - the film gets under your skin and into your psyche - and given the history of the film and her beautiful performance at the center of it, it is fitting that it should be Bergman

Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman) is the daughter of a German-American who has been imprisoned for turning traitor to the U.S. during World War II. Despondent, she becomes an alcoholic and flits from man to man, until one day a mysterious government agent named Devlin (Cary Grant) comes to her and asks for her help. Some old Nazi acquaintances of her father's has taken up residence in Rio de Janeiro; he needs her help to spy on them. Somewhat reluctantly, Alicia agrees.

Once in Rio, it takes some time for the couple to be assigned their mission. The trip takes on the character of a honeymoon, and Alicia and Devlin start falling in love. Then their orders do arrive, and Alicia is assigned to infiltrate the house and the bedroom of the Nazi leader, Alexander Sebastian (Claude Rains).

This movie delivers a very different kind of suspense from Hitchcock's more famous NORTH BY NORTHWEST. There are no strafing runs by malevolent crop-dusters, no cliff-hanging mountain-climbing scenes, no mad footraces. The suspense here relies all on subtleties that get under your skin and chill you much more than the in-your-face antics of Hitchcock's later piece. The popping of champagne corks signals time running out for two spies in the wine cellar; an impassioned lover seeks to kiss the hand of his lady who has a deadly secret concealed in her palm; a victim of poison sees the shadows of the poisoners merge together on the wall. The final scene is the best of all. Who but Hitchcock could imbue the innocent sentence, "I wish to talk to you," with such chilling power?

This is one of Ingrid Bergman's best performances; Alicia is hardly perfect, but brave and lovely. Hitchcock was far ahead of his time in discarding male chauvinist attitudes that elevated a woman's chastity and "ladylike" attributes over her courage and intelligence. When a superior disparages Alicia for the lack of "character" she has shown by following the orders he himself has given her, Devlin sarcastically lashes out: "She may be risking her life, but when it comes to being a *lady,* she doesn't hold a candle to your wife, sir, sitting in Washington playing bridge with three other ladies of great honor and virtue." Yet Devlin himself is often unsympathetic and harsh in his treatment of Alicia, and the unfairness of that treatment is sharply highlighted in a manner very sympathetic to her.

Not to be overlooked is Rains' magnificent rendition of Alexander Sebastian, a villainous but human and rather weak man who genuinely loves Alicia. I have never seen Rains better except for his immortal portrayal of Cap. Renault in CASABLANCA. Also superb is Leopoldine Konstantin as Sebastian's domineering, scheming mother.

NOTORIOUS is intense and meticulously crafted, and benefits from the best acting in any Hitchcock movie. While NORTH BY NORTHWEST or THE 39 STEPS might be a better introduction to Hitchcock for people used to the slam-bang action of modern cinema, NOTORIOUS is the best I can recommend for those who have already learned to love Hitchcock's work.

*Notorious* may not be Hitchcock's greatest film, but it may very well be his most perfect film. Rarely is a viewer treated to so much talent in all areas of film creation: Hitch directing, Gregg Toland photographing, Ben Hecht writing, Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman and Claude Rains acting. And everyone is firing on all cylinders.

What gives *Notorious* its singularity amongst the pantheon of Hitchcock's masterpieces is the highly symbolic, literate, and penetrating script by Hecht. Nominally, the film is about the OSS (the pre-natal version of the CIA) using a compromised young daughter of a condemned, unrepentant Nazi to infiltrate a cell of German expatriates in Rio de Janeiro just after the close of the Second World War. The plot hinges on some nonsense involving "uranium ore" stuffed in wine bottles in the cellar of Claude Rains' mansion. In actuality, the film is nothing less than a dark fugue on alcoholism, and secondarily (and of most interest to the director), invasion of privacy. Thirdly, we are treated to some more of the Master's endless fascination with Freudian slop: yet again, we get the Oedipus Complex in all its ardor, with a domineering old bat wielding the motherly whip-hand on Rains' cuckolded, castrated, romantic ex-pat Nazi.

But Hecht is interested primarily in alcoholism, and Hitchcock obligingly complies, utilizing a dizzying myriad of symbols and reference points. In the original script, Bergman's Alicia is something of a whore: the filmmakers were forced by the censors to tone this aspect down, thereby bringing Alicia's dependence on booze to the forefront. Indeed, Bergman spends much of her screen-time woozy-headed, whether from alcohol or poisonous coffee (symbolically functioning as the same thing). Very early in the film, she declares at a party, "The important drinking hasn't started yet!" Exactly. Throughout the movie, Bergman drinks in order to escape her unpleasant circumstances or to wash away bouts of low self-esteem. A bottle of champagne bought by Grant becomes a phallic symbol: he forgets it at the offices of the OSS, with arid results when he arrives home to Bergman. Wine bottles are literally the "key" to the plot. Spilled wine in a sink blows her cover. And late in the proceedings, the simple physical act of drinking -- coffee, yes, but the point comes across -- almost kills her.

There's much more going on here -- too much for a short review, really. Let's finish by asserting that Hitchcock's Forties period was every bit as cinematic as his later, grander, colorized period in the Fifties and Sixties. The slowly swooping shot from the crane, starting from high atop the ceiling of a ballroom and ending up focused on the wine cellar key in Bergman's hand, is merely one famous bravura moment. There are many others:

Grant approaching a hungover Bergman in bed, in which the camera takes her up-ended POV quite literally; Bergman, overcome with poison, hallucinating the figures of Rains and his mother into monstrous shadows that grow larger and larger, eventually merging into one darkness; the two great tracking shots of Grant and Bergman kissing in her Rio apartment and later when Grant rescues her from her poison bed. The trailers for *Notorious* were already calling Hitchcock the "Master of Suspense" . . . it's easy to see why.

As for the performances? Cary Grant proves to be a true soldier, spending much of his screen-time either expressionless or with his back turned to the camera (!), unselfishly giving the film to Bergman, even though his part is actually the more interesting one. Bergman, meanwhile, gives one of the best performances of her illustrious career. No two Bergman roles are quite the same; Hitchcock wisely allows her to do some of her own interpretation, particularly early on during the "character-building" scenes (before the plot moves all the characters into their appointed places on the chessboard). Perhaps best of all, both Grant and Bergman were at the very peak of the physical charms: the movie is some serious eye-candy for both genders. 9 stars out of 10.