THE BIRDS
**** (out of ****)
a film review by
Richard A. Zwelling
***Spoiler warning: Beginning with the fourteenth paragraph, I
discuss some crucial plot points that would be better experienced
through the film, if you have not seen it yet. There are plot points
discussed before this, but I don't feel that knowing about them
detracts from the experience...but proceed at your own risk!***
Ask different people what the best Alfred Hitchcock film is, and you
will hear a variety of responses. Some will say Vertigo, some Rear
Window, some Notorious, some Psycho, some North by Northwest…some may
even go for his earlier works, like Shadow of a Doubt, The 39 Steps,
or The Lady Vanishes.
One title you do not often hear is The Birds. Many regard it as an
inferior film, because it does not have the character or plot
complexities of any of the aforementioned films. There is a
difference, however, between choosing a "best" film and a "favorite"
one. It's easy to make a statement such as "Citizen Kane is a better
movie than Gigli". As far as objective criteria go (if there really
are such things in film), the disparity is obvious.
However, you cannot as easily make a statement like "Citizen Kane is a
better movie than Casablanca". Where is the basis for calling one
better than the other? In terms of character development, plot,
theme, direction, and cinematography, both are superior films. Beyond
that, there are too many intangibles and qualities left to subjective
fancy. For that reason, it is much more sensible to say, "I enjoy
Citizen Kane more than Casablanca", or vice versa.
By that token, I could easily argue that The Birds is inferior to many
other Hitchcocks. However (and I'm sure this will outrage many
Hitchcock cinéastes), no Hitchcock film I have seen thus far has
entranced me and hit me at a gut level the way The Birds has.
Federico Fellini (who places The Birds among his top ten favorite
films) dubbed it an "apocalyptic poem"; an appropriate phrase, because
the film has an uncanny ability to ostracize the normal world to which
we are accustomed and eerily suggest the world's end. As soon as we
follow Tippi Hedren (as Melanie Daniels) into the confines of Bodega
Bay, we pass through a membrane into an alternate reality. There is
something removed and quiet about this seaside town...too quiet.
As with Psycho, Hitchcock was less concerned with complex character
and plot, and much more interested in brutally invading the viewer's
consciousness. And as with Psycho, he starts with a seemingly
innocent premise, drops in subtle, disquieting shards of foreboding,
and takes things in shocking new directions.
I still remember the chills that went up my spine when I first saw
Melanie, early in the film, alone in her boat, quietly paddling
through the bay. The air was still, the breeze gentle...but I
couldn't help feeling that this was a tranquility that was not meant
to last.
As suspense goes, this is Hitchcock in top form. He foreshadows in
small bits that make tiny increments as the film progresses, and each
increment gives an air of impending doom, but also cinematic beauty.
At one point in the film, when a front door is opened to reveal a dead
bird on the front porch (the result of a kamikaze flight), there is
certainly a sense of dread, but also of a perverse aesthetic. We know
this is a moment planted for the purpose of scaring us (and preparing
us for greater terror), and yet remarkably, even this knowledge is
useless in detaching ourselves from the raw power of the image.
The storyline and acting quality of the two leads are mediocre, but
deliberately so. Tippi Hedren, whose Melanie opens the film as a
spoiled, upper-class brat (complete with a history of capricious
sojourns in Europe), engages in a pathetically adolescent game of
one-upmanship with Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor), who begins by making a
fool out of her in a bird shop. The so-called MacGuffin (a term
coined by Hitchcock to describe a device for catalyzing plot
advancement) is a cage of lovebirds, a seemingly innocent symbol at
the center of Melanie's childish games, but one that will have
surprising resonance by film's end.
The intonation of the dialogue between Melanie and Mitch is flat and
dry, delivered with little dramatic impact, yet in its own quirky way,
it is charming. It is interesting to ponder where this relationship
will take us. Consider Jimmy Stewart's first encounter with Kim Novak
in Vertigo, Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins in Psycho, or Teresa
Wright and Joseph Cotton in Shadow of a Doubt. When considering
Hitchcock's repertoire, the initial tension between Melanie and Mitch
suggests a relationship through which the story will weave its themes
and plot twists.
Yet in true Hitchcock fashion, he is seducing us into following a
certain path with the intention of yanking us in a completely
different direction. Of course, this is partially due to the
influence of Daphne Du Maurier's short story (of same title), but it
is through Hitchcock's vision that events come to life in ways no
written word could express.
The initial tension, the lovebirds, the flirty games are all tools
used to the end of getting us (through Melanie) to Bodega Bay, where
Mitch resides with his mother (Jessica Tandy) and child sister, Cathy
(Veronica Cartwright, in one of her first film roles). Once there, we
anticipate the expected plot advancement. Wait a minute...why is it
so quiet? I haven't heard much dialogue. And where is the background
score?
***Spoiler Point!! Do not read on if you haven't seen the film!!!!***
This is exactly where Hitchcock wants us to be. When we first see
gulls appear (just a few, which are suddenly dropped into the frame),
it feels unnatural, as if they are invading on the movie. And when a
single gull swoops down and takes a chunk out of Melanie's head, it is
like a sudden electric shock that tweaks us out of our comfortable
premonitions.
From here on out, everyone is a victim of circumstance. The most
important issue at hand is no longer the relationship between Melanie
and Mitch, but the fight against a primal force of unimaginable
horror.
While the two leading performances are not well-acted (again,
deliberately so), the three most prominent supporting roles are
intensely satisfying from a dramatic point of view.
Veronica Cartwright's initial acting presence seems forced, but one
must keep in mind that Hitchcock is presenting her as a typical
pre-teen. As such, the seemingly contrived nature of Cathy's initial
dialogue deceives us. When Cartwright must transform Cathy into a
girl suddenly in the midst of horrors that no child should have to
witness, the result is frightening. Her terror and hysteria are
completely convincing.
Jessica Tandy and Suzanne Pleshette (as Annie Hayworth, a former love
interest of Mitch) add fascinating layers of depth to Bodega Bay and
enhance the town's otherworldly ambience with details of their pasts.
We initially attribute their struggles to Mitch, but as the film goes
on, we see that the town itself has as much of a role as Mitch does.
I could talk about the cutting-edge special effects by which Hitchcock
and his team created the illusion of several bird attacks (and the
effects are indeed impressive), but I would be beating a dead horse,
since this is the area of the film that draws repeated attention.
Instead, I'll refer to my favorite scene in the entire film, which
ironically is one that does not feature a single bird. It is the
diner scene in which all of the important characters gather in the
midst of the frenzied bird attacks and attempt to deliberate as to
what has happened and what action should be taken. This scene is
remarkably trenchant and powerful in an almost allegorical fashion.
Among others, we have a blithering drunk who recites apocalyptic
Biblical passages, an overly cerebral ornithologist who denies the
attacks simply because they do not adhere to logic, an overprotective
mother who demands silence because her children are getting scared
(thus attempting to deny what is really happening and sheltering her
feeble notion of a perfect world).
Later, after another attack transpires and denial is no longer an
option, the mother panics and irrationally pins the blame Melanie,
attacking her as a supernatural curse, a witch that has bedeviled the
community. Melanie's immediate response constitutes one of my
favorite moments in the film.
Meanwhile, the terror that this film so poetically elicits can be
attributed to the ornithologist's claim; in fact, on more than one
occasion, someone mentions that the attacks just don't make "logical
sense". The birds attack without reason. We are not enemies,
aggressors, or threats of any kind. It does not seem to matter. We
just know that they are killers, and they apparently have their sights
set on us, releasing their fury in a primal catharsis of Freudian
proportions.
When logic can no longer explain surrounding phenomenon, what does one
turn to for explanation? There is no single right answer, but you
will find an almost clinical depiction of human attempts at a right
answer in that diner scene.
As a result, there is again a perverse beauty to our voyeuristic views
of human struggle against the end of the world, which the
uncontrollable bird attacks so blatantly suggest. We see the
superficialities of day-to-day existence broken down, and when the
veneer disappears, we are witness to the most instinctive, genuine
facets of human nature.
========== X-RAMR-ID: 37690 X-Language: en X-RT-ReviewID: 1276884 X-RT-TitleID: 1002448 X-RT-AuthorID: 7583 X-RT-RatingText: 4/4
The review above was posted to the
rec.arts.movies.reviews newsgroup (de.rec.film.kritiken for German reviews).
The Internet Movie Database accepts no responsibility for the contents of the
review and has no editorial control. Unless stated otherwise, the copyright
belongs to the author.
Please direct comments/criticisms of the review to relevant newsgroups.
Broken URLs inthe reviews are the responsibility of the author.
The formatting of the review is likely to differ from the original due
to ASCII to HTML conversion.
Related links: index of all rec.arts.movies.reviews reviews