Unfiltered Smoke

by Jason Wilson

The Lady Vanishes (1938)
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Screenplay by Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder
Based on the story “The Wheel Spins” by Ethel Lina White
Starring Margaret Lockwood, Michael Redgrave, Paul Lukas, Dame May Whitty, Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford.

If anyone becomes a film buff, or even casual enthusiast of cinema, it is impossible to ignore Alfred Hitchcock. It is easy, however, to look past much of his work because of titles like Psycho, Rear Window, North by Northwest, The Birds and Vertigo. Those five films were the ones I immediately thought of when I heard his name. They are linked to his icon’s stature and some of his earlier films, particularly those he made in England before emigrating to the United States, get lost in the shuffle.

Obviously, film historians have plowed through his earlier work but not everyone has the time, resources or gumption to do that. Luckily, Criterion has made a few of his less mainstream films available, though some are now out of print. The Lady Vanishes was actually re-released in a two-disc set a couple years ago and is still readily available now. It seems that out of the gate, Criterion was more interested in the movie as a stand-alone and neglected the special features until re-releases down the road. Seven Samurai got the upgrade and a nearly bare-bones edition of The Lady Vanishes did as well.

The following review will contain some spoilers, so read on with caution.

The opening sequence in the film introduces two lads named Caldicott and Charters. They are proper, slightly snooty and massive cricket fans. Ostensibly, they seem to be the protagonists of the film, only their shenanigans serve as a light introduction to their surroundings. They are holed up in a hotel waiting, along with all the other patrons, for a delayed train to London. Caldicott and Charters pop up now and again and serve mostly as a bumbling comic relief, though the movie is never all that bleak to begin with. There is an air of whimsy about it perpetuated largely by leading man Michael Redgrave.

Redgrave (father of actresses Vanessa and Lynn) plays Gilbert, a musicologist full of smarm and wit. He is handsome but his charms are less defined than his snide and selfish attitude. For the early scenes, Gilbert is more of a pest than either a protagonist or antagonist, though it is obvious from the first scene he shares with Margaret Lockwood’s Iris that he will be her knight in shining armour by the end of it. Maybe it wasn’t so predictable at the time of release, but 70 years later plot conventions have a tendency to be repetitive so even though it is a precursor to many similar films, I saw it later. This is not a complaint. I’d rather twists occur naturally instead of being forced (M. Night Shyamalan since Signs for instance) and at least Gilbert’s ascension to protector and co-conspirator comes across as organic and believable. To have it happen any other way would not have made sense.

Which brings us to Iris. Iris complains about music being too loud in the room above her at the hotel and Gilbert gets kicked out of his room only to forcibly shack up in her room when he figures out who ratted on him. She relents under pressure and he gets his room back. She, naturally, hates him and his boorish behaviour. The next day, awaiting the train, Iris takes a potted plant off the noggin. It was pushed from a window above her by an unknown person. Iris befriends an old lady by the name of Miss Froy who helps her to her spot on the train. They converse, have tea and Iris has a nap. She awakes to discover Miss Froy is gone and no one in her carriage or on the rest of the train seems to have any knowledge of the older lady. Did the plant cause her to hallucinate or is there a conspiracy afoot?

Obviously it’s a conspiracy. Hitchcock plays with the possibility that she may have dreamed it all and that Iris is in fact concussed but the clues slowly mount until the players are in place and the audience knows who is on which side. And here comes a spoiler! The doctor, whom Gilbert and Iris had confided in (you can always trust a doctor!) is the primary conspirator on the train who abducted Miss Froy. He is accompanied by a woman dressed as a nun. This is the point of contention I have with the film along with the fact that Miss Froy was a spy…well who suspects the elderly, I guess. The nun, on a dime, turns on the doctor and other cohorts to help Gilbert and Iris save Miss Froy (this is still before the climax of the film). Her motivation seems to be that she didn’t sign on to be an accomplice to murder. It seems too convenient and more of a plot contrivance than a true development of character. While the relationship between Gilbert and Iris develops organically, the nun is barely more than a cardboard cutout.

Then again, the specifics about why Miss Froy was captured, what the doctor wants, the political motivations, are all intentionally vague, glossed over or left out altogether. The why is unimportant as Iris herself is mostly ignorant to the reasons but is simply trying to save her new friend regardless of the situation. So the audience is left in the dark much like the protagonist and is left to enjoy the banter and tension without thinking too hard. It’s a fluffy film with a darker subtext of political oppression. The Lady Vanishes is an enjoyable effort but lacks the gravitas and intensity that made Hitchcock’s later work so powerful and impressive. It’s still worth a watch because it is very entertaining and has some amusing characters, though others are underused and just there (though the judge avoiding public scorn is punished for his cowardice, so he does have purpose).

Among the special features is a featurette narrated by Hitchcock scholar Leonard Leff. He goes in depth about the making of the film and the distinction of calling Hitchcock a thrill maker. Hitchcock apparently was seldom regarded as an artist in those days and received little funding or respect despite his films being financially successful. Leff provides some fascinating information, but his delivery is fairly bland.

He says the movie was filmed almost entirely on a 90-foot set acting as the train. Hitchcock used the same carriage chambers over and over again and otherwise used miniatures and models for outside shots, especially noticeable in the opening sequence at the hotel.

Leff also acknowledges much of what I considered shortcomings and while knowing a lot of the misinformation or lack of information entirely was on purpose, it doesn’t exactly improve my thoughts on those aspects. While Hitchcock might not have wanted to dwell on the minutia of the details, I would have liked to have known why these people were thrust into such a dire string of events. The Lady Vanishes is still exceptionally entertaining and if you enjoy Caldicott and Charters, you are treated to a feature length movie with them at the center called Crook’s Tour. It had never been released on home video until the Criterion two-disc of the Lady Vanishes.

Rounding it out is a commentary track from film historian Bruce Eder, a couple new essays and excerpts from a radio interview between Hitchcock and filmmaker Francois Truffaut (whose 400 Blows is coming up soon in the Criterion Conquest!).

I encourage you to check out The Lady Vanishes unless you hate old films for some irrational reason. “Eww, black and white!” Otherwise it’s worth a glance just to see Hitchcock in action years before his biggest films cemented him as the icon of suspense he is to this day.

Next up on the Criterion Conquest: Federico Fellini’s Amarcord