The Lodger (Hitchcock, 1927)
My Winter Movies # 21
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Hitchcock orchestrates the relationship between objective and subjective point of view in The Lodger in the «macro» sense of orchestrating point of view in relation to suspense, but also in the «micro» sense of anticipating the rhetoric of analytic expressionism that became the hallmark of his mature style. Hitchcock’s innovative use of what he termed «subjective suspense» is illustrated in a sequence in the film where the Lodger, creeping out for a nocturnal assignation (is he going out to kill a blonde or rescue her?), is overheard by the landlady, Mrs. Bunting, who eavesdrops at her bedroom door. Hitchcock creates a sustained pattern of alternation between Mrs. Bunting straining to hear him and the Lodger creeping down the stairs. Because The Lodger is a silent film, the idea that Mrs. Bunting is listening to the Lodger is only conveyed through Hitchcock’s editing, thereby foregrounding the hand of Hitchcock, the narrator, who shows the audience what the character can only (strain to) hear. In a broader sense, while we share the character’s anxiety about the Lodger, the detachment from her point of view afforded by Hitchcock’s analytical editing also ensures that we can respond to her reaction as a needless worry. We may view the Lodger’s careful steps as motivated by the innocent desire to not wake and unduly disturb her rather than as a sign of his guilt and fear of discovery.
Furthermore, in The Lodger, a deadly serious question— «Is the Lodger a psychotic killer?» — becomes for Hitchcock a source of entertainment, of black comedy. Hitchcock playfully deploys the rhetoric of expressionist mise-en-scène and commentative editing to hint at a predatory vampirism and to evoke the shadow world of perverse desire. By subtle editing and visual symbolism, Hitchcock orchestrates a point of view of the character’s motivation that differs from the point of view of the heroine, such that we imagine him entertaining predatory and murderous impulses that she appears not to see. Rather than share her suspense, as in the case of Mrs. Bunting, here we fear on Daisy’s behalf. For example, when Daisy brings the Lodger his breakfast and, for the first time, they are in close proximity, we see the Lodger in close-up pick up a knife from the breakfast table. In a masklike profile shot, we see a gleam of light on the Lodger’s teeth as his mouth is frozen slightly open. Beneath the controlled, gentlemanly veneer may lie a chaotic murderous desire. It turns out that the Lodger uses the knife, innocently, to flick an unsightly speck (of food?) from Daisy’s clothing, but even this gesture is ambiguous given the Lodger’s intense preoccupation with the image of the feminine. Later, Daisy and the Lodger play chess in front of the fireplace. As Daisy reaches to pick up a chess piece, we see that the Lodger, unknown to her, has picked up a poker which is poised in the frame close to her head. At this moment, Hitchcock cuts to Joe, the erstwhile boyfriend, arriving at the house—he has just been put on the Avenger case—and when we return to the couple, the Lodger is stoking a raging fire with his poker. He puts the poker downand impulsively reaches to caress Daisy’s hair. «Beautiful Golden Hair,» he asserts, and they look into each other’s eyes before they and the camera nervously pull back.
Richard Allen, Hitchcock’s romantic irony, Columbia University Press, 2007, pp. 24-25
