There is so much that impressed me about this movie that it’s difficult to know where to begin. This was the second of four collaborations between director Alfred Hitchcock and star James Stewart, and if they’re all this good I definitely can’t wait to see the others. Hitchcock directs the movie with a wonderfully deft hand, effortlessly gliding between the inner lives of photographer L.B. Jeffries (Stewart), his girlfriend Lisa (Kelly) and the half-dozen subplots woven amongst the neighbors that Jeffries is spying on. The main plot that intersects Jeffries, Lisa and one of the neighbors is tense in all the right places, and shows off a great skill in building tension, subverting expectations and keeping the audience guessing. Still, while it’s technically impressive from a storytelling standpoint, emotionally it’s actually the least engrossing.
Jeffries is a globe-trotting news reporter who’s been confined to his apartment with an injury sustained from one of his assignments. Hitchcock spends the first minute or so of the film pausing at significant portions of his apartment, giving us a quick and efficient character study in seconds. The pictures that are lingered on tell us who Jeffries is and how he got the injury; then we see that he has a girlfriend, a high-society girl that he met on a photo shoot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie get to the heart of its main characters so quickly; it’s simply masterful.
To pass the time while he’s nursing his broken leg, Jeffries spies on his neighbors with one of his cameras. He has names for just about all of them — there’s Miss Torso, a dancer who entertains a few men in her apartment every night; Miss Lonelyhearts, a middle-aged woman whose solitude radiates through her entire apartment; Miss Hearing Aid, an older woman whose meddling in the affairs of others is often thwarted by her inability to hear. There’s a newlywed couple, a songwriter prone to fits of depression, a strange couple obviously comfortable with each other who sleeps out on the fire escape. The people who gains most of Jeffries’ attention is a man and his invalid wife — they’re clearly unhappy, and it’s quite possible that the husband is involved in an affair.
A few friends visit to break up these bouts of spying. There’s Lisa, who brings him dinner and argues with him about their very different lifestyles. There’s Detective Doyle (Wendell Corey), a good friend of Jeffries who provides him with affectionate, breezily mean banter. And there’s Stella (Thelma Ritter), his nurse, a wisely crude woman who provides him advice whether he wants it or not. Jeffries’ relationship and conversations with each of these people are remarkably distinct, bringing out different aspects of his personality and demanding different tones in his mood. The character work here is exquisite, each exchange revealing something significant about their moods, their reaction to the plot, the way they think or feel about each other.
The story of the husband and his invalid wife takes a turn after the basic premise is establish, and Hitchcock manages to juggle five or six different subplots while letting that take up the bulk of the time. At just under two hours, the film has a lot to do in a short amount of time, and both John Hayes (the writer) and Hitchcock keep things moving along without sacrificing space to let moments breathe when they need to.
The set is just as impressive, and vital to making the whole thing work. The entire movie is shot within the confines of Jeffries’ apartment, so all of the subplots and moving pieces we see through the course of the film have to be seen from a rather limited view. Hitchcock works well within these confines, having his actors use those windows and the spaces between them to tell their stories as efficiently as possible. He uses the voyeur’s angle to ratchet up wonderfully thick tension, like when something huge goes down in the apartment of Miss Lonelyhearts and the unfaithful husband at the same time. And he gets a wonderfully creepy effect out of simply having the adulterer turn off the light and smoke a cigar alone in the dark.
Stewart, Kelly, the main supporting actors and all of the neighbors do quite well. Raymond Burr plays the adulterer in a role that flies right in the face of our image of him, and Ross Bagdasarian (the creator of Alvin and the Chipmunks) does surprisingly well as our bipolar songwriter. The scenes run like clockwork, all guided by the hand of a master watchmaker.
The character arcs mostly intersect through the main story, and a brief epilogue touches on what’s happening to the residents of the apartment complex once order is restored. A lot of things have changed, so many things remain the same, and in many cases it’s a genuine surprise what’s stuck and what hasn’t. When we last see Jeffries and Lisa, they’ve come to a much better understanding of each other and have grown closer as a result, but of course there’s still just enough tension in the relationship to keep things interesting.
Rear Window is a simply great movie. If you’re a fan of great character studies, superbly efficient use of space and time, and a mystery that may keep you guessing for a little bit, you simply can’t miss it.