It's Only a Movie

by Charlotte Chandler

  The gang boards the boat train. Ben and Allardyce give chase. Ben jumps aboard a freight car. Allardyce commandeers a Green Line bus. Sheldrake and his accomplices can’t control the out-of-control train.

  Sheldrake is alarmed to find that he no longer has the necklace. Gang accomplice Doyle (Barry Jones) informs him that he is Inspector Barton of Scotland Yard, and they fight.

  The train careens into the boat train, throwing the cars into the water. Allardyce, who arrived earlier, saves both Nora and Ben from drowning. He is the real Inspector Barton. Ben proudly reveals that he is wearing the missing necklace.

  Hitchcock told me that he didn’t care for anything about Number 17 except the last part with the miniatures. This was his first extensive use of miniatures, a technique that would figure prominently in his later British thrillers. Bryan Langley, who shot this sequence in 1932, remembered well how it was done.

  “The last ten minutes was all a model, a model train running through the countryside. Anything with the actors in it is the real train, the close-ups and so forth. But everything else was models. The scale of the models was one inch to one foot. When the train runs into the dockside, the dock was painted on what they call a Schüfftan shot. The little man you saw being run over by the train was reflected in a sheet of glass, which was put on the model track. The man, of course, was a real man, but he had to be a great distance away to be in scale to the rest of the thing. Hitchcock was there directing it, most of the time, in particular that last sequence. The man who did the models was a chap called Bill Warrington.

  “The railway line was laid all around the edge of the big studio. I think it was more or less a reenactment of a real line.

  “A few years back, we had a festival of Hitchcock in London, and I saw Number 17, and to my very great surprise, there was my name. It was put on as a credit, but nobody told me. I was a bit surprised. I’d never seen the film.

  “I didn’t see it because I was always working and seldom had time to go looking at films. I should have seen them, but I had my mind on the next film.”

  Langley paused for a moment, trying to remember something else from seventy years before.

  “In Number 17 there was a big house built in the studio, and there was a shot of a young lady at the top of the staircase listening to footsteps coming up the stairwell, and she was apprehensive as to what might happen. So, she was wringing her fingers, twisting them.

  “This girl was sort of a beginner, and Hitchcock demonstrated how her hands should function. Her fingers should waggle, and he demonstrated with his big, fat fingers. It was like a string of sausages waving around. It was absolutely right, and when this slim girl did it, it was really a marvelous thing.

  “From my personal point of view, Hitchcock was a marvelous man. He once said to me, ‘Do you want to be a lighting cameraman?’ and I said, ‘Yes, very much indeed.’ So he gave me two pieces of advice.

  “One was to go to a museum, an art gallery, and study two or three paintings, painters like Rembrandt and so on. Get their lighting techniques in my head, the direction of light. And the other piece of advice was to take a candle and a sheet of white paper, and go into a black room, and hold the candle at varying positions to my head, and watch in the mirror the effects of front light, side light, back light, reflections, and no reflections. So, this was practical lighting, which he was kind enough to advise me to do, and it certainly worked.”

  Lord Camber’s Ladies, Hitchcock’s last film for British International Pictures, was only produced by him, and was directed by Benn Levy. The author of the original play, H. A. Vachell, had written the stage adaptation of The Lodger that Hitchcock saw in 1915. The cast of this film included Gertrude Lawrence and Gerald du Maurier, as well as Nigel Bruce in the title role. Hitchcock considered this and his next film the low points of his career.

  WHEN I MENTIONED to Hitchcock that I’d never seen Waltzes from Vienna, he said, “That’s a good girl. Don’t.”

  I hadn’t, because there was no opportunity. Finally I was able to see the film in 2003 when a British Film Institute print was shown at Anthology Film Archives in New York City. As I left the theater, I wished I could tell Alfred Hitchcock that I had enjoyed it.

  After some commercial disappointments at British International Pictures, The Skin Game, Rich and Strange, and Number 17, Hitchcock signed a short-term contract with Alexander Korda. Nothing came of this, so when Ivor Novello’s producing colleague, Tom Arnold, approached him about doing a musical, Hitchcock was initially receptive. Based on a 1933 German film, Ludwig Berger’s Waltzerkrieg (“The Battle of the Waltzes”) had recently been adapted by Guy Bolton for the London stage as Waltzes from Vienna. When the stage musical was adapted for the screen, however, nearly all of the dance numbers were taken out, prompting Hitchcock to refer to it as “a musical without music.”

  For the hero, Johann Strauss, Jr., called “Schani,” Esmond Knight came from the stage production, where he had created the role in English. For the heroine, Rasi Ebenezar, Jessie Matthews, one of Britain’s most popular musical comedy stars, was selected. She had starred in The Good Companions and soon would appear in her most famous film, Evergreen. Other members of the cast included two Hitchcock favorites from the London stage: Edmund Gwenn as Strauss, Sr. and Fay Compton as Countess Helga von Stahl, the “other woman” in Schani’s life. As well as having just appeared in The Skin Game, Gwenn would play in two more Hitchcock films, Foreign Correspondent and The Trouble with Harry. Compton had played the title role in Mary Rose, the James Barrie stage play that had impressed the young Hitchcock so much that it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Jessie Matthews (1907–1981) was offered the opportunity to dance in Hollywood musicals with Fred Astaire, but she chose to remain in England with her husband, dancing partner, and director, Sonny Hale. Matthews’s career declined as she gained weight, and by the 1960s, she was a radio voice.

  Esmond Knight (1906–1987) was blinded in World War II during the naval battle with the Bismarck. Recovering partial sight, he was eventually able to resume his career. Among other parts, he played a British captain in the film, Sink the Bismarck.

  Countess Helga von Stahl (Fay Compton) commissions “Schani” Strauss (Esmond Knight) to set her lyrics to music, hoping his famous father will play it.

  Inspired by young Rasi (Jessie Matthews), and the rhythms of her father’s confectioner’s kitchen, Schani composes “The Blue Danube Waltz” and dedicates it to her. Then, the Countess asks him to dedicate it to her. Rasi tries unsuccessfully to interest Strauss, Sr. in the waltz, but is angry when she sees the double dedication.

  The Countess shows “The Blue Danube” to a music publisher who exclaims, “It has to live.” They arrange to have it played.

  As Strauss, Sr. arrives at the concert, he hears a new waltz, which receives an enthusiastic reception. It is his son’s.

  Searching for Rasi, Schani rushes to his apartment, hoping she will be there, but the Countess is there instead. The Prince (Frank Vosper), suspecting his wife of infidelity, goes to challenge Schani to a duel. Realizing she loves Schani, Rasi arrives first so she can change places with the Countess. The couple is reunited.

  Afterward, the elder Strauss is asked for his autograph. He signs his name, adding “Sr.” and smiling wistfully. Now, there will be two composers named Johann Strauss.

  Waltzes from Vienna shows the influence of Ernst Lubitsch, whom Hitchcock greatly admired. In the scene of the Prince and the Countess taking their morning baths, they communicate through messages given for delivery to the butler and the maid who are attending them. We see only the servants, as they rush back and forth, at the same time carrying on their own little affair. Soon, their kissing and the conversation become so intense, they forget and start to go to the wrong bathrooms.

  The film also follows the vogue of historical musicals, which began at UFA in 1929 in answer to sound. The original approach had been pictures with only a minimum of dialogue, such as
Fritz Lang’s M. A reaction against this trend was the series of historical musicals, including Waltzerkrieg, on which Waltzes from Vienna was based, and culminating in Viktor und Viktoria and Amphitryon, both written and directed by Reinhold Schünzel, who later, as an actor in Hollywood, became one of Claude Raines’s co-conspirators in Notorious.

  Waltzes from Vienna did respectable business in 1934, even during the depth of the Depression. Hitchcock was still the best known British director, but he needed another success like The Lodger and Blackmail to reestablish himself as the great British hope. His next film would do that and more.

  British Star

  The Man Who Knew Too Much to Jamaica Inn

  ILIKE TO SKI,” Hitchcock told me, “in my mind.”

  Hitchcock was actually agile and graceful until illness limited his physical activities, although he never enjoyed doing anything he couldn’t do well.

  “I knew very early I was not a skier, but some of my happiest hours were spent watching people ski. Watching is the key word. I enjoyed their passion for play and their lack of fear of consequences. I, myself, have lived a life in which fear of consequences has always played a part. I was not an impulsive sort. I could not imagine myself at the top of a slope rushing down on skis. I’m not really built for it.”

  His daughter, Pat, remembered him getting into his ski pants at St. Moritz to sit on their balcony and drink hot chocolate while he watched the skiers and skaters, or read. “He liked reading at St. Moritz. Both my father and my mother liked to read. At home, they would read together while they listened to classical music.”

  Writer Charles Bennett and his wife sometimes went to St. Moritz with Hitchcock and Alma and Pat. Bennett recalled Hitchcock working every day in his suite, looking at the view while the others skied.

  Bennett played a role in the development of the quintessential Hitchcock romantic thriller, having worked with him on The Man Who Knew Too Much, The 39 Steps, Secret Agent, Sabotage, Young and Innocent, and Foreign Correspondent, as well as informally on Blackmail. All of these films except Young and Innocent share the still quite relevant themes of political terrorism and international espionage.

  I talked with Charles Bennett in 1993, not long before his death at ninety-six. At the time, Bennett reminded me, more than once, he was interrupting work on a script to speak with me. With great hope and with great enthusiasm, he was working on a new screenplay of his stage play Blackmail. He said he was “bringing it up to date.”

  Bennett sat at the bar of his just-out-of-Beverly Hills house. “Less expensive,” he said, “because of being in the unfashionable postal zone.” It was late morning, but none too early for Bennett to have a drink. He placed a bottle and one glass in front of him. I had gone to his home with his friend, film archivist Dan Price. We were offered drinks, but declined, which didn’t inhibit Bennett.

  As he spoke, he rocked back and forth on a high bar stool. He began by rocking only slightly, but as his words became more animated, he would rock back farther and farther, making it difficult for us to concentrate on what he was saying. Bennett, who appeared much younger than ninety-five, was agile, fit, and filled with energy, both verbal and physical.

  We were uneasy, but our warnings about the possibility of his falling went unheeded as he became more engrossed in talking about Hitchcock. Then, just as we weren’t expecting it, he rocked back too far. Price and I rushed forward, trying to cushion his fall. It was probably for the best that we failed, because we might have caused him to injure himself.

  He fell straight back, continuing his comments about Hitchcock from the floor, never missing a beat. Then he righted himself and boarded his stool again, all the while never interrupting his reminiscences.

  Finally he paused, but only to pour himself a drink, making no mention of his fall. That he had fallen in that way and not been injured seemed miraculous, yet I had a vague feeling that it wasn’t the first time he had suffered that mishap, and perhaps it might not be the last.

  Bennett talked with us about The Man Who Knew Too Much.

  “I had been asked to write a picture about Bulldog Drummond by British International Pictures, which owned the rights. I came up with this little idea of Bulldog Drummond’s baby, and to keep his tongue quiet, they snatched his child so an assassination could take place.

  “Hitch had had some flops, and they didn’t quite go ahead with the picture, so he went straight to Michael Balcon at Gaumont-British and said there’s a picture I want to make about Bulldog Drummond.

  “British International Pictures wouldn’t sell their Bulldog Drummond rights, but let the story go, which was my story, The Man Who Knew Too Much. It was the recipe for the blending of melodrama, comedy, and romance. It was my first Hitchcock film and the first real Hitchcock picture.”

  In a Swiss ski lodge, French skier Bernard (Pierre Fresnay) is shot while dancing with Jill Lawrence (Edna Best). As he dies, he warns her about an assassination attempt in London, and gives her the key to his room. Jill’s husband, Bob (Leslie Banks), searches the room and finds a cryptic note. Before he can contact British Intelligence, he is informed that their young daughter, Betty (Nova Pilbeam), has been kidnapped to ensure his silence.

  In London, the Lawrences avoid the police, while Bob and an Uncle Clive (Hugh Wakefield) investigate. They find the tabernacle hideout of a gang of professional assassins led by Abbott (Peter Lorre). Bob is captured and held prisoner along with Betty. Clive escapes after learning about a planned assassination that evening at Albert Hall. He warns Jill, who rushes to the hall.

  There, she recognizes Ramon, a sharpshooter from Switzerland. In the auditorium at the climax of the music, Jill sees him taking aim and screams, saving the intended victim. Police follow Ramon to the tabernacle.

  During a shoot-out, Ramon attempts to escape over the rooftops while holding Betty as a shield. When a police marksman won’t risk a shot, Jill, a competitive marksman herself, shoots Ramon, saving her daughter.

  Inside the tabernacle, Abbott is killed, and Bob is released.

  “Bennett and I worked backwards at our task,” Hitchcock said. “I thought first of ‘where.’

  “St. Moritz was chosen because Alma and I had spent our honeymoon there, and we’ve always loved it. Thus, I have a certain personal feeling for the first Man Who Knew Too Much because it exists for me not only as a film, but as that time in my life when I was young.

  “It was also in perfect contrast to the bleak streets of East End London, where most of the action was to take place. Then, we got even more contrast with a church and finally a gala concert at the Royal Albert Hall. This is more or less how we worked: choose a colorful location and then people it with believable characters.

  “The other rule we stumbled upon was that the comedy-thriller-melodramas would be more effective if they had something to do with important events taking place in the world. At the time, it was obvious that another war was on the horizon. That meant that espionage, assassinations, and all of the intrigues which accompany such times would be good dramatic material for films. My melodramas are relevant to the times, which I mention in defense of the criticism that they are only escapist.”

  For the villain, Hitchcock chose Peter Lorre, an outstanding German actor, who didn’t yet speak English.

  “Sometimes he was speaking his lines without knowing what he was saying,” Hitchcock said. “But he was one of those actors who, with a hint of an expression or a slight gesture, could enhance his character in a way that was beneficial to the plot. He had left Germany as a Jewish refugee, fleeing for his life after having made M in which he played a child murderer. It wasn’t necessary to direct him because he knew what not to do. Understatement is priceless, especially in melodrama.

  “In person, Lorre was a charming man, very funny. I saw this and cast him in his first comic villain part.” During the shoot, Lorre got married, not having enough time to remove his makeup for the ceremony.

  For the child who is kidnapped, H
itchcock chose twelve-year-old Nova Pilbeam, who had just starred in a film called Little Friend. “The part I was offering her was smaller,” Hitchcock said, “and she was fully aware of it. She had a lot of ideas of her own for building her part, which she passed on to me gratuitously, not all of them suitable.

  “Sometimes I had to ‘persuade’ her to do something she didn’t believe in, like at the end when she’s reunited with her parents. At that age, even a short separation seems a long time, so I wanted her to greet them almost as strangers. It turned out to be one of the most interesting moments.”

  The tight budget precluded shooting the Albert Hall sequence with a house full of extras, so the Schüfftan process was used as it had been for the British Museum scenes in Blackmail. Some realism was injected by having one or two heads moving in the audience as Edna Best searches for the assassin.

  The most controversial part of The Man Who Knew Too Much was the final shoot-out, which was based on an actual event. In 1911, a foreign gang of criminals thought to be anarchists were cornered in a building on Sidney Street, where police used rifles to subdue them. The “Sidney Street siege” became a cause célèbre, not just because British police are forbidden to carry guns, but also because Winston Churchill as home secretary had sanctioned it. A policeman’s rifle becomes important when Edna Best saves her daughter with her sharpshooting skills. The script was altered to the censor’s satisfaction by having the policemen’s rifles requisitioned from a local gunsmith’s shop.

  Distribution of the film was delayed when Michael Balcon left for a business trip to America and C. M. Woolf was placed in charge of Gaumont-British. Woolf didn’t like The Man Who Knew Too Much and limited the film’s distribution. “The name of Woolf wasn’t a favorite in our home,” Pat Hitchcock remembered.

  Hitchcock considered The Man Who Knew Too Much the turning point in his career. “It was made a second time with Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day, and it wasn’t good,” Bennett told me. “I don’t understand why Hitch remade the picture at all, especially when he not only didn’t do better, he did worse.”