By the time he reached the middle of the 1950s, Alfred Hitchcock was already undeniably a well-established filmmaker who had easily earned his place in the canon of great cinematic artists. No one had been able to make films that were both as artistically-resonant and profoundly mainstream as him, which is essentially what has kept him in the public consciousness for so many decades, where he stands as the gold-standard for filmmaking, a fact that very few would contest, even if they don’t personally subscribe to the belief that he’s the greatest director to ever work in the medium. There’s an argument that he reached the pinnacle of his career when he made Rear Window, a film that stands alongside a small handful of films (such as Vertigo and Psycho) to be considered amongst the peak of his work – and watching his adaptation of Cornell Woolrich’s “It Had to Be Murder”, expanding the short story to an impressive cinematic event, it’s difficult to argue against his merits as a director, and someone who could take the most simple of premises and not only turns it into a great piece of art in its own right, but one that would have influence for over half a century. Like the director’s most iconic work, Rear Window has been the subject of an endless array of remakes, and has inspired even more films than many would expect. It might not be the pioneering entry into the psychological thriller genre, but it is one that made it mainstream, an impressive achievement for something that had the potential to be so much smaller and more intimate than we’d expect. In short, Hitchcock proved once again why he was someone whose extraordinary gifts extended far beyond the surface-level, and that even with something as relatively conventional on a narrative level as this, he could draw out the thrills like very few filmmakers before or since have ever shown themselves to be capable.

Considering how the peaks of their careers overlapped in terms of time and place, it’s surprising that Rear Window is the first and only collaboration between Hitchcock and Woolrich, especially in how they were both independently responsible for elevating the psychological thriller from the pages of dime-store pulp fiction novels, to the status as some of the most exhilarating works audiences had ever witnessed, across every conceivable medium. John Michael Hayes (who was working on the first for four consecutive collaborations with the director) had the difficult task of taking Woolrich’s short story and translating it to the screen – and something that we need to often note when it comes to Hitchcock’s collaborations with screenwriters is that it is rarely just a case of taking material and turning it into a screenplay. These are stories that required a special touch, much more than just dialogue and plot progression – they needed to flow in a way that not only told the story, but gave audiences the insights into these worlds. The director was notoriously good at choosing the right people to take on this task, and working alongside Hayes, Hitchcock commissioned a screenplay that he knew could service the filmmaking, and in return put the right amount of effort into taking this script and playing on the more intimate qualities that weren’t so clear on the page. Whether it be in the production design (the architecture of Rear Window is absolutely incredible – the set they built to represent this Chelsea neighbourhood is absolutely spellbinding), or the smallest details, every frame of Rear Window is brimming with a gorgeous, energetic vivacity that makes it distinctly the work of a director who understood the importance of elevating every individual detail, since a film can only work if each and every component as well-devised and functioning at its fullest capacity.

One of my personal favourite qualities about Hitchcock’s films is that, regardless of who he was working with (whether it be a major Hollywood star, or an obscure character actor), he always drew out some incredible performances from his actors. However, there was always something special about the films in which he worked with someone of note – and of the many actors that crossed his path, none of them managed to surrender to the brilliance of the director’s vision more frequently or with more fervency than James Stewart. There’s something about his gentle but pointed charisma that made him such an impeccable person to lead these films. Whether virtuous or villainous, Stewart could play any character, and Hitchcock never failed to pass up an opportunity to showcase the everyman sensibilities of the actor. L.B. “Jeff” Jeffries is in many ways the polar opposite of one of Stewart’s other notable collaborations with Hitchcock, Detective Scottie in Vertigo – they’re both valiant men who demonstrate their bravery in unexpected ways. They deviate in how there is a darkness in the latter that doesn’t exist here – Jeff is a more principled, decent man whose efforts are borne from helping others, rather than confronting his own fears. It’s a masterful performance from an actor who seamlessly fits into Hitchcock’s world, and it’s difficult to imagine anyone else being able to bring such humanity to as straightforward a character as he did. We sometimes tend to neglect the fact that, below the suspense, there’s a human element to these stories – perhaps in his more high-concept films, Hitchcock could get away with the premise being dominant, but when something is as character-driven as Rear Window, the success rests solely on the actors, and between Stewart’s spirited performance, and the wonderful supporting work being done by Grace Kelly (who was also wonderful in Dial M for Murder this same year) and Thelma Ritter, you have a tremendous psychological thriller that doesn’t ignore the human component, which makes it even more compelling.

Entering into Hitchcock’s world is to know two things to be true: that we’re in the hands of a master, and that we’re under the control of someone who possessed almost a perverse, gleeful adoration for shocking and surprising use. Both of these are abundantly present in Rear Window, a film built on both the audience’s inherent need to try and rationalize everything, and the frustration that comes with realizing that sometimes reality isn’t as obvious as it would appear. There aren’t many twists and turns throughout this film, at least not in the sense that we’re always kept guessing – like the main character, our suspicions turn out to ultimately be true, and there isn’t much in terms of audience-based deception to keep us on the edge of our seat. Instead, what drives us further into this film is the sense of unravelling the mystery without being found out – unlike Vertigo or North by Northwest (two psychological thrillers with which this is frequently categorized), the protagonist of Rear Window is nothing more than a civilian who takes an active interest in what he suspects is a major occurrence – he’s not an investigator assigned to the case, nor someone who is directly involved with the events. It puts us on the same level as Jeff, voyeurs to the outside world – and like Jeff, who has been immobilized due to an injury, we’re trapped in that seat, watching in both awe and horror at the events that transpire around us. There’s a sense of entrapment that dominates the film that the director captures perfectly and with a stark precision that ultimately leads to a thrilling climax that is some of the best filmmaking in his entire career. Even if we do ultimately find out that the nefarious neighbour did indeed kill his wife, we’re still shaken by the revelation, not only because the catharsis of finding our suspicions to be true is a brutal relief, the director’s manner of framing it in the form of a terrifying climax pushes us very close to the edge – and when you’re teetering on the edge of sanity, Hitchcock is someone who we always know will be able to reign us in just in time.

Anyone who underestimates the power of Alfred Hitchcock clearly hasn’t experienced the full spectrum of emotions that come about as a result of seeing his films, which turn out to be far more enriching than we’d expect based on their reputation. How a single artist managed to produce work that resonates on an artistic level, while still being fodder for both critics and commercial audiences, with only a few minor missteps along the way, is absolutely staggering. Rear Window is often considered near his apex – the first masterpiece of his most prolific decade, and the one that essentially made several of his later thrillers possible. Functioning as a reliable but revolutionary piece of narrative filmmaking, with the tight storytelling, strong performances and unforgettable manner of deconstructing the concept of voyeurism and paranoia through the (literal) lens of a character-driven drama, it’s an absolutely magnificent achievement. There’s nothing quite like watching the Master of Suspense at work – regardless of the story or the strength of his filmmaking, there’s rarely a film that he made that doesn’t carry some kind of merit. Far from serviceable, but instead a daring and provocative thriller with an abundance of heart and an even more sardonic sense of humour, it’s not difficult to understand why Rear Window has ascended to such an elite place amongst the cinema of the era in which it was made – and for anyone who needs a reminder of just how good the Golden Age of Hollywood could be in terms of keeping us on the edge of our seat, this is a perfect example, and quite simply one of the finest films ever made, both in what it says, and the manner in which it says it.