For all the talk about Alfred Hitchcock being the definition of conventional, not in the sense of it being derogatory but rather as a way of explaining how he defined cinema in a considerable way, he certainly did not find it difficult to experiment with form and content from time to time, as made abundantly clear in Rope, which was one of his most exceptionally unique films, both in the subject matter and its execution – pun absolutely intended. Based on the 1929 play of the same name written by Patrick Hamilton (and adapted by Hume Cronyn and Arthur Laurents), which was in turn inspired by the murder of a young man by two of his university colleagues, the film is an extraordinary experiment in pushing boundaries, both cinematically and philosophically – and if anyone was going to be able to take charge of the situation and produce something of extraordinary merit and undeniable brilliance. Praising Hitchcock almost seems redundant, since few people have been able to fully encapsulate the wide range of ideas underpinning humanity as him, with his process being to filter them through rivetting and complex works of psychologically-profound storytelling, which leads to thrilling and often unbelievably complex works of unhinged brilliance. Hitchcock did not amass the title of “the Master of Suspense” as a result of an accident, which makes the experience of engaging with his work such a pleasure, each film proving to be an exceptionally well-formed piece of storytelling from one of the few filmmakers that can rarely be contested as one of the greatest storytellers of his era.

Something that both longtime devotees and more casual viewers may know about Hitchcock is that he was not afraid of placing the emphasis on more morally reprehensible characters, particularly those in situations that test the boundaries of common human decency. He doesn’t necessarily condone their actions (since the villains nearly always receive their due comeuppance), but rather he makes sure that they are as well-formed and interesting as the protagonists, if not even more so. Rope is one of the director’s most interesting experiments in this regard, since it focuses on a pair of characters that are the definition of immoral, since the film begins with their unemotional act of committing a cold-blooded killing, just to answer the very simple question: is there such a concept as a perfect murder, and if so, who can get away with it? The film revolves around this question, and for the next 80 minutes, Hitchcock weaves in and out of these characters’ interaction with a few of their visitors to a party designed specifically to determine whether they can conceal such a brutal act. Undeniably, the film is one that courts controversy (not any less as a result of the subtext that implies that the two central characters are in a homosexual relationship, which was almost taboo by standards at the time), and by the time we reach what appears to be the climax, it almost seems as if these characters have gotten away with it, only for the director to logically pull us back in and show them facing the consequences, but in a way that still provokes deep questions about the act of murder, and the extent to which some go to defend their innocence, even when they secretly relish in the knowledge that they are as guilty as can be. The director asks these questions, but keeps the viewer at a distance, allowing us to come to our own conclusions, which adds a level of complexity to an already nuanced film.

Rope is not the first film Hitchcock made that centres on the idea of murder in its various forms and motivations, but it is one that uses it as the foundation for a fascinating experiment. Most remember this production for its technical prowess, with the entire film being made to look like it is taking place in one continuous shot, as a means to infer that it is a being told in real-time. These are two elements that immediately make this film stand out, making this a highly unprecedented work that would help set the standard for many later films that would employ similar tactics in telling their own stories. The brilliance of Rope is that this never once feels like it is being built on the gimmick. Many films that employ these techniques often use them as the foundation, allowing the spectacle to replace the story – Hitchcock is not one to necessarily agree with such a sentiment, especially when it becomes extremely clear that what he is doing is far more complex than just seeing if something like this can be done – he knew that it was possible to produce a film that appears to be taking place not only in real time, but also through one fluid shot. The question wasn’t if it could be done, but rather what could be done with it – and there’s very little doubt that he had the right idea, with the concept of a pair of killers doing their best to hide a murder, while still subtly celebrating their ability to get away with it, being the basis for this fascinating film that only becomes more interesting the more we journey into the heart of the story. Few films have been able to make better use of the novelty of the one-shot approach than Rope, which smartly does not hinge only on its ability to cover such material, but also on the fact that audiences will naturally leave the film even more exhilarated by the form it took, which was clearly the primary intention of the film, the director once again proving his mettle as a marvellous craftsman.

Despite the experimental nature of the film in its visual and technical format, Rope is still relatively traditional in terms of the more straightforward elements. Hitchcock makes use of a terrific cast, since this film is an ensemble-based effort. While he may be top-billed (and turns in one of his most complex performances, which is unsurprisingly par for the course with his collaborations with the director), James Stewart is a relatively late addition to this story – he makes his first appearance at the half-hour mark, but immediately makes an impression, playing the curious but conflicted authority figure who is aghast to realize that he unintentionally inspired a pair of his students to commit murder based on his own morbid ruminations. These students are played by John Dall and Farley Granger, both of whom are exceptional – Dall is suave and smooth as can be, while Granger is a bundle of nerves, the two actors playing off each other perfectly. The trio form the foundation of the film, with everyone else being strong but otherwise minor in comparison, mainly since they serve less as coherent characters, and more as vivid plot devices used to service and progress the narrative, doing exactly what was required, which was mainly to be victims to the main characters and their games of manipulation, with Stewart’s character being the only person who can see through their act, which results in the film’s astonishing but terrifying final act, where everything comes to haunting conclusion, with the actors being just as integral to the tension as the filmmaking style, Hitchcock’s ability to balance the two being truly unprecedented and worthwhile in every conceivable way.

Rope is an incredible achievement, which seems like an almost inappropriately simplistic way to describe the director’s output, which is rarely anything less than astonishing, regardless of which genre in which he has chosen to work, or the particular narrative he is exploring at that specific moment. In all honesty, what Hitchcock achieved here is nothing short of incredible – the detailed approach to the filmmaking process, the incredible writing (with the collaboration of Cronyn and Laurents in adapting Hamilton’s play being a perfect storm of a pairing) and the astounding performances from a gifted cast converging to form this vivid and unforgettable portrayal of a murder gone wrong, but not in the way we’d normally expect, since it raises some intimidating but fascinating questions. It is often wickedly funny, especially in moments where it comments on the ridiculous nature of high-society rambling, which conceals a deep and unforgiving harshness that takes its time to manifest, but does so in such an unexpectedly brilliant way. In no uncertain terms, Rope is a minor masterpiece, yet another tremendously engaging addition to the director’s wonderful body of work, and a film that proves that a good story goes a long way, even when the gimmick is what audiences remember the most. Precise, comical and absolutely spellbinding, Rope is certainly a film to die for – once again, pun entirely intended.