Long before he was undeniably the proverbial master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock was a journeyman filmmaker working in his native Britain, producing works that were more dramatic than they were suspenseful, and usually being more aligned with the field of melodrama than the genres that he would begin to master once he made his move into Hollywood. It is also an interesting experience to voyage to the very start of a filmmaker’s career, especially when they are one of the rare examples of a director whose work spans from the silent era to the very middle of the New Hollywood era, which is likely why Hitchcock has earned so much praise and adulation as arguable the finest filmmaker of his or any generation. One of his more intriguing early works is Downhill (alternatively titled When Boys Leave Home, which points towards the melodramatic origins of the film), in which he tells the story of two schoolboys, one the principled, intelligent son of the landed gentry, the other a less-fortunate but far more troublesome pupil constantly finding himself in some precarious situation, which comes to a head when the latter impregnates a young woman but has his friend take the blame, knowing that he can afford the expulsion and social rejection. What follows is a series of unfortunate events for our young protagonist, who finds his life spiralling downwards, proving that sometimes one should avoid becoming too reliant on interpersonal relationships. A striking and simple melodrama that Hitchcock infuses his signature wit and complex creative process into the production, Downhill is one of his more fascinating experiments, a dark and cynical examination of society, as seen through the eyes of someone who sees a small favour turned into a life-changing event, facing the consequences that come with helping someone who never intended to return the favour in any meaningful way.

During its early period, Hollywood struggled to realize that some films could exist purely for the sake of entertainment and that not everything required some deeper meaning or social commentary. However, it’s always fascinating to look at these films and ponder how they go about delivering certain ideas, they intend to offer both insights and emotional resonance to viewers, especially since going to the cinema was a much more rare event than it is today. Downhill is a message film that is filled to the brim with social commentary, with conversations around economic inequality, addiction, the perils of sexual relations before marriage and the importance of adhering to a strict code of conduct in everyday life being deeply reminiscent of a very specific kind of conservative values. This is what the original play on which this film was based aimed to achieve, but whether or not Hitchcock himself would be fully committed to these ideas is another matter entirely, especially since he was always a subversive filmmaker, often inserting peculiarities and abstract qualities into his films when we least expected it. Throughout Downhill, we watch as the main character endures every kind of hardship, with the perception being that there are few qualities more repulsive than someone having sexual relations before marriage, which can turn them into social pariahs and essentially derail their entire life – even for a film produced nearly a century ago, this conceit is deeply flawed and frankly absurd, and while he wasn’t in any position to go against the material he was hired to adapt, Hitchcock does add certain elements that are engaging and far more interesting than the relatively paltry storyline, which is decent as a piece of socially-charged commentary, but not particularly effective as an artistic work, which is where the director’s vision is most useful.

The elements that help elevate Downhill are the small directorial details brought to the production by Hitchcock, who is doing a lot of solid work, despite the limitations of the narrative. He was a profoundly creative filmmaker, and his process was always about seeing precisely how he could tell a story both visually and narratively without it distracting from the central issue or ideas that propel these stories. At its core, this film is very simple, but the director utilizes his experience working as a set dresser and production designer to make sure it looks a lot more compelling than it may have appeared in theory. This is a silent film, so Hitchcock, unfortunately, did not have the benefit of sound to help him and instead had to depend on a few intertitles to push the story forward, as well as the visual content of the film. Hence, we ultimately find ourselves being drawn into a narrative squarely focused on the exploits of a young man as he leaps between London and Paris, with every moment needing to look authentic, which it eventually does only throws the director’s stark commitment to bringing this material to life in a way that feels genuine but never too intensely detailed to the point where we lose sight of what specifically makes this such an intriguing narrative. The use of colour (or rather the lack thereof) is quite interesting – the film is primarily shot in sepia tone, which gives it a sense of melancholy and draws on the idea of looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses, but there are a few sequences in black-and-white and others in blue or green tones. This was likely the result of the restoration efforts, but as often is the case with cobbling together films from multiple different fragments, these shifts add an unintentional but still very welcome burst of complexity, at least visually, and we can even unpack how the different colour tones occupy different spaces in the character’s life. Combined with the distinctive set design, which is quintessential of the silent era, the film is stunning to look at, and the visuals tell the story with a lot more fervour and honesty than possibly through any spoken language, which is the major appeal of such an approach and the reason why silent cinema remains so influential.

As the adage so boldly proclaims, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and few films have been more adherent to this idea than Downhill, which is a film squarely focused on the fact that some favours are too perilous for us to even consider and that few people are ever worth facing the consequences that come with taking the blame. Ivor Novello (who both wrote the play and stars in the leading role) was someone with a strong sense of curiosity when it came to certain issues, and while this is not one of his more explicitly provocative works, it is still simmering with complexity, the kind that can only truly be appreciated in hindsight, especially since we now know a lot more about his creative process and personal life than we did at the time when he was producing these works. He and Hitchcock make quite a formidable pair, and while this is never going to be considered one of the director’s greatest works (and its status as his best silent film is still regularly debated), it is one of his more fascinating, especially considering what we know about the director in retrospect, particularly in his directorial ambitions. It’s a striking, earnest and deeply affecting film that carries itself with a lot of rigour and honesty, but also isn’t afraid to take some artistic risks for the sake of elevating straightforward material to be more resonant. It is a simple and evocative work that commands our attention and keeps us engaged with both its storytelling prowess and visual complexity, so much so that we almost feel like we are in a trance, transported to a different time and place, which is the kind of hypnotic charms that has allowed silent cinema to remain relevant and enthralling over a century later.