While he was only officially crowned as the Master of Suspense midway through his career, one of Alfred Hitchcock’s most effective thrillers was made relatively early in his career. Suspicion (based on the novel Before the Fact by Anthony Berkeley Cox), which the director crafted alongside a writing team consisting of Samson Raphaelson, Joan Harrison and his own personal and professional partner, Alma Reville, is a fascinating psychological thriller that came at a critical moment in the esteemed filmmaker’s career, being his follow-up to the immensely successful Rebecca, which officially gave Hitchcock a significant amount of credibility as an auteur, rather than simply someone who was hired to direct films in which he had very little artistic input outside of expanding on the producer’s demands. Obviously, this is a reductive way of looking at his work, and it could discredit some of his earlier masterpieces that have an enormous cultural cache all of their own – but it was only in the early 1940s when he seemed to be establishing himself as a distinct authorial voice beyond that of the studio-mandated fare that he was contractually obligated to work on (such as Mr and Mrs Smith, a decent but inconsequential film released concurrently to this one), and Suspicion is one of his most compelling films, a masterful work of pure suspense, filtered through a couple of different genres that would become the foundation for several more of the director’s greatest works. Telling the story of a newly-married couple that starts to see their idyllic romance shattered as a result of a steady stream of paranoia, the film is a precise and biting exercise in pure domestic unease, and one of the more off-kilter films Hitchcock ever produced, being one of the earliest examples of his distinct style, and a tremendous entry into what was already a well-populated and diverse career.

Suspicion is fascinating for a number of reasons, but one of its most significant areas of interest is how this is a film that exists at the perfect intersection between psychological thriller and romance. It may seem like these two genres have blended together very well in the past, but in most instances, we think of films that have a foundation in one, and then employ significant elements of the other, rather than balancing them almost equally, which is exactly what Hitchcock was doing with this story. This is an example of the suspense being informed by the romance, as well as the inverse, where the growing relationship between the two main characters contributes to the feeling of paranoia, especially as the psychological layers are gradually peeled away. Suspicion is a tremendous subversion of the fairytale romance that dominated the culture for decades, looking at how even the most seemingly perfect marriages can fall apart eventually, especially in cases where one of the partners reveals themselves to be somewhat different than they had presented in the past, which is the essence of this story, and the reason it manages to be so extraordinarily suspenseful. The film paints a vivid portrait of the rapid rise and fall of this marriage, which starts with a chance encounter, and ends with a near-death experience, with everything in between being the basis for this enthralling exploration of the life and times of this couple, who make the hasty decision to get married long before they actually know each other to the extent that was perhaps necessary – and who else could convincingly tell such a story and make it not only believable but actively enthralling at the same time, than Hitchcock? His control of genre and ability to work with a range of different tones without impeding the impact of the film as a whole was one of his greatest strengths, even relatively early in his career, when he was still developing the style we would come to associate with his body of work.

Hitchcock managed to assemble quite an impressive roster of regular collaborators, and there were many instances where he formed strong working relationships with a range of brilliant actors, who were often challenged to do work that was against what they were usually known to do, and as a result, turn in some exceptional performances. Suspicion is the first of four collaborations between Hitchcock and the iconic Cary Grant, each one of their four films together being a career peaks for both of them. Suspicion is a very different kind of story in terms of the character Grant is playing – this is one of the rare instances where he plays a villainous character, and he is coded with a degree of malice we often didn’t see from him in his more well-known roles. It’s not a radical departure in terms of the kind of performance he is giving – Hitchcock successfully uses Grant’s debonair persona in creating this vaguely sinister character that is a far cry from the principled, dedicated men he was used to playing. Even when it is revealed that he is not the agent of chaos we (and the protagonist) suspect, he is playing someone who is essentially a sycophantic cadger who does whatever possible to take advantage of those with even an iota of wealth. This came right at the time when Grant was on an upward trajectory, and while most of his work sees him playing more valiant characters, this darker change of pace is very much welcome, since it showcases the kind of versatility major stars at the time were not always allowed to demonstrate. Joan Fontaine reunites with Hitchcock after their well-received collaboration on Rebecca, and while she isn’t playing a character quite as layered as the one she had played before, she still manages to tap into the more psychological side of the role, finding the nuance in a role that could have very easily have been just an unremarkable reactionary (since Grant undeniably has the more interesting role). Both leads are exceptional and manage to find the perfect balance between the psychological aspects and the romance, which is integral to the film as a whole, and one of the reasons it is such a resounding success.

The key to a great psychological thriller is simplicity – we’ve seen so many imitators of Hitchcock’s style fail because there is a perception that, to be compelling, there needs to be an endless stream of high-concept ideas, whereas in reality, the more straightforward a premise, the more effective the film is going to be, especially when confronted with some of these themes. Hitchcock may have relished being able to keep viewers guessing, but he was never one to resort to unnecessarily elongated narratives for the sake of keeping us on the edge of our seats. He and his team of writers take the original novel draw out the underlying themes alongside the narrative details, and create a vivid but straightforward narrative in which all the answers are given to us when they are necessary, and we are never at a loss in terms of trying to understand the various directions in which the film intends to develop. Suspicion moves at a steady pace, never meandering and getting to the point with the right amount of suspense and humour, which are surprisingly cohesive, especially for a film that relies on the audience not having too much more information than the main character. We see the world through the eyes of Fontaine’s protagonist, which allows us firm insights into her rapidly declining psychological state, and gives us the chance to see these events transpire alongside her, rather than just being passive observers. We’re drawn into this world, and we find the characters being so much more captivating when filtered through a more intimate, complex perspective that emphasizes the smaller details, rather than bombarding the viewer with too much information, which is a recurring flaw in many similarly-themed films, which often pale in comparison to Hitchcock’s immense work here.

Suspicion is one of the first instances where Hitchcock’s style feels fully realised – it wasn’t the first time he had made use of his distinct penchant for suspense, or his ability to inspire the purest thrills in the viewer, but it is an early example of his auteur vision existing in its purest, most compelling form. It is often ignored when discussing his greatest works, but like some of his other underrated gems from this era (such as Saboteur and Spellbound), it is a film that takes us by surprise and keeps us invested in the story. It runs at a mere 100 minutes, emphasizing the director’s unique ability to make a very time-economic thriller that doesn’t draw out the story for the sake of filling up time, and it contains a few terrific performances, particularly from Grant, who is at his peak playing this malignant character in what is easily one of his most surprisingly complex performances, and proof that a change of pace and be revelatory for even the most iconic actors. More than anything else, Suspicion is a film that playfully utilizes all of our senses, placing us in the position of a companion to the protagonist as she voyages through what she soon discovers is a marriage built on lies and deception, and from which escape seems to be almost impossible, at least in terms of the connection she shares with this entrancing man with whom she foolishly fell in love. It is a tightly-made, compelling psychological thriller that looks at a doomed romance, and its merciless execution, impeccable wit and relentless sense of curiosity are all fundamental reasons behind this being one of Hitchcock’s most captivating works, and a film that is as surprisingly tense and suspenseful today as it was several decades ago.