It’s always a worthwhile endeavour to explore the early careers of the greatest filmmakers of their generation since looking at their origins can yield fascinating results, even if their early work is not particularly reflective of what they did at their peak. In the case of Alfred Hitchcock, he always seemed destined to be one of the great visual and narrative filmmakers, someone whose control of all aspects of the filmmaking process was evident from the start – his visual aesthetic was likely drawn from both his work as a set decorator before becoming a director as well as the fact that he started working during the silent era. At the same time, his storytelling prowess comes from his deeply personal admiration for the art of examining different sides of society, likely drawn from his fondness for penny dreadfuls and another form of serialised pulp fiction. By the time he made The Lady Vanishes, Hitchcock had already been working for about a decade, and had several films under his belt, meaning that this was not some radical introduction to some major new talent, but rather the most recent in a steady body of work by someone who achieved a considerable amount of acclaim in his native Great Britain, but had yet to fully break out, at least in terms of being consolidated as one of the great filmmakers working at the time. This all changed when audiences saw this film, a fascinating and wickedly funny dark comedy about a group of passengers travelling through Western Europe, among them a pernickety young socialite and a mischievous musicologist who find themselves plunged into a bizarre mystery when one of their fellow passengers disappears without a trace, leading to an in-depth investigation that brings out some uncomfortable truths about the world beyond these snow-capped mountains. The Lady Vanishes is a terrific early offering from Hitchcock and the film that finally secured him a place in Hollywood, as it wasn’t long before he was working in America, well on his way to becoming the cinematic icon that defined generations of filmmakers.

Those entering into The Lady Vanishes should be aware that, despite being an excellent film all in its own right, this is not the perfect convergence of every characteristic we have come to expect from Hitchcock. He may have directed two dozen films by this point, but he was still actively developing as a filmmaker, and it seemed that with every project, he became more ambitious in terms of both style and substance. This was one of the first notable films that he made, in terms of it being noted as remarkable right from the start, so it makes sense that he was trying many new techniques with this narrative, especially in how the story develops and becomes more complex as it progresses. Witnessing the earliest origins of some of the director’s most iconic traits is a wonderful opportunity, especially because he would be the first to admit that his work was very much driven by a sense of testing new ideas and seeing which ones worked immediately, and which needed to be subjected to further development, which would gradually recur throughout his entire career (which is precisely why, even at his most self-assured, Hitchcock was never complacent, nor did he care to rest on his laurels, even when he was given resounding praise as a true master of his craft), many of those ideas being embedded in The Lady Vanishes. This is one of the early instances of a truly psychological film – in fact, the entire premise is based around the idea of someone questioning their own sanity through the process of being convinced that what they thought to be true was just false information, placed there to confuse and bewilder, when in reality it is part of a broader plot. At this point, Hitchcock had yet to officially earn the title of the Master of Suspense, but he certainly was doing the work to acquire that title, since few moments in the latter portions of this film aren’t shrouded in a sensation of secrecy and mystery, driven simultaneously by a sense of tension and dark humour. Everything that Hitchcock represented as a filmmaker could be found somewhere in The Lady Vanishes, which is a very simple but deeply affecting thriller that understands, without any hesitation, the importance of a story being told well.

One of the more intriguing aspects of The Lady Vanishes is the cast – Hitchcock had established himself enough to warrant an ensemble that could match both his talent and vision, and while it isn’t the star-filled cast that we might have expected from him in later years, it’s still a very strong group. Margaret Lockwood and Michael Redgrave, two of the most brilliant actors working in Britain at the time, lead the film, playing these amateur investigators with a lot of gusto. These are not particularly interesting characters on their own, but they certainly are worthy of our attention based on the work being done by the two leads, who are both magnificent and exceptionally well-cast in these roles. Lockwood plays the frazzled protagonist in a way that shows her confusion without making her overly ditzy, while Redgrave is the wisecracking musicologist who starts as her adversary, but soon turns out to be the only person who believes her and works closely with her to solve this mystery. They are exceptional across from each other and turn in some very strong performances that help anchor the film. However, it is the supporting cast that is doing the most interesting work – Dame May Whitty is a delight as the titular lady, who seemingly disappears into the ether. Considering she is on screen for a very short amount of time, but whose lack of presence is the foundation on which the entire film is built, she makes a profound impression based on very limited time on screen. A classically trained actor who knew the value of every moment in a performance, Whitty reminds us of those veterans who could appear for only a few minutes and leave the most profound impression. Paul Lukas, Cecil Parker and Mary Clare (amongst nearly a dozen other actors) populate the supporting cast and add heart and humour to this film, which depends as much on the impact of the actors as it does the narrative.

It is not a surprise that it was The Lady Vanishes that officially consolidated Hitchcock as one of his generation’s most important artistic voices, as well as being his ticket to Hollywood, both literally and metaphorically. If we look beyond the more experimental approach to some of these ideas, we find a film that is invigorating and honest in how it delivers some of its more peculiar ideas, a psychological thriller that makes every viewer feel smart, giving us the feeling that we can solve the mystery alongside these characters, rather than just passively observing them. I have always admired the lack of condescension in Hitchcock’s films – he tells very smart stories, but they are never pretentious or impenetrable, which is primarily a result of his disdain for those who believe themselves to be the most intelligent person in the room. This is accessible, theatrical cinema that feels like it is bursting with life, each moment pieced together from a broader set of ideas, which Hitchcock carefully curates to create a vibrant and unforgettable psychological thriller. We can see many of his most famous techniques having their debut here, and in terms of both the story and its realization, The Lady Vanishes is extremely captivating. This is a psychological thriller that plays on our innermost fears, inciting in us a sense of despair and horror that is difficult to overcome, but once we can get through this dense, atmospheric series of moments, we find the resolution truly enticing and satisfying. This is a very strong film from Hitchcock, who is doing great work with this material, so much that he even overcomes the challenges set by the source text (with the film being loosely based on the novel The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White, although it improves on nearly all of its ideas, as well as changing the title to the more simple but far more evocative The Lady Vanishes), and whose visual skillfulness is an absolute marvel, even in the more intimate and restricted setting of this film.

It is almost a bittersweet experience to discuss The Lady Vanishes since I have actively been exploring Hitchcock’s career in depth over the past years, working my way backwards in the hopes of watching everything he directed. This is not the final time we will discuss his work, since (as mentioned previously) there are still roughly two dozen films scattered across the silent and early sound era that he helmed before this, meaning that the journey is far from over. However, this doesn’t distract from the feeling of wonder at seeing the roots of one of the greatest filmmakers to ever work in the medium, with every aspect of The Lady Vanishes seemingly indicating that he was well on his way to establishing himself as a brilliant director in his own right. It takes a lot of talent to have a film that is set almost entirely on a train, and still make it engaging and entertaining, so much so that we don’t yearn to explore the broader world since everything happening in this small space is truly extraordinary. A captivating and well-constructed psychological thriller that has as much humour as it does pure terror, The Lady Vanishes is an extraordinary achievement, and all the proof we need in terms of understanding the aspects that compel Hitchcock as an artist. It is well-crafted, and often very funny in ways that we don’t always expect, and with an excellent cast at the helm, and a lot of meaningful commentary embedded deep within the fabric of the film, this is a truly extraordinary work of psychologically charged cinema, and a tremendous early effort from one of the greatest directors of his generation, and perhaps the very best to ever work in the medium.