The opening credits sequence
overtly highlights the motifs in the piece.
A close up, first of a woman’s lips, panning up to her nose and to her
eye, the spiral of the iris effecting the direction of the gaze; almost like
you are penetrating into her very being.
It ends with Hitchcock’s name coming out of the eye, aiding the audience
in noting that this story comes from his gaze; his camera, and therefore, his point
of view. The gaze of each entity Mulvey
specifies come into play here: that of the spectator, the camera, and the male
protagonist. As spectators we encounter
the piece in a darkened room; one which separates the audience from one
another and the changing lights and shade on the screen promote the illusion of
voyeurism. From the spectator’s standpoint, we are “looking” in on a private
world – the world of “the other”, and are privileged to information that others
on screen are not.
From the camera’s gaze, we move
along with the protagonist. In Vertigo, it feels often that we are
walking alongside Scottie – peering at him peering at her. And we enjoy the pleasure of both looks. The camera creates a partnership between the
spectators and Scottie on his voyeuristic quest. As Madeline/Judy walks, our gaze – that of
the camera - follows. This creates a distinction
of “looking at” vs. “looking with.”
Shots often feel like we, as the audience, are snooping in on a moment,
we look in between pillars and behind trees.
Interestingly, however, we are privy to one vital piece of information
that Scottie is not, of the true identity of Judy and the faked death. In the only moment where the camera abandons
Scottie, which is perhaps also his most vulnerable moment, Judy writes the
letter revealing the plot, but she tears it up, not giving Scotty access to the
critical knowledge that affects his phobia, and therefore threatens his
masculinity.
Let’s talk for a moment about
Scottie and his masculinity, shall we?
Though he never seems to outright doubt his masculinity, the protagonist
is certainly verbally and emotionally castrated on a number of fronts. His developing vertigo initially weakens him,
an episode and injury that cause him to have to wear a corset – a symbol of
femininity that is further emphasized in the references to the bra and binding. But this feeling is exacerbated by Midge’s
almost oedipal desire to treat him like a son and lover. He
requests of her: “Don’t be so motherly,” but she is the one who catches
him when he falls off the ladder and cradles him. He admits that though he aspired to be the epitome
of masculine authority, the chief of police, instead he is to spend the rest of
his tenure “behind a desk, where [he] belongs.”
Later, after the “death” of Madeline, he is again assured by the
desexualized and bespectacled Midge who assures: “you’re not lost. Mother’s here”. The woman at the store (also wearing glasses
and can, therefore, not be a sexualized object) notes with a smirk that he is
quite familiar with women’s clothing and “the gentleman knows exactly what he
wants.” Further, Scottie is emasculated
by the words of the judge, who verbally strips him of power and responsibility
for the death, and by Gavin, who further drills in that he can’t possibly be
responsible because he couldn’t handle a few stairs and save his wife. His sentimentality and love are portrayed as
a weakness. And the only way to overcome
this castration is by objectifying the female and punishing her.
Scottie’s second chance at
life and at being a “man” only comes as he exerts his dominance. Mulvey observes that visual
techniques of the cinema allow two pleasures or wishes: the first is
Scopophilia, or pleasure in looking. She
observes that we enjoy making others the object of a controlling gaze and using
them as an object of sexual stimulation.
Her second observation is the process of identification or mirror stage,
wherein we derive pleasure from identifying with an ideal image on the screen,
which can become narcissistic in the cinematic world. (2087) The initial pleasure in looking is
experienced by all three “gazes” in the viewing of Vertigo. We first see Madeline
in bright green, contrasting the excessive red in the restaurant. She, more than any other, stands out and it
is her body we see move. She is seen through
reflections in mirrors and later in his red robe (after Scottie undressed her
and put her into his bed, of course). By
undressing her and redressing her in his clothing, both Scottie and Hitchcock
make her an object of erotic desire; the need to have the male envelope and
dominate the female. The gazes of the
camera and of the protagonist clearly focus on her body and the ultimate
pleasure found therein. Later, losing
her destroys his masculinity. After he breaks
the vow to be able to protect Madeline, he punishes Judy verbally by noting that
she is merely a shell for him to dress, that “it can’t matter to” her if she dyes
her hair or wears identical clothing.
Scottie and Gavin Estler both play
the role of puppet master, creating a lifelike doll out of Judy to make her
look exactly like their versions of Madeline – only acting the way they would
prefer. While Estler lays out the
initial gaze by having Scottie (and the audience) follow her every move, he uses
her as an object to get away with the murder of his wife. Scottie likewise, turns her into a walking
version of the woman he thought he lost.
Scottie’s interest in making her perfect becomes obsessive to the point
where Judy begs him to love her, vowing to forget about herself and make the
outer shell exactly what he wants her to be.
He obsesses over changing her appearance (after all, in Hitchcock’s
world, this is an untrustworthy woman who has fooled and emasculated him before)
and using her as a replacement fetish object.
So Judy becomes Madeline –she becomes a doll for him to dress up;
his ideal image. She relents: “if I let
you change me, will you love me? I’ll do
it. I don’t care anymore about me.” In effort to rid himself of the anxiety and
unpleasure that accompanies castration, he must demystify her. He gets rid of the very characteristics that
make Judy herself. Her brown hair and
brash, unfeminine personality must be refined and adjusted. He also becomes physically violent in his
effort to objectify her. Our gaze
through the camera tighten in on a close up in those shots. All three gazes invade her small personal
space until she is so surrounded, that the shadow of a nun (who interestingly
should be an ideal woman) scares her and causes her to fall to her actual
death. The question still remains
though, is she still a threat to him if she really is gone?
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