Torn Curtain may be one of Alfred Hitchcock’s most problematic and frustrating films. It is a film of moments, a few of them quite good, and perhaps the greatest moment is the Gromek murder sequence. Here is Hitchcock to set the scene:
In doing that long killing scene, my first thought again was to avoid the cliche. In every picture somebody gets killed and it goes very quickly. They are stabbed or shot, and the killer never even stops to look and see whether the victim is really dead or not. And I though it was time to show that it was very difficult, very painful, and it takes a very long time to kill a man.
This sequence runs around 8 minutes and 8 seconds in length, and is made up of 138 pieces of film, which averages out to an editorial cut every 3.5 seconds. I have seen this sequence many times, and thought I knew it very well, but it was only upon studying it frame by frame that I realized how much Hitchcock relies on quick cutting and montage here. This sequence is similar in that regard to the shower scene in Psychoand the attic attack in The Birds, although this sequence runs much longer.
Gromek (Wolfgang Kieling) enters the small house, looking very happy that he has caught Professor Armstrong (Paul Newman), who is looking for another way out.
There is some standard back and forth cutting here, as Gromek begins to question Armstrong. Then Armstrong and the woman (Carolyn Conwell) move to the center of the room, with the supporting beam between them.
There is some more back and forth cutting, then Gromek calls Armstrong to the door. Gromek shows him the pi symbol drawn in the dirt. Hitchcock does something very interesting with the cutting here. As Gromek is interrogating Armstrong, trying to provoke him, he reaches out his hand and pokes at Armstrong’s midriff. This is shown in a couple of very fast (< 1 second) insert shots, almost like blows.
Gromek closes the door, and Armstrong moves back to the center of the room. As Gromek moves to the phone to call in and report there is more back and forth cutting here, with the shots averaging 3 seconds or so. After Gromek dials the phone, a pot of soup is hurled at his head, landing just above the phone. Hitchcock here inserts an extremely fast, almost subliminal close up of the the pot passing Gromek’s head. I had to slow the image down to 1/8 speed to be sure it was an editorial cut and not a zoom. It is a seamlessly inserted cut on movement, which then returns to the medium shot of the pots contents all over the phone and the wall.
Then Hitchcock gives us this interesting image, the only such image in the sequence. Why does he pull back like this, besides the fact that the composition of the shot is beautiful, almost like a painting? I think it is to show us the lay of the land, before the confrontation begins in earnest.
Gromek goes for his gun, which flies across the room as Armstrong grapples for it. The woman grabs it. Unfortunately she cannot use it, because the taxi driver outside the window would certainly hear. Armstrong has Gromek in a chokehold, which we observe from a high angle.
Hitchcock employs his subjective point of view, as he often did, by giving us shots from the woman’s POV. She observes the taxi driver out the window, then searches for a quiet weapon. She sees the knife in the kitchen drawer.
Then Hitchcock places the camera in front of her, and slowly tracks as she crosses the room, holding the knife out.
There is more cutting back and forth here between the woman and the struggling men. She is hesitant, not wanting to injure Armstrong. Gromek continues to talk (“She’s gonna cut your fingers off”).
Finally she stabs Gromek. Just at the instant of the blade landing, it snaps off. And here Hitchcock inserts another one of those very fast, almost subliminal close ups before returning to the medium shot.
Gromek continues to stuggle with the tip of the blade embedded in his neck. Now Hitchcock returns to the subjective point of view as the woman looks around for another weapon. She sees the shovel, and grabs it.
The next series of shots are done in montage, about 8 shots in less than 10 seconds. First a close up of the shovel hitting Gromek’s knee, then a close up of his face in pain. This repeats four times. Until Gromek finally slumps to the floor.
Gromek just won’t quit. He smiles as he begins to rise. Once again the woman scans the room, and her eyes stop on the oven. We get a close up of her hands turning on the gas jets, then she and Armstrong begin to grapple with Gromek.
Then comes a fascinating sequence of shots, mostly from Gromek’s point of view. As the other two are sliding Gromek across the floor towards the stove, we get a close-up of Armstrong’s face, then Gromek’s head on the ground, then a close-up of the woman, and finally a shot of the open oven. This same four-shot sequence repeats two more times, with the oven getting closer each time it repeats. We see a total of 12 shots in 28 seconds.
We next get a one-second shot of Gromek’s head going in the oven. Then we cut to an overhead shot of Gromek in the oven. After all the rapid cutting, Hitchcock holds this shot for 41 seconds without a cut. We see Gromek’s hands flailing, then finally falling limply to his side, indicating his death.
The final cut of the sequence begins with a close up of the gas jets being turned off. But Hitchcock does not cut away from this. Instead he keeps one continuous take, as the two survivors move away from the stove, recovering from their ordeal. This shot is the longest in the sequence, at around 50 seconds. Why does Hitchcock end with this long take? It allows both the characters and the audience to catch their breath.
As in many of Hitchcock’s signature scenes, he employed all three of his favorite camera techniques here: montage, the long take, and the subjective point of view. The sequence was carefully storyboarded before shooting, and when you break it down, you can see how each individual piece of film is integral to the story that Hitchcock is telling.
TORN CURTAIN (1966) – Universal Pictures – Rating: ★★ 1/2
Color – 128 mins. – 1.85:1 aspect ratio
Principal cast: Paul Newman (Professor Michael Armstrong), Julie Andrews (Sarah Sherman), Lila Kedrova (Countess Kuchinska), Hansjorg Felmy (Heinrich Gerhard), Tamara Toumanova (Ballerina), Wolfgang Kieling (Hermann Gromek), Ludwig Donath (Professor Gustav Lindt), Mort Mills (Farmer/Pi).
Directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock
Written by Brian Moore
Cinematographer: John F. Warren
Editor: Bud Hoffman
Original Music: John Addison
Torn Curtain begins with one Alfred Hitchcock’s favorite techniques: a brief montage of images, with no dialogue, that perfectly sets the scene. Hitchcock used this type of wordless opening montage in numerous films, including Sabotage, Dial M For Murder, and Rear Window. So three minutes into the movie, we know we are on a ship that is hosting an assembly of scientists; we know the ship is freezing cold; and we know a certain pair are missing from breakfast, because they are in bed together. And these of course are the stars, Professor Michael Armstrong (Paul Newman), and his assistant and fiancee Sarah Sherman (Julie Andrews). This set-up is quite good; Hitchcock is on familiar ground. Unfortunately, the movie soon begins to labor under the weight of its own plot.
Of the film’s structure, Hitchcock said “…the first third of the film is more or less from a woman’s point of view…”, meaning that the audience is seeing things as Julie Andrews’ character sees them. After a solid set-up, we learn that Michael is keeping something from Sarah. Michael receives a mysterious telegram on the ship. Later, in Copenhagen, he receives a book that contains a coded message. He then tells Sarah that he must leave Copenhagen that night, alone. He is terse, uncommunicative, and dismissive. Later Sarah learns that he has a plane ticket to East Berlin, to which she utters the almost laughingly trite line “East Berlin…but that’s behind the Iron Curtain.” Oh, brother! Screenwriter Keith Waterhouse later called this “an immortally bad line” and despite his and his partner’s pleading “…Hitchcock steadfastly refused to modify the line, not even to the extent of getting rid of the superfluous ‘but’ and its hesitant dash.”
She buys a ticket on the same plane, without Michael knowing about it, and follows him to East Berlin, where he announces his intentions to defect to the communist bloc and share his knowledge of American rocketry. It is abundantly clear to the audience at this point that Newman’s character can’t be a real defector. I’m not sure which is more implausible: that his fiancee and confidante would not be able to see this, or that he would keep such a secret from the most important person in his life, especially now that she is in jeopardy. This lapse in logic causes this portion of the film to suffer. Fortunately though, the middle third of the movie may be the most solid. It shifts to Paul Newman’s point of view.
First, the couple has a discussion in an East Berlin hotel room. This is shot from a distance, all in one take; the staging is rather like that of a play, and makes the viewer feel like an interloper in the characters’ private lives. It is gorgeously shot, as described by Hitchcock:
“There was one very effective sequence in the film that I purposely played entirely in long shot. It took place in that East Berlin hotel room where we had the evening sun shining in – just a faint yellow shaft of warm sunlight; the rest was that awful heavy brown, a mood effect. That sequence represents very close coordination between the visual conceptions of the production designer and the cameraman. The lighting, and the color of the light, work in relationship to the somber tones of the room.”
Professor Armstrong has been assigned a security detail named Gromek, played by the German actor Wolfgang Kieling. Gromek is the most interesting character in the movie; he makes the most of every moment he is on screen. Armstrong wants to give Gromek the slip; he leaves his hotel with the German agent in pursuit. Armstrong goes to an art museum, where we see a silent chase through vast rooms displaying works of art, the only sound the clopping of shoes on the tiled floor. These scenes were filmed by shooting the actors walking, while most of the walls and works of art were added in later as a matte painting done by the masterful Albert Whitlock. These shots hold up very well today; overall the sequence is quite good.
Armstrong exits out a side door and takes a taxi to a farm in the countryside, where he meets with an American agent (played by Mort Mills) nicknamed Pi. Unfortunately, he was followed by Gromek, and is trapped in the small farmhouse with Gromek and the wife of the agent. Here follows the best sequence in the movie. Now Gromek knows that Armstrong is a double agent, so Gromek must be killed. But it must be done quietly, because the taxi driver is outside the window. Hitchcock describes the sequence:
“In doing that long killing scene, my first thought again was to avoid the cliche. In every picture somebody gets killed and it goes very quickly. They are stabbed or shot, and the killer never even stops to look and see whether the victim is really dead or not. And I thought it was time to show that it was very difficult, very painful, and it takes a long time to kill a man.”
After Gromek is killed, Armstrong knows is time is limited. The final third of the film focuses on Armstrong meeing with a German scientist in Leipzig to pry some information from him; then on his and Sarah’s attempt to escape East Germany and get to Sweden and safety. This last section of the film is inconsistent. While the first third of the film was marred by implausible plot points, it is technical details that help to weaken the final third. There is a scene in which Armstrong finally tells Sarah that he is not really defecting, that he is a double agent working for America. This scene is shot on a hilltop, and we don’t hear the dialogue. Hitchcock used this effective technique in a few movies; when the audience already has the knowledge that the character doesn’t, he lets the expository dialogue play out of earshot; we more or less know what is being said. Unfortunately, this otherwise well-constructed sequence is marred by set design. It is painfully obvious that this “hillside” was shot on a soundstage. Had he chosen to shoot this scene at an exterior location, it would have been one of the most powerful, moving scenes in the movie. Julie Andrews is quite good here. For most of his career Hitchcock was the master of special effects and trick shots; he was an innovator even in the silent film days. How could he let a shot like this stand? Did the artificiality not bother him? It tends to take the audience out of the film.
After this the couple are secreted away on a bus to meet a contact in East Berlin. The bus is a fake city bus, running just moments ahead of the real bus, and the passengers all Germans with anti-communist sentiment, risking their lives. This sequence should have been one of the highlights of the movie; it is certainly written and structured in a way designed to build tension over several minutes. Unfortunately, the tension is lessened again for a technical reason. The bus is so obviously on a soundstage, with screens outside the windows projecting images of passing countryside and vehicles. Hitchcock explains: “I’m not happy with the technical quality of the transparencies for that scene. For economy reasons I had the background plates shot by German cameramen, but we should have sent an American crew over.”
Again, how did Hitchcock let this slip by? Shouldn’t he have looked at the footage sooner, while there was time to shoot replacement film? The clearly artificial quality of these shots deflates the tension from what would have been a great sequence.
Later the couple meet a bizarre lady who calls herself Countess Kuchinska (played by Lila Kedrova, who had recently won an Oscar for her role in Zorba the Greek). Hitchcock really enjoyed working with Kedrova, and the sequence is somewhat effective but longer than it needed to be. Eventually our couple are sent to a ballet, from which they will be secreted out of the country on a ship bound for Sweden. They find themselves trapped in a crowded room, another favorite Hitchcock motif used in several movies, from The 39 Steps to Saboteurto North by Northwest. They just manage to evade capture and make it to Sweden. We leave them as we found them, snuggled under a blanket.
Performance: Paul Newman and Julie Andrews are both solid in their own way, but lack a strong screen chemistry. At times they seem to be characters visiting one another from different movies. Early in production, Newman sent Alfred Hitchcock a three-page memo outlining some ideas and concerns he had about the script. This was really off-putting to Hitchcock, who never replied to the memo, and had a very reserved relationship with the actor. Many of the supporting characters, most of them European actors, were quite good, adding some needed life and vibrancy to the movie.
A lost scene (Gromek’s brother): Alfred Hitchcock shot a sequence for the movie which would have occured shortly after the killing of Gromek. Professor Armstrong stops at a German canteen and meets a man who looks a lot like the man he just killed. This man is Gromek’s brother, and the part is played by Wolfgang Kieling, the same actor who played Gromek. He asks Armstrong to deliver some sausage to his brother, which he proceeds to cut with a knife very like the one that Gromek was stabbed with. This scene, rife with Hitchcock’s typical dark humor, sounds fantastic. Hitchcock said of it: “It’s quite effective. In fact, very good. I dropped it from the final film because the film was too long…the actor who played Gromek was very good. I had him completely transformed for the brother’s role.” Once again, Hitchcock’s judgment went awry; he cut a scene which by his own admission was “very good” because the film was “too long”? Why not cut a sequence that was not “very good”? The Countess Kuchinska sequence definitely could have been trimmed.
Farewell, Bernard Herrmann: Hitchcock began this movie having lost two of his most important collaborators, editor George Tomasini and cinematographer Bob Burks. He would lose another one during post production. Bernard Herrmann, who had composed the film score for seven Hitchcock movies, was hired to score this film as well. Hitchcock told Herrmann he wanted something different, explaining in a telegram “This audience is very different from the one to which we used to cater it is young vigorous and demanding.” It seems to me that Hitchcock should have heeded his own advice; nonetheless, Herrmann promised to deliver the type of score that Hitchcock was asking for. But when it came time to hear it, Hitchcock didn’t like it at all. Herrmann stormed off; he later claimed he quit, while Hitchcock claimed he was fired. Whatever the reason, one of the greatest parternships between film composer and director was ended; they would never speak again.
Recurring players: Because Hitchcock recruited many European actors for this movie, he did not employ many people that he had previously worked with. William Yetter, Sr. had also been an extra in Foreign Correspondent. And Mort Mills, who plays the agent named Pi, had earlier appeared in Psychoas the highway patrolman who follows Marion Crane early in the movie.
Where’s Hitch? Alfred Hitchcock wrote a memo detailing his cameo for this movie: “I should be seen sitting in an armchair in the lounge with a nine month old baby on my knee and I’m looking around rather impatiently for the mother to come back. This impatience could be underscored by shifting the baby from one knee to the other, and then with the free hand, surreptitiously wiping the thigh.” This is exactly how the cameo was shot, and begins at about the 8:18 mark, early in the movie.
The resolution: Alfred Hitchcock began shooting this film with a screenplay that was not up to his usual standards. Everybody recognized this (Paul Newman later said “We all knew we had a loser on our hands”), but they soldiered on. Despite the flaws in the screenplay, the film could have been better than it is. Hitchcock could have recognized and corrected some of the technical faults in the picture. He could have trimmed a couple of overlong sequences, and left intact a scene that by his own admission was “very good.” How could Hitchcock be so right in some instances, and so very wrong in others? It would make more sense if the whole film was a disaster; it most certainly is not. This film is ultimately a mix of a few very good moments, and many forgettable ones. Losing so many important collaborators had to impact him; he was reeling from numerous losses. The film made a meager profit, but not enough to label it a success, especially considering the director and the two stars. The reviews were harsh; some suggested that Hitchcock had lost his touch. Unfortunately for Hitch, things would get worse before they got better.
Definitive edition: Universal’s 2012 blu-ray is the best looking and sounding version of this movie available. John Warren’s cinematography looks quite good. The blu-ray contains a 32 minute documentary called “Torn Curtain Rising”, which is rather poor. Unlike most of the other documentaries on the Universal Hitchcock movies, this one features no interviews with cast or crew members. I have heard Julie Andrews discuss this movie many times, as recently as last year; surely she would have participated if asked? Instead we get some bland narrator taking us through the film and offering an apologist’s view of its faults and strengths. Also included are 14 minutes of Bernard Herrmann’s musical cues, which he wrote before leaving the project to be replaced by John Addison. Again, Universal dropped the ball here. Herrmann scored much more of the movie than 14 minutes. Why not include all of his cues, which I personally feel are better suited to the material than Addison’s. Also included are production photographs and the theatrical trailer.
The three-act structure is a basic tenet of screenwriting. Most films generally follow the template: setup, confrontation, and resolution. Torn Curtainis a movie where the three acts are clearly delineated through a shifting narrative focus. As Hitchcock himself said “…the picture is clearly divided into three sections. The story worked out very naturally in that way…”
So our examination of this problematic Hitchcock movie will attempt to follow the same structure. This blog entry will be the setup: how did this movie come to be? It will also introduce the confrontation: what went wrong in preproduction. A second entry will continue with the confrontation and onto the resolution, with a focus on the film itself and its aftermath.
After the release of Marniein July of 1964, Alfred Hitchcock took some time choosing his next project. For the majority of his directing career, Hitchcock had worked on multiple projects at one time; while completing the filming of one movie he would already be involved in the writing of his next movie, and was often looking beyond that. Those days were over. Hitchcock, now sixty-five years old, was increasingly conscious of his health. He also seemed unsure of his next step. Several months passed, during which time Hitch screened some movies at home, read some books, but seemed no closer to choosing a prospective film. Two of the films he had screened and enjoyed were The Manchurian Candidate and Seven Days in May, and he actually talked to Richard Condon (the author of The Manchurian Candidate) and Rod Serling (who penned the screenplay for Seven Days in May). Whether Hitchcock hoped to work with these writers, or just wished to share his admiration is unknown, but nothing came of the discussions. One of the books Hitchcock read during this period was John Buchan’s The Three Hostages, one of Buchan’s sequels to The 39 Steps. Several times since the success of Hitchcock’s film version of The 39 Stepshe had planned to film one of Buchan’s sequels, but it never happened.
Then suddenly, in November, he tried to start three different projects, almost simultaneously. This sudden creative burst could be interpreted in a couple of ways. In the first place, it is clear that he was firing on all cylinders, creatively speaking. But it also appears that the master of suspense was casting about, not sure which direction to proceed. The younger Hitchcock of the 1940’s and 50’s never vacillated to this degree.
One of Hitch’s three ideas was for a movie that could function as a sort of prequel to Shadow of a Doubt, detailing the exploits of a man who murders several wealthy widows. He brought in Robert Bloch, the author of the novel Psycho, and asked him to write a novel that Hitch could then turn into a movie. Bloch was intrigued, but the project was short lived, in part because of monetary disputes, also because Hitchcock simply felt no rapport with Bloch.
Hitchcock’s next idea involved a family of crooks that run a hotel as a cover for their criminal activities. This was a premise that Hitchcock had first thought of decades before.
His third idea involved an American spy. Hitchcock envisaged a movie as far removed from James Bond as possible; he felt that the new spy movies were outlandish, and also borrowed a little too freely from his own North by Northwest. He thought it was time to make a very realistic, down-to-earth story about a spy who defects to the Communist bloc.
Hitchcock jettisoned the first idea after the talks with Robert Bloch went nowhere, and proceeded with the other two ideas simultaneously. He actually approached famed writer Vladimir Nabokov about writing a treatment for these two ideas. Apparently they met in person, and had phone conversations as well. The specifics of these talks are unknown, but their correspondence by letter has survived. On November 19, 1964, Hitchcock wrote to Nabokov at his residence in Switzerland, sharing his two ideas for movies:
“Now the first idea I have been thinking about for some time is based upon a question that I do not think I have seen dealt with in motion picture or, as far as I know, in literature. It is the problem of the woman who is associated, either by marriage or engagement, to a defector…the type of story I’m looking for is an emotional, psychological one, expressed in terms of action and movement…”
Hitchcock then outlined his second idea:
“I wondered what would happen if a young girl, having spent her life in a convent in Switzerland due to the fact that she had no home to go to and only had a widowed father, was suddenly released from college at the end of her term. She would be returned to her father, who would be the general manager of a large international hotel. The [father’s] family are a gang of crooks, using the hotel as a base of operations. Now into this setting comes our 19-year-old girl.”
Nabokov responded in a letter dated November 28, 1964. He said in part:
“I find both your ideas very interesting. The first would present many difficulties for me because I do not know enough about American security matters and methods…Your second idea is quite acceptable to me.” It’s interesting that Nabokov rejected the first idea, which would become Torn Curtain, in favor of the second.
Before Hitchcock received Nabokov’s reply, however, he was faced with a personal and professional tragedy. On the 22nd of November, George Tomasini, who had edited Hitchcock’s last nine movies, died suddenly of a heart attack while on a camping trip. Tomasini, an avid outdoorsman, was only 55 years old, and in apparent good health. Tomasini was a very important part of Hitchcock’s team, one of the most important collaborators of his entire career, and someone whose company he enjoyed. As Tomasini’s wife, actress Mary Brian explained many years after his death “Mr. Hitchcock wanted George to go with him on every location…because he liked his company, aside from any input that George could give him. Mr. Hitchcock always gave George first cut. He wanted to see his interpretation. Then they got down to the fine work.”
This was the first of many losses and setbacks that Hitchcock would face during the preparation and filming of Torn Curtain. In my next blog entry, we’ll take a look at how all of this loss impacted the final product.
By the end of the year, Hitchcock was in a bit of disarray. His creative spark had been briefly muted. After losing George Tomasini, he also lost Nabokov, who had backed out of both projects by Christmas. But in the first week of the new year Hitchcock forged ahead on both projects. He hired the Italian screenwriting duo of Age and Scarpelli to write the hotel story, tentatively titled “RRRR”. This project would eventually be scrapped, because, as Hitchcock rather bluntly stated “…Italians are very slipshod in matters of story construction. They just ramble on.”
Hitchcock brought novelist Brian Moore to Hollywood, to try and entice him into writing Torn Curtain. Moore had no interest in writing a screenplay, but was convinced by his lawyer to accept, because the money offered was too good to pass up. After Tomasini’s death, this was the second indication that Hitchcock was in trouble. Reluctant screenwriters do not make great movies. But Hitchcock forged ahead.
In the matter of casting, Universal wanted him to use Paul Newman and Julie Andrews. Hitchcock admired Newman’s early work, and thought he would do well. He pushed back a little on Andrews, but the studio, and Hitchcock’s agent, said she was “great box-office.” Hitchcock agreed to both actors well before the first draft of the screenplay was ready. Their combined salaries (around $1.5 million) was more than the rest of the film’s budget. And this for a screenplay that had yet to be completed.
Brian Moore’s initial draft was submitted in April of 1965. Hitchcock cajoled him into writing a second and third draft, with additional rewrites, all done by the first week of August. Hitchcock asked Moore to do an additional “polish” on the screenplay. By this time, Moore was exhausted, and frustrated with the screenwriting process. He dropped out of the project, preferring to return to his novels. Further, he told Hitchcock that the screenplay needed a complete rewrite, not just a polish. At this point, Hitchcock’s production schedule was already locked in. Julie Andrews was only available for a limited window in the fall, so he had to proceed. So Hitchcock hired the British writing team of Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall, who stayed on during production, often rewriting scenes only hours before they were shot.
Now Hitchcock would suffer another devastating loss. Julie Andrews was scheduled to shoot some test footage at Universal in September of 1965, with Hitchcock and cinematographer Robert Burks. The following is a production memo from Hitchcock’s assistant Peggy Roberts:
Friday September 17, Bob Burks “was terribly sick with nerves…and could not shoot the tests with Julie Andrews.”
“On Saturday Sep. 18, in the morning [Burks] called Mr. Hitchcock and it was decided that it would be too risky for him to do the film.”
Bob Burks had been the cinematographer on twelve Alfred Hitchcock movies, dating back to 1951’s Strangers on a Train. He was arguably the most important technical collaborator in Hitchcock’s entire career. And now he would be unable to shoot Torn Curtain, due to “nerves”. Apparently the last decade and a half of nearly non-stop filmmaking had caught up with him. Hitchcock was disappointed, but certainly did not express any ill will towards his long-time friend. Hitchcock merely hoped that after taking a breather, they could work together again on future Hitchcock movies. Unfortunately, they would never have that opportunity, because Burks and his wife would die in a house fire in 1968.
What had happened to Alfred Hitchcock? The man who had always been so sure of himself; the man who had worked with almost complete autonomy in the waning days of the studio system; the man who, as recently as 1959, could stand up to the studio heads at MGM and refuse to cut a scene from North by Northwest? Three years earlier, he could do no wrong. Now nothing seemed to be going right.
So, the setup: Alfred Hitchcock can’t decide on a topic for his movie. He develops several ideas simultaneously, hoping to find one that sticks. And he proceeds with the last idea standing.
The beginning of the confrontation: He had leading actors he wasn’t altogether pleased with; a screenplay that was not ready to be shot; a shooting schedule that was locked in; and was missing two vital members of his collaborative team in Tomasini and Burks.
This is where we leave Hitchcock as he steps before the cameras on October 18, 1965 to begin principle photography on Torn Curtain. To be continued…