In her article, “Circles and Squares,” film critic Pauline Kael offers a biting rebuke of auteur theory as employed by Andrew Sarris. Kael’s central complaint about auteur theory is that it requires critics to devote themselves to an interpretation of film that is too formulaic and results in limited understanding of the work before them. Sarris believes that film directors are the true authors, or auteurs, of cinema and that understanding their contributions to the artform can only be ascertained after studying many samples of their work over a long period. Kael rejects this approach to film criticism by dissecting Sarris’ model of understanding directors and their art.
It may be easiest to start where Kael and Sarris agree. Kael and Sarris both believed—Pauline Kael passed away in 2001; Andrew Sarris in 2012—that directors were central to the success of a film and both critics seemed to genuinely love the cinema. These critics, particularly Kael, were also unreserved in voicing their disappointment when directors fell short of their expectations. So, it is not surprising that they approached their work with particular zeal.
Sarris’ describes auteur theory visually. He challenges his readers to think of concentric circles, each of which contains one of the theory’s key concepts. The first of these requires an evaluation of a director’s technical skills. It is here that the assessment of the filmmaker’s oeuvre can begin. Kael is most generous to this evaluative tactic because she believes technical competence is important. Her issue, though, lies in how it is applied in auteur theory. Because auteur theory requires a wholistic viewing of a director’s entire career, the methods of the first circle do not allow for the peaks and valleys of a director’s career. She does not believe skills are static or improve on an uninterrupted climb. Also noteworthy is the influence of studios. Because Sarris is writing in an American or English context, the studio system often pressed on a director in which issues of budget and schedule had the potential to cause breakdowns in the artistic integrity of directors, especially when the project they were working on may not have been one they were passionate about but had to complete because of contractual obligations. Directors, it must not be forgotten, were employees. In that context, it is understandable every film a director produced might not be appropriate to include in a decade’s long evaluation.
Auteur theory’s second theoretical principle revolves around the idea of personality. Artists certainly include aspects of their personality in their work, but it is also possible for artists to rebel against themselves. Sarris indicates that auteurs’ work should contain connective tissue. Camerawork, acting choices, and lighting can all be hallmarks of a director’s style and auteur theory posits that this style should be recognizable from one film to the next. Unsurprisingly, Kael rejects this notion. Her words are quite instructive, “…but that the distinguishability of personality should in itself be a criterion of value completely confuses normal judgement. The smell of a skunk is more distinguishable than the perfume of a rose; does that make it better?” To be fair to Sarris, he does admit that auteur theory is rather ill-defined. It may work better in a French or German cinematic world in which profit and studio preference do not influence art, or at least influence it to a lesser degree. Nevertheless, Kael’s point remains—an auteur cannot be deemed as such just because their work is easily recognizable.
The notion contained in the final circle, which Kael unmercifully thrashes, is that “interior meaning” is exposed because directors pit their personality against the material they have been given to film. This is, in Kael’s estimation, a recipe for disaster. Why on earth would a director fight the material they have been given? Why not just walk away? Kael believes that directors do their best work and produce the best films when the material and the personality of the director work in concert.
How, then, can we judge a film like Shadow of a Doubt and the career of Alfred Hitchcock? Using only one film we cannot assess Hitchcock’s greatness over a long career. In the case of Shadow of a Doubt, though, we might as well speculate as to which of Hitchcock’s techniques could define him using the template of auteur theory. We could also try to deduce what are some aspects of his personality by examining the choices he made when making Shadow of a Doubt.
The technical choices Hitchcock makes in Shadow of a Doubt serve his thematic preferences. One themes evident throughout Shadow of a Doubt is contrast. When both Charlies are introduced, they are lying in contemplative postures on their backs in bed. To set up a contrast there must be similarities and these mirrored settings do that. The contrast in the characters is set up in the arrangement of the shots and the mise-en-scéne of the scenes. When we meet uncle Charlie, although it is daytime, he is cast in shadow and there is a darkness to the setting. His conversation with the landlady reveals that he is concerned with stealth and self-preservation. Hitchcock frames this introduction with Charlie’s head to the right and his feet to the left. When we meet young Charlie, it is also daytime, but the lighting is much brighter. Her conversation reveals that she is concerned for her family and specifically her mother. Hitchcock’s use of contrast in these scenes conditions the spectator to believe certain things about the characters. The rest of the film is dedicated to either confirming these beliefs or casting them into doubt.
If the director’s personality is crucial to understanding their work through the lens of auteur theory, then signs of Hitchcock’s personality are revealed in Shadow of a Doubt. Although Hitchcock is known for suspense, this film includes playful moments. Young Charlie’s sister Ann is a mischievous child. When we first meet her, she is caught lying about being able to find a pencil to take down a message. Later, she exclaims that she never makes up anything because all of her information comes from her books, which are all true. She also plays the sidewalk hopping game, “Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.” In a relatively short distance, she breaks her mother’s back three times. Ann is not a representative of childhood innocence. Instead, she is a representation of youthful rebellion. But this is shown in playful and harmless ways. Is this an aspect of Hitchcock’s personality? Does he see himself as an innocent rebel? Are there other aspects of Hitchcock’s personality worthy of discussion?
Pauline Kael believes that auteur theory is too cute by half. It is an answer in search of a problem. Is she right? Does the practice of auteur theory work when analyzing the careers and films of classical Hollywood and the studio system? Is auteur theory too formulaic and does it limit the ability of critics to judge films on their own? Why does auteur theory elicit such strong feelings?