Visual Companion to Kael’s Criticism of the Auteur Theory

“How much nonsense dare these men permit themselves?” (25) – Pauline Kael

Writing on the main characters of Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Claude Chabrol and Eric Rohmer state how Young Charlie and Uncle Charlie (YC and UC, respectively) are like twins, and then they cite François Truffaut arguing that the film “is based on the number two” (72). Similarly, Robin Wood writes that YC and UC are “the two sides of the same coin” (599) and argues that this point is the most obvious in the scene at the Til Two Bar. This confrontation between YC and UC is also the sequence I would like to talk about as it lays bare the layers of meaning and the subterfuge the narrative employs. However, before that, I feel it is necessary for us to take a little detour to the auteur theory to contextualize the relevance of this particular scene because I will interpret this sequence as a companion to Pauline Kael’s criticism of auteur theorists’ approach.

As he is one of the most discussed directors in film history, I find it hard to write something original about Hitchcock’s body of work. However, it becomes much more complicated once we invoke his name in relation to the auteur theory. Is it possible to talk about Shadow of a Doubt through auteur theory without making references to director’s earlier films, or to Hitchcock himself? Even though Peter Wollen writes “(…) the ‘auteur’ film (or structure) is not an archi-film at all in this sense [as a Platonic Idea]. It is an explanatory device which specifies partially how any individual film works” (468), he still ties that individual film to a body of work when he writes how Ford and Hawks “exhibit the same thematic preoccupations, the same recurring motifs and incidents, the same visual style and tempo” (457) throughout their individual filmographies. Similarly, Andrew Sarris also emphasizes the pattern with a rather interesting comparison: “An expert production crew could probably cover up for a chimpanzee in the director’s chair. How do you tell the genuine director from the quasichimpanzee? After a given number of films, a pattern is established” (453).

Then, it becomes a little challenging to analyze an individual film without connecting it to the director’s filmography if we are to use the auteur theory. Thus, the problem starts here, as Pauline Kael brilliantly identifies while discussing how certain directors are regarded as auteurs while others are not: “There is no rule or theory involved in any of this, just simple discrimination; we judge the man from his films and learn to predict a little about his next films, we don’t judge the films from the man” (23). Moreover, both Sarris and Wollen, who is writing 10 years after Sarris, emphasize the importance of the critic in applying auteur theory. That is, the critic finds the pattern going over the director’s filmography. In this sense, auteur theory is not only about “judging the film from the man,” as Kael implicitly puts it, it is also about centering the critic, in a way, as the meaning-maker.

Surely, interpretation and getting at a meaning is what a critic does. And I agree with Wollen in his statement that “to go to the cinema, to read books, or to listen to music is to be a partisan” (470), but I am confused about what kind of partisanship Wollen promotes. As Kael states in discussing Sarris’ phrase of “elan of a soul,” it seems this “partisanship” is more of “a cult of personality” (17) where the critic identifies with the cult which they create. The confrontation scene in Shadow of a Doubt, in this sense, is fitting when it is considered with Kael’s conclusion to her wonderfully acerbic “Circles and Squares:”

“Can we conclude that, in England and the United States, the auteur theory is an attempt by adult males to justify staying inside the small range of experience of their boyhood and adolescence -that period when masculinity looked so great and important but art was something talked about by poseurs and phonies and sensitive-feminine types? And is it perhaps also their way of making a comment on our civilization by the suggestion that trash is the true film art? I ask; I do not know.” (26)

Starting at 01:12:05 and running until 01:16:25, the confrontation sequence between YC and UC in the bar is the first time that there is an object separating them when they are the only characters in the same frame. It is also the first time they are positioned across each other after YC confirms her doubts about her uncle. As they confront one another, what they have been suspecting of the other -UC being the wanted criminal and YC knowing the truth about him- turn out to be true.

Beyond its textual importance, however, the scene is significant in the way that the camera identifies with UC: in the medium two shot, the camera follows UC’s movement and stays static when YC moves (notice the slight pan and tilt in the brief periods at 01:12:37 – 39 or 01:13:18 – 20 or 01:14:59 – 01:15:02). It could be argued that this is mostly because YC sits at the table almost motionless, showing her nervousness – so the frame is arranged following the UC’s body movement. However, in the 7-second period between 01:15:13 – 20, as YC stands up and makes a move to leave the bar (for a second the camera is shaky but does not follow YC’s movement), UC tells her to “sit down,” and after she complies with this “order,” the camera waits for UC to lean forward to fully get the YC in the frame.

Another way the camera identifies with UC is the perspectives. In the close up of YC at 01:13:57, we are seeing her right across, from the perspective of UC. The following close up of UC, however, is from an angle as if it is an over the shoulder shot. Similarly, the detail shot showing the napkin in UC’s hand (01:14:06), is not from the perspective YC looks at him but again from the same angle with UC’s close up.

This is the point this sequence is connected to Kael’s questions and the reason we took that detour at the beginning. “You think you know something, don’t you? You think you’re the clever little girl who knows something. There’s so much you don’t know. So much!” says UC to YC, undermining her disillusionment with him. “Do you know the world is a foul sty,” he continues suggesting that YC is just a naïve, weak person to react the way she did upon learning her uncle is a serial killer pursuing wealthy women – as if that is a common thing, who does not have such an uncle? Gendered nature of the “twin characters” is much more emphasized here as UC’s justification for his actions is from a very adolescent place: he does not make a philosophical case for every crime being social, he specifically argues that the world is corrupt and this justifies his crimes. Doing so, he disregards YC’s emotional response to discovering what her uncle was up to. Thus, as Kael comments on the auteur theorists’ obsession with virility as “assurance that he [director] is not trying to express himself in an art form, but treats movie-making as a professional job” (26), UC stays clear of expressing his anger and disappointment and prefers crime as a profession to get back at the world.

Louise Finch, on the other hand, brings another layer to the scene. As the former classmate of YC, she seems to be on the same “dark side” as UC, having seen “the real world” through her job. Whether it is because of her struggle for survival as any other worker, or for completely other reasons, she seems aloof and apathetic. Even when she seems interested in the jewellery, she does not show a sense of excitement. Here, we could refer to Wood’s argument for classical Hollywood cinema promoting capitalist ideology (593) by saying this is the case because of deep awareness of the fact that she will not possess anything such as that ring. Similarly, neither YC nor UC actually own that ring as it was probably stolen from one of UC’s victims. What is critical in this scene is the alignment between Louise Finch and UC in the way they look down on YC. Not only the way the scene is framed but also the way Finch makes an offhand remark about seeing YC in that bar – clearly stating that she does not belong to the “real world.” This is the point of subterfuge, as Finch’s alignment with UC makes it seem like as if the dynamic between UC and YC is not about the gendered nature of the characters.

This recalls another point of criticism Kael brings to Sarris over his praise of Walsh (as “one of the screen’s most virile directors employ[ing] an essentially feminine narrative device to dramatize the emotional vulnerability of his heroes” (454)): “it is amusing that a critic can both support these cliches of the male world and be so happy when they are violated” (13). Thus, Finch’s addition fits into this conflicted perspective of the auteur theorists. Whether one agrees with Kael or Sarris, this sequence accompanies Kael’s criticism nicely as the way the camera moves with UC makes him the dominant character in the scene and promotes his adolescent worldview.

 

Works Cited

Kael, Pauline. “Circles and Squares .” Film Quarterly (1963): 12-26.

Rohmer, Eric and Claude Chabrol. Hitchcock: The First Forty-Four Films. n.d.

Sarris, Andrew. “Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962.” Film Theory & Criticism. Ed. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. Oxford University Press, n.d. 451-454.

Wollen, Peter. “The Auteur Theory.” Film Theory & Criticism. Ed. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. Oxford University Press, n.d. 455-470.

Wood, Robin. “Ideology, Genre, Auteur.” Film Theory & Criticism. Ed. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. n.d. 592-601.