100 Movies Every Catholic Should See #118: Rope (1948)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

By Stephen Hyland

While the “master of suspense” will always be Hitchcock’s most recognizable badge of honor, his focus on crafting tension through predominantly visual methods meant that he was always playing and experimenting with form, looking for innovative ways to advance the medium while entertaining and exciting audiences in every frame. Because of his adherence to the idea of “absolute cinema”, the title “master of suspense”, while accurate, is possibly reductionist when describing such a bold formalist who used suspense stories to show audiences techniques they’d never seen before, pushing the limits of what movies could do. For this reason, “master of cinema” is a more complete title to describe Hitchcock and his prolific career. Perhaps no film more accurately captures this obsession with formal innovation than Rope, a brisk 80-minute chamber thriller that utilizes long takes to create the feeling of watching a murder aftermath take place in real-time. A gimmick in 1948 and a gimmick today, modern audiences will quickly notice the camera tricks and may even dismiss such cinematic audacity as quaint compared to today’s more provocative standards, but the use of tracking shots in modern blockbusters owe a great debt to experimental works like this, not just because of the formal techniques achieved, but because of Hitchcock’s mesmerizing ability to use the gimmick in service of plot, character and ever-increasing suspense, drawing the audience in with the promise of unparalleled showmanship, but letting the craft elevate the story instead of centering the film on the gimmick alone.

An obsession with voyeurism has always permeated the stories Hitchcock was drawn to, and in the case of Rope, the unbroken takes force the audience into the role of voyeurs; witnesses to a crime that begs the question, “why do we like to watch crimes on the movie screen?” Does it give us a feeling of getting away with something? His subsequent and more popular films like Rear Window and Vertigo also put the audience into the role of watchets, but with Rope, an immersion takes place that first forces audiences to reckon with the uncomfortable relatability they feel towards the perpetrators. As the illusion of cinema begins to break down the longer the tracking shots go on, audiences feel an increasing tension as they, like the characters, experience rising discomfort at what has happened and at the fear of being discovered, yet the camera refuses to cut away.

The story centers on two snobby university students Brandon and Phillip (John Dall and Farley Granger) who, in an effort to prove their intellectual superiority over “lesser” human beings, decide to kill fellow classmate David in their apartment. Listening to their equally snobby professor Rupert Cadell (the ever reliable James Stewart) prattle on for too long about Nietzsche's Übermensch, they take his theory of superiority too seriously and abandon the morality of the “common man” to experience freedom from basic social norms. If that weren’t wicked enough, Brandon, the more malicious of the two, decides to host a dinner party with the body still hidden in the apartment, inviting David’s family, fiancé, and even professor Cadell to sit in the living room and enjoy drinks while the body remains hidden, in an effort to prove to themselves that the murder is “a work of art.” In the first thirty minutes, the movie doesn’t break away from the murderers’ point of view, throwing the audience headlong into monologues that attempt to justify murder, even letting the audience empathize with Philip’s growing fear of getting caught.

Why did Hitchcock choose to begin his film from the perspective of the killers? Was this just a way to give audiences unchecked sensationalism? Fortunately, as the dinner party progresses, this proves to hardly be the case. While much of the suspense hinges on the ever-present threat of a guest discovering the body, this is an intellectually suspenseful film as much as it is visually suspenseful. The camera moves through the apartment to overhear various conversations about human nature and the idea of perceived intellectual superiority infringing upon basic human rights. Over the course of the evening, as Brandon covertly gloats about his deeds and Philip’s conscience begins to haunt him, the perspective shifts to James Stewart’s professor character, as he begins to suspect foul play when David doesn’t show up. In one of the few instances where a hard camera cut occurs, Brandon tells a story of Philip strangling chickens, which a nervous Philip grows defensive about and angrily denies ever strangling chickens in his life. Instantly, the camera cuts to Jimmy Stewart’s suspicious gaze, shifting the audience’s perspective to the observer for the first time, giving a sense of relief from the perspective of the criminal. It’s here that Hitchcock’s storytelling intentions become clear, and that professor Cadell, now the protagonist of the story, is the character who will undergo a moral reckoning for his intellectual voyeurism. Having spent his academic career pondering the notion of the Superman and the theory that murder can be justified when done by a “superior being”, the evening becomes a confrontation with the consequences of exploring philosophical theory with no moral foundation. When the entire film’s structure is taken into account, this editing moment is key for understanding the tracking gimmick’s purpose. Up until this pivotal cut, the long-take experience can be compared to sitting in professor Cadell’s classroom, freely exploring the idea of treating human beings as cattle, only for the frightened conscience to shake the professor from his fantasy, causing him to sit up and ask, “what has exploring this theory done to humanity?”

Unlike the central killers, the film reveals its foundational belief in the sanctity of life, something even the apathetic professor Cadell can’t escape from. Across Hitchcock’s entire filmography lies this essential belief in human dignity and the horrors of rejecting this truth. This care for his characters’ souls always ensured his suspense refrained from pure sensationalism, often becoming a filmic examination of conscience in the process. Educated by Jesuits and considered a lifelong Catholic, Hitchcock braved the darkness in his films but always with the foundation of Catholicism to anchor his suspense stories in truth. And while he took great joy in rattling the audience with movie magic tricks, he understood these tricks were better used in service of stories that provoke thought as much as they provoke fear. Though voyeuristic by nature, the pleasures of Rope are found in the intersection of breathtaking cinematic craft, storytelling excellence, and moral integrity, letting audiences delight in the thrill of the criminal chase, but not without a profound reflection on what they just witnessed.