Strangers on a TrainGuilt is the sensation that you're doing something you shouldn't...something taboo and forbidden, something wrong. The funny thing is that guilt isn't even necessarily related to wrongdoing or sin; it can come from being convinced that you have done wrong, or knowing others believe you have. Conversely, for those who are devoid of scruples or a moral compass, the absence of guilt means that sociopaths--like Bruno Anthony (Robert Walker)--can manipulate guilt without restraint, ignorant of the harm they do. After meeting tennis star Guy Haines (Farley Granger) on a train one day, the lives of these two very different men are inexorably bound at this moral crossroads.
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Strangers on a Train is a psychological thriller with a significant pedigree. Directed by the "Master of Suspense", Alfred Hitchcock, the film is adapted from the novel of the same name by Patricia Highsmith, and the screenplay co-written by Raymond Chandler. Actor Farley Granger also previously co-starred in Hitchcock's Rope, where he played a deviant killer; however, his role is far different in Strangers on a Train--he isn't a killer here, but suffers the same kind of guilt all the same by his unintended involvement. The premise of Strangers on a Train is so simple, it's elegant--not unlike Bruno's fateful proposition. Two men unacquainted with one another meet on a train. The more bold one (Bruno) strikes up a conversation with the other (Guy), who is too polite to immediately disengage, and before long, they're discussing personal information--or rather Guy is forced to listen to Bruno go on and on. Gossip and small talk gives way to some off-color conversations, talk of murder which superficially seems to be a hypothetical scenario, but one which Bruno takes as deadly serious. Bruno is ingratiating, verbose, and even flamboyant; it's no small stretch to see that Bruno is attracted to Guy--he all but says so--but his draw likely has as much to do with a pathological need for acceptance, and the draw of Guy's seemingly "normal" life. Bruno's troubles are petty ones--like his irrational and ambiguous hatred for his father--whereas Guy has very real problems with his presumed divorce to his unfaithful and manipulative wife, Miriam (Laura Elliott), something he now desires so that he can move on with his life and wed his far kinder lover, Anne Morton (Ruth Roman). But because Guy happens to be pretty good at tennis--and Anne happens to be the daughter to Senator Morton (Leo G. Carroll)--his life is more public than most. When Bruno ascertains that he can use Guy's friction-laden marriage as leverage for blackmail, there is no conscience stopping him from setting things into motion.
One of the great things about Strangers on a Train is the speed with which it establishes its premise. Just as it is with Guy, before you know it, you're deep into the plot, with Miriam's murder at the fairgrounds by Bruno keeping the film primed with tension for virtually its entirety. And once Bruno has established the idea about "swapping murders" with Guy, even if it seems so absurd that Guy wants to believe it's just a joke, the very idea Bruno postulates--even his presence--is like a kind of moral poison, one which haunts Guy even as he goes to confront Miriam in Metcalf. Even as a train soars by while he is on the phone with Anne, he shouts that he's so angry that he wishes he could "strangle" his wife. When she turns up murdered in that same fashion, it becomes clear that this poison has now infected Anne, who can't help but suspect Guy, with trust taking a backseat. What's interesting is that while Guy is an exceptionally gifted player of the game of tennis, when it comes to the game of deception and murder, Bruno has him beat on all fronts, a natural at this deadly game of cat and mouse. By informing Guy immediately after he murders Miriam, Bruno cleverly takes away Guy's ability to be genuinely surprised when he hears about the event later, supposedly for the first time. Though subtle, the effect is clear in the reactions of those who know Guy and know that he's hiding something, even if they can't politely draw attention to it. This results in a subconscious suspicion of Guy as being implicated in the murder--or even the murderer himself--because Guy appears ever so slightly guilty. As a result, Guy is coached by his friends and loved ones on how to avoid "acting suspicious"; why else would they be concerned in this way unless they somehow thought there was the possibility he did it? The irony here is that Guy didn't do it--even if he had hoped for it as Bruno insinuates--but he is forced to feel guilty, in large part because he feels responsible and must lie to those whom he cares for in an effort to protect them. But is Guy really protecting them or is it that deep down, even he can't fully trust them with the truth?
What Guy's encounter with Bruno also represents is a kind of rude awakening from his naive, charmed life. He's hurt that his wife has been unfaithful, but it's clear that in Anne--and the promise of a political career after his easy-going lifestyle as a tennis star--that things have been pretty sweet for Guy. That's not to imply that Guy is lazy or even ungrateful, but that Guy is--like most of us--unprepared to handle a kind of sociopath like Bruno, or even what his wife has become. In many ways, Miriam is as manipulative and viperous as Bruno, refusing to give Guy the divorce she originally wanted out of spite for his happiness with Anne and the prospect of more money to leech from her cuckold husband. So when Bruno manages to worm his way into social gatherings to get closer to Guy and make him squirm in turn, Guy is constantly on the defensive, forced to make up some excuse or pretending not to know Bruno. Guy runs from the dreaded motivations of Bruno; even his own attempts to assuage his anxiety and understand his situation are sometimes superficial, points refuted bluntly by Anne's younger sister, Barbara (Patricia Hitchcock), who's frankness and fascination with murder stories resembles Bruno's to an extent. Barbara also happens to resemble Miriam, although Anne's sister is a far more benevolent side of the proverbial coin. Bruno deftly maneuvers Guy into seeing the world from his perspective, or more accurately, trying to prevent him from seeing a way out of his predicament and manipulating him to kill his father. Guy is outmatched in this volleying back and forth of wits and subterfuge; he isn't dumb, but Bruno's been practicing all his life for a match like this. Guy's also a man whose used to having things under his control. Take the climactic tennis match where Guy desperately tries to win as fast as possible so he can beat Bruno back to Metcalf to prevent him from planting his signature lighter at the scene of the crime. If Guy had been thinking about that endgame like a cunning and devious strategist, he wouldn't have allowed himself to either get baited by his opponent into playing against form, but also would have more likely thrown the match to get out of there more expediently. Instead, he makes the situation more difficult, like struggling in quicksand. For most of Strangers on a Train, it is Bruno who gets to pick the battleground and the rules, and the film boasts some striking set pieces, including the final shocker of the runaway merry-go-round, which included some very real, non-staged and potentially lethal stunts. But the most iconic of shots in the film, the one which most clearly identifies just what kind of deviant personality Bruno is, happens when the sly blackmailer and killer comes to Guy's tennis practice; as every other head in the bleachers bobs back and forth watching the match, Bruno's immobile gaze is cast solidly on his quarry with an alien stillness, devoid of humanity.
Recommended for: Fans of a cunning and tense suspense film, and source of one of the most deceptively simple of murder plots--one so famously regarded, it's premise served to inspire many other films, like Throw Momma from the Train. Strangers on a Train would be Robert Walker's final film, but his portrayal of the insidious villain Bruno is chilling and unforgettable.
One of the great things about Strangers on a Train is the speed with which it establishes its premise. Just as it is with Guy, before you know it, you're deep into the plot, with Miriam's murder at the fairgrounds by Bruno keeping the film primed with tension for virtually its entirety. And once Bruno has established the idea about "swapping murders" with Guy, even if it seems so absurd that Guy wants to believe it's just a joke, the very idea Bruno postulates--even his presence--is like a kind of moral poison, one which haunts Guy even as he goes to confront Miriam in Metcalf. Even as a train soars by while he is on the phone with Anne, he shouts that he's so angry that he wishes he could "strangle" his wife. When she turns up murdered in that same fashion, it becomes clear that this poison has now infected Anne, who can't help but suspect Guy, with trust taking a backseat. What's interesting is that while Guy is an exceptionally gifted player of the game of tennis, when it comes to the game of deception and murder, Bruno has him beat on all fronts, a natural at this deadly game of cat and mouse. By informing Guy immediately after he murders Miriam, Bruno cleverly takes away Guy's ability to be genuinely surprised when he hears about the event later, supposedly for the first time. Though subtle, the effect is clear in the reactions of those who know Guy and know that he's hiding something, even if they can't politely draw attention to it. This results in a subconscious suspicion of Guy as being implicated in the murder--or even the murderer himself--because Guy appears ever so slightly guilty. As a result, Guy is coached by his friends and loved ones on how to avoid "acting suspicious"; why else would they be concerned in this way unless they somehow thought there was the possibility he did it? The irony here is that Guy didn't do it--even if he had hoped for it as Bruno insinuates--but he is forced to feel guilty, in large part because he feels responsible and must lie to those whom he cares for in an effort to protect them. But is Guy really protecting them or is it that deep down, even he can't fully trust them with the truth?
What Guy's encounter with Bruno also represents is a kind of rude awakening from his naive, charmed life. He's hurt that his wife has been unfaithful, but it's clear that in Anne--and the promise of a political career after his easy-going lifestyle as a tennis star--that things have been pretty sweet for Guy. That's not to imply that Guy is lazy or even ungrateful, but that Guy is--like most of us--unprepared to handle a kind of sociopath like Bruno, or even what his wife has become. In many ways, Miriam is as manipulative and viperous as Bruno, refusing to give Guy the divorce she originally wanted out of spite for his happiness with Anne and the prospect of more money to leech from her cuckold husband. So when Bruno manages to worm his way into social gatherings to get closer to Guy and make him squirm in turn, Guy is constantly on the defensive, forced to make up some excuse or pretending not to know Bruno. Guy runs from the dreaded motivations of Bruno; even his own attempts to assuage his anxiety and understand his situation are sometimes superficial, points refuted bluntly by Anne's younger sister, Barbara (Patricia Hitchcock), who's frankness and fascination with murder stories resembles Bruno's to an extent. Barbara also happens to resemble Miriam, although Anne's sister is a far more benevolent side of the proverbial coin. Bruno deftly maneuvers Guy into seeing the world from his perspective, or more accurately, trying to prevent him from seeing a way out of his predicament and manipulating him to kill his father. Guy is outmatched in this volleying back and forth of wits and subterfuge; he isn't dumb, but Bruno's been practicing all his life for a match like this. Guy's also a man whose used to having things under his control. Take the climactic tennis match where Guy desperately tries to win as fast as possible so he can beat Bruno back to Metcalf to prevent him from planting his signature lighter at the scene of the crime. If Guy had been thinking about that endgame like a cunning and devious strategist, he wouldn't have allowed himself to either get baited by his opponent into playing against form, but also would have more likely thrown the match to get out of there more expediently. Instead, he makes the situation more difficult, like struggling in quicksand. For most of Strangers on a Train, it is Bruno who gets to pick the battleground and the rules, and the film boasts some striking set pieces, including the final shocker of the runaway merry-go-round, which included some very real, non-staged and potentially lethal stunts. But the most iconic of shots in the film, the one which most clearly identifies just what kind of deviant personality Bruno is, happens when the sly blackmailer and killer comes to Guy's tennis practice; as every other head in the bleachers bobs back and forth watching the match, Bruno's immobile gaze is cast solidly on his quarry with an alien stillness, devoid of humanity.
Recommended for: Fans of a cunning and tense suspense film, and source of one of the most deceptively simple of murder plots--one so famously regarded, it's premise served to inspire many other films, like Throw Momma from the Train. Strangers on a Train would be Robert Walker's final film, but his portrayal of the insidious villain Bruno is chilling and unforgettable.