The Lodger: A Story of the London FogIn the early days of cinema, the rules were still being written. These originally came about from established techniques carried over from the stage and literature, and with time became its own language. One of cinema's most beloved creators was Alfred Hitchcock, "The Master of Suspense". Hitchcock's directorial debut was The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog--or The Lodger for short--and it establishes many of the tropes and stylistic elements that would be found in all of his future films.
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The plot of The Lodger is reminiscent of other classics of the era (like Fritz Lang's M) in style and plot, borrowing extensively from German Expressionism. (It may very well be the case that The Lodger inspired M, not to mention Paul Leni's The Man Who Laughs, both of which came after.) There is a serial killer of young blonde women called "The Avenger"--owing to the killer leaving a calling card behind with this name in a triangle motif--prowling the streets of London. The killer apparently kills on Tuesdays (because, why not?) and typically targets victims who walk alone through these dark, fog-ridden streets and alleys. Meanwhile, a young dancer and fashion model named Daisy Bunting (June Tripp) lives a carefree life at home with her parents. She often flirts with a police detective named Joe (Malcolm Keen) who frequents Daisy's home, enticing the officer through a combination of coyness and joie de vivre. One foggy evening, a mysterious man--credited as Jonathan Drew (Ivor Novello)--arrives with his scarf draped over his mouth, in the same fashion that one of the witnesses claimed The Avenger did. He is aloof and exhibits odd behaviors, like hiding away his only small piece of luggage in a drawer, paying for the room to rent a month in advance--indifferent of the cost--and pleading that the oddly erotic portraits of lovely blonde women in his apartment be removed. Of course, audiences are being conditioned to conclude that Jonathan is, in fact, The Avenger, a delightful trick which Hitchcock would employ again and again in films like Shadow of a Doubt. Even with the lodger's off-putting skittishness and unfamiliar mannerisms, Daisy finds herself attracted to him, despite her flirtations with Joe...a fact that Joe doesn't appreciate. This lays the foundation for a love triangle to come between a representative of "law" and someone suspected of "crime", à la Notorious. And arguably the most important act of legerdemain Hitchcock performs here is the way that he makes the audience complicit in concluding Jonathan's guilt based exclusively on circumstantial evidence, the basis of his "man wrongfully accused" motif, found almost everywhere from North by Northwest to Spellbound, and gleefully subverted in Psycho. It doesn't help Jonathan's case with the audience that he appears to be obsessed with blondes himself, perhaps the most infamous of Hitchcock's "fetishes" (read: stylistic flourishes), found at its strongest in Vertigo. Ultimately, The Lodger is best viewed as a "sketch" of the master's future films yet to come by way of the seeds of his signature style planted here.
Despite the serious nature of The Lodger, there is a healthy degree of whimsy at times, intended or otherwise. For instance, Daisy's mother (Marie Ault) seems to be overly nosy into Jonathan's business, even going so far as to go into his room when he is out and go through his things. This presumably comes from the mania sweeping London about The Avenger's killings, and so she starts to get it into her head that her lodger might be the killer, since he leaves late at night without a word. (Heaven forbid he try not to wake up his landlady who should be sleeping!) Even the way that her bedroom at night is lit speaks to her suspicions, like the bold shadow of the window frame on her wall, making the room feel more menacing than a bedroom should. She must also have preternatural hearing, since unless her floorboards are the creakiest ever, one wonders how she would have heard him leaving in the first place. (I suppose that's one of the inherent flaws of the silent movie medium, since I'm supposing that's what gave him away.) Her husband (Arthur Chesney) is an odd duck, maybe just because he seems overly lackadaisical compared to his wife. He hangs about reading his paper and smokes his pipe while she scrubs and scrubs at the fireplace, letting her imagination (and ours) about Jonathan run wild. When he falls off of a stepladder, Daisy bizarrely comes to laugh at him rather than helping him up. (I guess a slipped disk must have been hilarious in mid-1920s England.) In fact, Daisy seems overly predisposed to laughing at just about everything, like she has a kind of mania to her as well. But I guess if women who shared her particular follicular qualities were being bumped off every Tuesday night, that might make her a little unhinged, I suppose. And then there's the odd "love triangle" between Jonathan, Joe, and Daisy. Daisy seems to relish leading both men on, sporting fancy flapper dresses and teasing both men with false coyness. She plays a game of chess with Jonathan that is erotically charged, even if it is--interestingly enough--also peppered with moments that suggest violence. This mild degree of sadomasochism is also explored by way of Joe using his handcuffs on Daisy while flirting with her, thrusting her into a submissive position. Perhaps it is just the manner of speech at the time as well, but there are occasional implications that Joe is himself a bit too fixated on Jonathan despite (or because of) his jealousy. This undertone is downplayed for the film, but it is nevertheless casually present all the same. Joe represents the secure and reliable alpha male, while Jonathan is introverted, isolated, cultured, and withdrawn; and Daisy appears to want both. She is aware that she is beautiful and that her beauty has afforded her lucrative work as a dancer and model. But despite her ebullience, there isn't much more to her. And then there's the awkward detail revealed near the end about who she resembles that makes one wonder about Jonathan's own fetishes. It's said that the "happy ending" of The Lodger was imposed on Hitchcock's film, and that he intended for ambiguity to reign instead. This is evident in the way that there is practically no clarity about the whys or wherefores of The Avenger, or any motivations for these killings. What would have remained without this ending could have been a mystery without an answer, something almost identical to the "Jack the Ripper" killings decades prior, which clearly inspired The Lodger. Something that would forever be unknown and lost to that ephemeral London fog.
Recommended for: Fans of Alfred Hitchcock, obviously, but also fans of silent movies and psychological thrillers. The Lodger may lack the technical expertise and confidence of Hitch's cinematic classics yet to come, but as a novelty and a view into the formation of this iconic auteur of the silver screen, it is illuminating.
Despite the serious nature of The Lodger, there is a healthy degree of whimsy at times, intended or otherwise. For instance, Daisy's mother (Marie Ault) seems to be overly nosy into Jonathan's business, even going so far as to go into his room when he is out and go through his things. This presumably comes from the mania sweeping London about The Avenger's killings, and so she starts to get it into her head that her lodger might be the killer, since he leaves late at night without a word. (Heaven forbid he try not to wake up his landlady who should be sleeping!) Even the way that her bedroom at night is lit speaks to her suspicions, like the bold shadow of the window frame on her wall, making the room feel more menacing than a bedroom should. She must also have preternatural hearing, since unless her floorboards are the creakiest ever, one wonders how she would have heard him leaving in the first place. (I suppose that's one of the inherent flaws of the silent movie medium, since I'm supposing that's what gave him away.) Her husband (Arthur Chesney) is an odd duck, maybe just because he seems overly lackadaisical compared to his wife. He hangs about reading his paper and smokes his pipe while she scrubs and scrubs at the fireplace, letting her imagination (and ours) about Jonathan run wild. When he falls off of a stepladder, Daisy bizarrely comes to laugh at him rather than helping him up. (I guess a slipped disk must have been hilarious in mid-1920s England.) In fact, Daisy seems overly predisposed to laughing at just about everything, like she has a kind of mania to her as well. But I guess if women who shared her particular follicular qualities were being bumped off every Tuesday night, that might make her a little unhinged, I suppose. And then there's the odd "love triangle" between Jonathan, Joe, and Daisy. Daisy seems to relish leading both men on, sporting fancy flapper dresses and teasing both men with false coyness. She plays a game of chess with Jonathan that is erotically charged, even if it is--interestingly enough--also peppered with moments that suggest violence. This mild degree of sadomasochism is also explored by way of Joe using his handcuffs on Daisy while flirting with her, thrusting her into a submissive position. Perhaps it is just the manner of speech at the time as well, but there are occasional implications that Joe is himself a bit too fixated on Jonathan despite (or because of) his jealousy. This undertone is downplayed for the film, but it is nevertheless casually present all the same. Joe represents the secure and reliable alpha male, while Jonathan is introverted, isolated, cultured, and withdrawn; and Daisy appears to want both. She is aware that she is beautiful and that her beauty has afforded her lucrative work as a dancer and model. But despite her ebullience, there isn't much more to her. And then there's the awkward detail revealed near the end about who she resembles that makes one wonder about Jonathan's own fetishes. It's said that the "happy ending" of The Lodger was imposed on Hitchcock's film, and that he intended for ambiguity to reign instead. This is evident in the way that there is practically no clarity about the whys or wherefores of The Avenger, or any motivations for these killings. What would have remained without this ending could have been a mystery without an answer, something almost identical to the "Jack the Ripper" killings decades prior, which clearly inspired The Lodger. Something that would forever be unknown and lost to that ephemeral London fog.
Recommended for: Fans of Alfred Hitchcock, obviously, but also fans of silent movies and psychological thrillers. The Lodger may lack the technical expertise and confidence of Hitch's cinematic classics yet to come, but as a novelty and a view into the formation of this iconic auteur of the silver screen, it is illuminating.