THE 39 STEPS (1935) *** You have to love Alfred Hitchcock, if only for cutting off the protagonist's head in the opening shot. Not literally of course (if you want that, see Dario Argento), but from the shot, either because it isn't relevant, because it confuses us, some other reason, or all of the above. In fact the film is a textbook representation of how to confuse the audience, largely by confusing the characters involved. I mean, if they can't figure out what's going on in their own film, how the hell are we supposed to? The awkward and abrupt plot plays to Hitchcock's strengths, obviously, all of which is smoothed over by the inflappable Robert Donat. Suave, debonair, not to mention confident, why should such a man as he fear anything from mere espionage tramp trash? Why, indeed, even after he realizes that the police won't help him. Somehow Hitch even works in a romance line with Madeleine Carroll, which not only actually works, but even somehow accentuates the action. The key, I think, is neither of the admirable lovers, but the brilliant if abbreviated linchpin performance of Hilda Trevelyan. She's fantastic, and she rings very true. Single-handedly turns it into a romance for everyone involved (including the viewer), because that's where she lives. Along the way, in five minutes or less, Hitchcock cajoles everything that could possibly be wrong with Scotland out of the union of Peggy Ashcroft and John Laurie, and then rights it all by assuring us that it couldn't possibly manner, with spectacular and apparently random shots of the moor. Looking back on it, there's plenty of reason to be confused, but when Hitchcock bookends the final scene (think back to the appearances of the opener, and to the realities of where evil dwells, then factor in opportunity and magnitude) into a plot connivance that's more jerk than twist...following the lead of the director, everything is not explained. Because it need not be.
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