While watching Rear Window, I was constantly distracted by Jefferies’ handling of the wooden backscratcher—plainly, it felt annoying to watch. It is perhaps most prevalent during his second conversation with Tom Doyle, in which the detective details his preliminary investigation into the Thorwalds’ affairs. Specifically, Jefferies fiddles with this backscratcher as he laments the fact that he was asleep for the alleged last sighting of Mrs. Thorwald (56:46). He continues to tap the stick against his cast, gesturing wildly with it as he implores Doyle to grill the superintendent further and to treat the case with gravity. It was more than a nervous tic or a distracted moment—this little wooden stick becomes a sort of conductor’s baton, directing Doyle to key facts of the case that he is overlooking. The tool doesn’t leave Jefferies’ hand even once during the scene, closing out with the man leaning as far as he can with the backscratcher and still failing to reach his big toe.
At the risk of sounding corny, Jefferies is literally itching to solve the case of Mrs. Thorwald’s disappearance. He has all the tools of a brilliant investigative journalist—the camera lenses, the observant nature, the patience—but his broken leg keeps him confined to his room. All this is perfectly summarized in his futile attempt to scratch his leg. He has the tools—his trusty backscratcher—but still lacks the ability (or rather, mobility) to properly satisfy this itch. Furthermore, this moment of frustration comes directly after Doyle says that he cannot search Thorwald’s apartment without due process. Ultimately, he needs help from his friends to scratch the itch and to solve the case; he cannot do it alone. With Doyle, he is so close to achieving his goal, yet it evades his grasp. The backscratcher, and specifically its presence at these crucial scenes of tension in the case, represents Jefferies’ larger inability to solve the mystery independently in his injured state.