Category: 2024 Blog Posts

Rear Window’s Single Room

The fact that the film Rear Window takes place in a single room is part of what makes it so intriguing—this has been said by many viewers, I’m sure, but their reasoning behind the statement varies. It is the aspect of connection to our main character that intrigues me in particular.

For the entirety of Rear Window, Jeff is confined to only his living space. By setting the entire film in one room, with only the rear window and other characters as ways to experience the outside world, viewers share in Jeff’s predicament and his experiences. What viewers see is what Jeff sees—this is additionally reflected in the unique camerawork when it comes to certain shots, as viewers focus in on what Jeff is looking directly at. Take, for example, when Jeff uses his binoculars: the shots while he uses his binoculars are seen through his eyes. (40:38-40:54). The binocular view is only interrupted by Jeff’s expressions, his reactions to the information he is seeing. This, too, connects us to him and his struggle to piece information together, as we likely share in his frustration, his panic, or his confusion as his facial expressions manifest. Perhaps we, as viewers, are making similar expressions to him at the time that his reactions are shown! 

A similar example of the camera focusing on what Jeff sees in his confinement, and how it leads the viewers attention in a similar way to his current experience, are his interactions with other people in his home. His tense interaction with Lisa while she first visits, when they discuss his job, is full of subtle details. While he attempts to push her away from him due to his lifestyle, the camera is very stagnant—alternating between still shots of him and Lisa (27:16-29:30). This represents Jeff’s current position on the matter, a stubborn one. Lisa even asks him if either of them could ever change, and he replies, “Right now, it doesn’t seem so” (29:50-30:01). After, however, the camera begins to follow Lisa’s movement as she makes her way out (30:05-31:08)—she is making a move at this moment, simply saying “goodnight” while Jeff begins to regret his stubbornness with her. The camera moving to follow Lisa reflects his focus on her, as well as the nature of her movement away from him. Viewers suddenly become quite conscious of her movement, just as Jeff is. 

Greg M. Smith’s “It’s Just A Movie” talks about the idea that “films are not telegrams”—that there is no single message to “get” about a film. I think this idea applies quite clearly to Rear Window, where there are numerous different aspects that instantly prompt the viewer to think. The one-room-choice is one of these things: if a common effect that this film choice has on viewers is bringing them closer to Jeff, is the film attempting to imply that he’s the most important protagonist to understand? My answer to that question would be “no,” while keeping Smith’s ideas in mind. That the ideas of the filmmaker and the audience are equally valid is a complex mindset, but I believe a necessary one when considering questions such as these. Personally, I believe Lisa is by far my favorite character, and I feel more sympathy for her than I do for Jeff overall. This does not mean that I don’t think Jeff is a worthy character to feel connected with throughout the film as well, because seeing the film through his eyes is compelling. It alerts us to his character growth and the events at hand in a different way than it would have looked through Lisa’s eyes, for example. Jeff’s perspective is only a single, rich, complicated perspective. My enjoyment of the movie’s suspense was enhanced by the closeness I felt to his perspective, despite his lack of relatability to me. This could vary for another viewer, who felt connected to his personality, hence why they were compelled by this closeness in perspective.

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.

Shared Trauma Overcomes Class Differences

 

Long before the murder mystery gets under way in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, the audience is faced with Jeff’s personal dilemma, regarding his love life—whether or not to marry Lisa, a woman who he loves and who loves him back, due to her social status. He doesn’t see himself as someone worthy of her and all her elegance, social connections, and expensive clothing. Lisa is a New York socialite, while Jeff is a photographer who travels for work in suboptimal conditions that can be dangerous. He can’t leave his life and job behind for Lisa, and he doesn’t want Lisa to do the same for him. In the first scene of them together, Lisa makes it clear that she wants marriage, but Jeff tells her he cannot see either of them changing for the other, and they come to an impasse.

It isn’t until their investigation into whether Lars Thorwald murdered his wife begins in earnest that their differences start to feel manageable. A large part of this is due to the fact that concerns over their class differences do not matter in the face of danger. While Jeff is still unable to leave his apartment, Lisa takes over the more aggressive aspects of sleuthing and gets caught in Thorwald’s apartment in the process. When Thorwald finds her and starts to assault Lisa, Jeff is paralyzed with fear at the prospect of losing her, as he believes in his heart that Thorwald is a man capable of murder. Subsequently, when Thorwald attacks and nearly kills Jeff in his own apartment, Lisa has a similarly panicked reaction. After he falls from his window, Lisa cradles his head lovingly while Jeff tells her he’s proud of her (1:49:50). In this moment, it is evident that their survival and safety is all that matters, making their earlier relationship troubles seem almost trivial. Having both been assaulted by the same man in an effort to discover the truth, Jeff and Lisa not only become closer but more grateful for their lives together. 

Marriage is not mentioned again, but the final scene of the film makes it clear that Jeff and Lisa will be able to make their relationship work. As Jeff sleeps with two casts, one on each leg, Lisa sits in the apartment in a far more casual outfit than she wore throughout the rest of the film. In a blouse and jeans rather than her $1000+ gowns, her clothing makes it clear that she and Jeff are trying to close the gap between them. Compromises are being made, though neither of them will fully change. As he dozes off, Lisa reads a travel book, clearly for Jeff’s benefit, then picks up something more to her liking once she knows he’s asleep. But the implication is clear—Lisa and Jeff are going to make it work and find a way to exist in the other’s world, even if it’s only halfway.

Over the course of the film, Jefferies makes a few comparisons between Lisa and his ballet dancer neighbor, Ms. Torso. However, not once does he draw a comparison between Lisa and his neighbor Ms. Lonelyhearts, whom Lisa herself seems to relate throughout the film. The first scene we get focusing on Ms. Lonelyhearts is the one where she is getting ready for a date. It is soon revealed that Ms. Lonelyhearts’ suitor is an imaginary one and while she tries to pretend to have a romantic dinner with said suitor, she ends up breaking down at the table. At the close of the scene, we see Lisa looking at Ms. Lonelyhearts just before Jefferies compares her to Ms. Torso. 

The scene may only last a few minutes, but it gives the audience a clear picture of Ms. Lonelyhearts’ loneliness and longing for love as she fantasizes about sharing a romantic dinner with a lover. As Lisa watches Ms. Lonelyhearts, her eyes soften and she is not quite frowning, making the expression seem empathetic. Seconds later, Jefferies comments that Lisa will never be like Ms. Lonelyhearts and after a brief hesitation, Lisa questions him. Lisa’s voice, witch at her arrival was upbeat and enthusiastic, now becomes soft and sad as she doubts Jefferies’ judgement. Both the look she casts at Ms. Lonelyhearts and her saddened tone help highlight how Lisa relates to Ms. Lonelyhearts. 

These similarities between the two women help highlight Lisa’s own feelings of longing and loneliness in her relationship with Jefferies as he tries to push her away while she just wants to be with him. The song, To See You Is to Love You (performed by Bing Crosby), which plays throughout the scene further highlights this idea. During the song we hear the line “To see you is to love you” twice and the line “To see you is to want you” once. Over the course of this song, Jefferies is watching Ms. Lonelyhearts, not Lisa, which helps emphasize Lisa’s feeling of loneliness in their relationship.

Light and Heat as Closeness in Rear Window

The introduction of protagonist L.B. Jeffries in the opening sequence of Rear Window correlates his proximity to the thermometer on his apartment wall with the implication of inescapable heat in a New York summer, and his inescapable position as a voyeur to the intricacies of his neighbors’ lives. The light from his window the first morning shown illuminates the sweat forming on his brow, and the restlessness he experiences sedentary in his cast. The thermometer in this scene is shown well above 90° but at the end of the film, the thermometer is shown around 70°, not only to show the passage of time through the summer, but the change in Jeffries’ mentality regarding the stagnancy of his life. In the beginning of the film, he felt trapped in his relationship with Lisa Fremont because of her perceived perfection and his stunted position as a traveling photographer. Though his body is still confined to the wheelchair at the end of the film, these things he previously believed to be perfect, or even real, no longer constrain him. Shown through Hitcock’s use of light and heat, the evolution of Jeffries’ character comes through his observation of what’s before him, and the illuminated reality underneath it all.

Because of the New York summer heat, most of the apartments Jeffries watches have their windows open at one point or another, and through these openings Jeffries becomes an audience to their lives. Walter Benjamin describes this phenomenon in the realm of film theory through the concept of the aura, or the contexts and histories that reside in the distance between two objects, defining one of them in the process. In film, the distance between actor and audience is immeasurable, so aura dissipates in the process (Benjamin 720). For Jeffries, he doesn’t recognize the lack of aura in his own observations as an audience to their lives, thus Hitchcock creates a suspended distance that closes through the use of light. In Ms. Lonelyheart’s apartment, lit candles and lamps are gradually introduced throughout the film as more of her life is revealed, and Ms. Torso’s dimmed business affairs construe her image to Jeffries, but her true self is shown when she dances alone in the light of day, or the morning her husband comes home from the army. In the confrontation between Thorwald and Jeffries, Jeffries himself uses his camera bulb to create light and heat, illuminating the reality of Thorwald’s aura and his true murderous nature. Lisa’s role grounds Jeffries’ observations in reality through not only her judicious nature, but in her constantly illuminating Jeffries space by lighting candles or turning on lamps. Reality then emerges through a combination of the surveillance he issues on his neighbors throughout the film and the ways in which light conveys the reality of their lives. 

In this post I would like to write about the moment in Rear Window where Jefferies, stuck in his wheelchair, can do nothing but watch as Lars Thorwald confronts Lisa, who has snuck into his apartment. This moment, near the final culmination of the film, is intense – it is still uncertain to both the audience and to Jefferies whether or not Thorwald is a murderer, Lisa and Stella have snuck into the garden to dig for evidence, and the neighbor’s dog has been killed. Thorwald has been lured away– they don’t know when he will return.

The height of intensity in the moment of confrontation between Thorwald and Lisa is not uncertainty, but that of realization. Jefferies has been orchestrating this investigation from the beginning. Although his leg is broken, he is near recovery, and at no point during the film has this impacted his standing on any social platform. Lisa still cares for him, is in love with him, and is attracted to him, so he is still a “man”; he is still valued and wanted at his workplace so he is still capable; his war friend and now-detective Doyle still picks up his calls, so he is not unimportant.  But now, the power status of his unnoticed observations of his neighbors is abruptly reversed. Both the audience and Jefferies himself are confronted with the realization that he cannot move; as Lisa cries for his help, he can do nothing but watch and hope that someone else will be able to save her.

It is only in this moment of helplessness that he turns his face away, desperately, into Stella, and then back to Lisa; Jefferies cannot help but watch, just as he has been doing throughout the film.

This is also when the film’s continued use of the answered question and implications rises into one of the culminations of its finale. Will we know what happens to Lisa? Will she be saved? We know that Jefferies cannot save her, but he has been the one driving the film to each new conclusion. With the foundation of the plot destabilized, the fact that nothing has been certain throughout heightens the tension of the scene.

Lisa is saved – is she now in jail? Jefferies can no longer see her, but Thorwald has seen him. The previous scene with Lisa and Jefferies’ helplessness now lends itself to the next. Where before the film relied on what the characters do not know (they don’t know that Jefferies is watching; Jefferies doesn’t know if Thorwald is guilty), now the audience has been confronted with several knowns: Jefferies cannot move, and Thorwald – guilty or not – is dangerous and has been provoked by Jefferies.

The heightened tension in the previous scene ratchets up the tension in the next; the big realization of Jefferies’ lack of control makes the next more terrifying in its looming uncertainty.

           Rear Window’s cinematic interest primarily concerns distance: the physical distance Jeffries cannot walk, the visual distance he supplements using his camera lens, and the emotional distance between him and Lisa at the outset. The film’s technical elements are no different. Rather than use traditional “scary music” in accordance with shocking visual cues to heighten tension, Rear Window uses soothing or peppy music at key dramatic scenes to further exemplify the script’s tension in making the film’s reassuring contradict with the camera’s tense scenes of action and intrigue. In doing so, the audience shares Jeffries’ sense of unease and frustration in getting to the truth despite other elements- be it the music or characters like Doyle- trying to convince him to leave it alone.

Though demonstrated in other scenes, this post will focus on the first scene in which the audience sees Thorwald’s face in closeup shortly after the one-hour mark. Before Thorwald enters the frame, all of Jeffries’ neighbors appear to be improving their lives in some fashion. Miss Lonely Hearts- now also seen in her first close-up- gets ready for a date (Rear Window, 01:01:40). The dancer receives lessons, the instructor heard saying she’s “much better.”  (Window, 01:02:41). Even Jeffries arguably faintly smiles (Window, 01:02:51). Amidst this, soft and sweet romantic music plays, complementing the characters’ emotional ease. Yet, as the music crescendos, Thorwald enters the close-up frame, punctuated by a brief diegetic traffic honking horn (Window, 01:03:17). The soft romantic song continues on, nevertheless. Thorwald’s face appears grim and unfriendly, but maybe not murderous. Even so, his forbidding expression deeply contrasts against the characters happiness and the score’s hopefulness. Like Jeffries, we, the audience, have no way to actually tell if anything else seems off about Thorwald besides the visuals seen by the camera- the score won’t help. Even as the closer angle prominently shows Thorwald’s laundry- perhaps after cleaning bloody clothes- the music gives no stereotypical screech to associate menace with the action (Window, 01:03:43). The audience is not thrilled, but tense, for like Jeffries, we are sure something bad has happened (if only because something not to would be a great anticlimax). But our observations are tenuous just like Jeffries,’ for the normal music assigns a certain normalcy to Thorwald’s action of merely taking his laundry home, so we don’t quite know what to think. This is not the only time this discord happens in the film- Lisa’s later high stakes infiltration of the apartment occurs alongside a calm, somewhat jazzy tune seemingly inappropriate for the apprehension Jeffries, Stella, and the audience feel for her (Window, 01:37:30-01:38:40). Rather than ratchet up the tension with nondiegetic music to accompany scenes of horror, Rear Window creates distance between the camera lens and the music to put us in Jeffries’ shoes. Something is wrong, but can we really trust only the camera lens to tell us so?

MLA Citation

Rear Window. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock, performances by Jimmy Stewart, Grace Kelly. Thelma Ritter, and Wendell Corey, Paramount Pictures, 1954.

The film makes it abundantly clear that Lisa and Jeff’s relationship is at an impasse – divided on the subject of marriage and how to reconcile the demands of their jobs and lifestyles. While the film’s dialogue emphasizes the incompatibility of their lifestyles (a glamorous, pampered life of a magazine editor vs the rugged, difficult life of a photographer), the visual elements contrast their ideological rift on the subject of the future through the portrayal of Lisa’s movement vs. Jeff’s inertia. 

In Lisa’s first scene, after the cliche, slow-motion romantic kisses, Lisa’s true nature is revealed through her movement around the apartment. Confined to his wheelchair, Jeff is a very stagnant figure, content with watching out his window at the world passing by. On the other hand, Lisa is in almost constant motion, turning lights on, visiting different parts of the apartment, shedding and donning layers of clothing and accessories. In comparison, Jeff sits in the dark, stays by the window, and wears the same pajamas throughout the film. While she at first matches his slower energy, leisurely going around the apartment turning on lights, when Lisa remembers that she prepared a dinner, she jumps and begins frantically moving around the apartment. The camera tracks her movement in one continuous shot as she disrupts Jeff’s equilibrium, inviting new people into the apartment and moving around furniture to create a makeshift table. She rearranges Jeff’s space, and there is no later shot of her putting it all back the way it was, as the film does for Stella every time she massages Jeff. Unlike the predictability and status quo of Stella, Lisa is independent enough to do what she wants, taking charge of the space and the shot.

It’s ironic that even though Jeff is an adventure photographer, traveling the world and capturing destruction on film, during the course of the film he is static both physically and emotionally. Confined to his wheelchair, Jeff cannot move around the space of his apartment, content to watch out the window, wear the same clothes day after day, and not move from his stationary spot. This mindset is reflected in his thoughts towards his relationship with Lisa, where he wants to keep things the way they are, refusing to jump into the next step: marriage. On the other hand, Lisa, who is spoken of as a rich socialite uncomfortable with adventure and travel, is actually the one who is in motion, running around Jeff’s apartment and pushing him toward the future, their future. During their fight, this chasm in opinion is revealed: Jeff asks, “Couldn’t we just keep things status quo?” and Lisa responds, “Without any future?” (30:50 – 31:05). Lisa disrupts Jeff’s status quo, and his discomfort with this fact is an evident sore point in their relationship. 

Music plays a huge part in Rear Window. Not only is one of the neighbors a pianist, there is almost always some form of background music occurring even if the pianist is not playing. In the beginning of the movie, a more upbeat version of Dean Martin’s That’s Amore is heard playing from the street. The song plays on as the camera pans around to all the windows around Jefferies’ apartment, giving the audience a peek into their lives and then eventually panning to Jefferies as he romanticizes his neighbors lives through the tidbits he sees through their windows. The song That’s Amore is the epitome of romanticizing life. The title means “That’s Love” and the lyrics portray a person who is so enamored with their lover that everything around them proves how beautiful life is. 

The pianist and his music also comes into play later on in the movie. The first scene where the audience meets Lisa, the piano player is practicing a song. Lisa points out how beautiful the song sounds but Jefferies only notices the pianist’s struggle with playing the piece. The pianist’s inability to perfect playing the song is a direct connection to Lisa and Jefferies’ failing relationship. Lisa is seen to try with a lot of failure to try to keep the relationship moving forward, just like the pianist trying to play his song. Jefferies shows to be giving little to no effort on making the relationship work, boiling it down to they are from and belong to two different worlds. 

The same song played by the pianist is heard again during the investigation. The piano player is throwing a party and is playing the song perfectly. At the same time, Lisa is once again in Jefferies’ apartment but this time, they are working together trying to find out if Mr. Thorwald truly did murder his wife. Neither of them have realized it, but their relationship, which once was failing, was now doing very well and they both seemed to really enjoy each other’s company, just like the pianist and his song. The music in Rear Window does an excellent job of mirroring the protagonist’s feelings and lives, while simultaneously moving the plot forward in the movie.