'Blackmail (1929)' was Hitchcock's first "talkie", though it began life as a silent film, and was subsequently released in a silent version to boost its commercial potential. I have no qualms about remarking on the strokes of Hitchcockian genius already evident in this early work: the icy silences leave an unsettling effect, but Hitchcock also demonstrates a strong mastery of sound, his repetition of the word "knife" perfectly underscoring the heroine's paranoia. A wonderfully mobile camera, perhaps imitating similar shots in 'Seventh Heaven' (1927, Borzage) or 'The Cameraman (1928, Sedgwick),' follows the characters up a double flight of stairs. A disorientating high-angle shot of the heroine descending a spiral stairway is uncannily similar to the belltower shots in 'Vertigo (1958).'
The film's plot concerns Alice (Anny Ondra), who is cheating on her detective boyfriend Frank (John Longden) with a sleazy artist (Cyril Ritchard). During a struggle in which the artist tries to rape her, Alice sticks a kitchen knife into him, and flees the scene of the murder. Frank finds the evidence linking her to the crime, and is determined to cover it up, but the situation is complicated by a two-bit criminal (Donald Calthrop) who knows what's up and sees dollar signs. Everyone in the film is convincing, particularly Calthrop as the shifty blackmailer who you wouldn't trust as far as you could throw him. The ending, too, is a welcome break from the Production Code-enforced contrivances that would later overwhelm Hollywood. Alice escapes all culpability for her crimes, but the accusative laughing face of a painted jester suggests that the crime will always prey on her thoughts.
The film's plot concerns Alice (Anny Ondra), who is cheating on her detective boyfriend Frank (John Longden) with a sleazy artist (Cyril Ritchard). During a struggle in which the artist tries to rape her, Alice sticks a kitchen knife into him, and flees the scene of the murder. Frank finds the evidence linking her to the crime, and is determined to cover it up, but the situation is complicated by a two-bit criminal (Donald Calthrop) who knows what's up and sees dollar signs. Everyone in the film is convincing, particularly Calthrop as the shifty blackmailer who you wouldn't trust as far as you could throw him. The ending, too, is a welcome break from the Production Code-enforced contrivances that would later overwhelm Hollywood. Alice escapes all culpability for her crimes, but the accusative laughing face of a painted jester suggests that the crime will always prey on her thoughts.