How the Bird Sound Effects in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds Were Created with a Pioneering Electronic Instrument, the Trautonium

Alfred Hitch­cock­’s The Birds was nom­i­nat­ed for an Acad­e­my Award for Best Spe­cial Effects, though view­ers raised on more recent Hol­ly­wood spec­ta­cles would hard­ly find its mech­a­nized and opti­cal­ly print­ed avian attack­ers con­vinc­ing. Still, the pic­ture as a whole has retained its eerie, omi­nous pow­er over the last six decades, and a decent amount of the cred­it for that goes to an aspect that has­n’t dat­ed at all: its non-musi­cal “score” by the ear­ly elec­tron­ic com­pos­er Oskar Sala. Many of the threat­en­ing bird calls on the sound­track were actu­al­ly played by Sala on a device called the Mix­tur-Trau­to­ni­um, a pre-syn­the­siz­er orches­tral elec­tron­ic instru­ment of which he was­n’t just the undis­put­ed mas­ter, but the only play­er in exis­tence.

After his accep­tance into the Berlin Con­ser­va­to­ry in 1929, Sala came into con­tact with the Trau­to­ni­um, which had recent­ly been invent­ed by one Dr. Friedrich Trautwein. Inspired to more deeply under­stand the prin­ci­ples behind the nascent tech­nol­o­gy of elec­tron­ic music, and to fur­ther it, he went on to study physics at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Berlin in the mid-nine­teen-thir­ties.

This posi­tioned him well to devel­op new mod­els of Trau­to­ni­um, a series that cul­mi­nat­ed in 1948 with the Mix­tur-Trau­to­ni­um, which, unlike Trautwein’s mono­phon­ic orig­i­nal, could sound mul­ti­ple voic­es at once. The instru­ment proved ver­sa­tile, and indeed com­mer­cial: any Ger­man who grew up in the nine­teen-fifties will remem­ber its sounds from tele­vi­sion adver­tise­ments.

The chance to work on The Birds, by far Sala’s most wide­ly heard sound­track work, “pre­sent­ed itself when a for­mer class­mate of Sala who worked at Uni­ver­sal Stu­dios in Hol­ly­wood heard that Hitch­cock want­ed syn­thet­i­cal­ly pro­duced bird sounds for his next movie,” says Google Arts & Cul­ture. “Hitch­cock, who delib­er­ate­ly want­ed to avoid cre­at­ing tra­di­tion­al movie music, even flew to Sala’s record­ing stu­dio in Berlin where he was impressed by the sounds made by the Trau­to­ni­um, which ulti­mate­ly pro­duced all the movie’s sound effects.” In col­lab­o­ra­tion with fel­low pio­neer­ing elec­tron­ic com­pos­er Remi Gassmann, Sala pro­duced a ver­i­ta­ble storm of not just avian shrieks and cack­les, but also the harsh swirl of the ele­ments and the creaks and groans of fail­ing man-made infra­struc­ture. Or at least that’s what movie­go­ers may imag­ine hear­ing in a sound­track that often verges on the oth­er­world­ly, even the abstract — and Hitch­cock knew that the imag­i­na­tion is the place from which real fear aris­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alfred Hitch­cock Explains the Dif­fer­ence Between Sus­pense & Sur­prise: Give the Audi­ence Some Infor­ma­tion & Leave the Rest to Their Imag­i­na­tion

5 Hours of Free Alfred Hitch­cock Inter­views: Dis­cov­er His The­o­ries of Film Edit­ing, Cre­at­ing Sus­pense & More

Watch “Bells of Atlantis,” an Exper­i­men­tal Film with Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Music Fea­tur­ing Anaïs Nin (1952)

Daphne Oram Cre­at­ed the BBC’s First-Ever Piece of Elec­tron­ic Music (1957)

The Scores That Elec­tron­ic Music Pio­neer Wendy Car­los Com­posed for Stan­ley Kubrick’s A Clock­work Orange and The Shin­ing

Hear the Evo­lu­tion of Elec­tron­ic Music: A Son­ic Jour­ney from 1929 to 2019

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

A Guide to Every Major Film Adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey Before Christopher Nolan’s Movie

If you plan on shoot­ing your own adap­ta­tion of Home­r’s Odyssey, bear in mind how much rests on your choice of lead­ing man. In order to play Odysseus, an actor must sum­mon a real grav­i­tas, but also a still-smol­der­ing vital­i­ty: here is a man who led the Greek army to defeat Troy, but still has the dogged­ness to make the decade-long jour­ney back home to his wife. In the mid-nine­teen-fifties, Hol­ly­wood had just the chin for the job: Kirk Dou­glas, who plays Odysseus under his Latin name in the epony­mous Ulysses. Though mer­ci­less in its exci­sions to Home­r’s text, as explained in the Under­rat­ed Cin­e­ma video above, it still has more or less every­thing you’d want in a fan­tas­ti­cal Tech­ni­col­or spec­ta­cle — and one shot by The Wiz­ard of Oz vet­er­an Harold Rosson at that.

Those in search of a view­ing expe­ri­ence more adher­ent to the orig­i­nal sto­ry should con­sid­er L’Odis­sea: not the Ital­ian silent film from 1911 recent­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, but the 1968 Ital­ian minis­eries direct­ed by Fran­co Rossi, who would go on to be bet­ter known for Quo Vadis? Though no Odyssey adap­ta­tion fits every­thing in, this one gets just about as com­plete as a clas­sics fan could hope for in its 446-minute run­time.

As Odysseus, the Yugoslav heart­throb Bekim Fehmiu (for a brief moment there­after, cin­e­ma’s next glob­al star) may or may not be to your taste. More acclaimed is Armand Assante, por­tray­er of fig­ures from John Got­ti to Mick­ey Spillane to Niet­zsche, in NBC’s Odyssey minis­eries from 1997, which also fea­tures the likes of Isabel­la Rosselli­ni, Bernadette Peters, Christo­pher Lee, and Vanes­sa Williams.

Though star-stud­ded, shot in the real Mediter­ranean, and direct­ed by one­time Tarkovsky col­lab­o­ra­tor Andrei Kon­chalovsky, the Odyssey of the nineties isn’t much ref­er­enced today, per­haps due to its dat­ed visu­al effects. View­ers will nev­er have any such objec­tion to Uber­to Pasolin­i’s The Return, not because it only came out the year before last, but because it has prac­ti­cal­ly no visu­al effects in the first place. Focus­ing only on the lat­ter half of the Odyssey, the film dra­ma­tizes the reunion of Odysseus and his wife: a very human sto­ry, espe­cial­ly in that it con­tains no mon­sters. Dif­fer­ent adap­ta­tions have cut out the sirens, say, or Scyl­la and Charyb­dis, though it’s a rare pro­duc­tion bold enough not to put every­thing it has into the cyclops scene. But you can get an actor like Ralph Fiennes to play Odysseus — and for that mat­ter, Juli­ette Binoche to play Pene­lope — there’s lit­tle need for a crea­ture fea­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the First Spec­tac­u­lar Film Adap­ta­tion of the Odyssey (1911)

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

A Walk Through Homer’s Odyssey: A Guide to the Epic Before See­ing Christo­pher Nolan’s Film

Christo­pher Hitchens Explains Why Homer’s Odyssey Still Mat­ters to Our World (2000)

The Ori­gins of the Mon­sters in Homer’s Odyssey: The Cyclops, Sirens, Scyl­la & More

Greek Myth Comix Presents Homer’s Ili­ad & Odyssey Using Stick-Man Draw­ings

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Christopher Nolan Picks 15 Favorite Films from the Criterion Closet

Maybe you’ve already seen Christo­pher Nolan’s new cin­e­mat­ic inter­pre­ta­tion of the Odyssey more than once; maybe you don’t know whether you’ll ever get around to it at all. Either way, you’ve got to admit that the man makes films in a way very few liv­ing direc­tors do. His com­bi­na­tion of block­buster-scale spec­ta­cle and per­son­al vision, a rare expe­ri­ence indeed at the the­ater these days, can real­ly only be achieved by film­mak­ers with a thor­ough­go­ing love of the medi­um. Most of us will require no fur­ther proof of that love than this new video cap­tur­ing his vis­it to the Cri­te­ri­on Clos­et, that both hal­lowed and much-YouTubed space jam-packed with releas­es from the most wide­ly known home-video brand for cinephiles.

Unsur­pris­ing­ly, it’s not his first vis­it. “Last time I was here, there were no cam­eras, and I got to just come and steal some films,” he says, “but now I’m singing for my sup­per.” Unlike some film­mak­ers, he does­n’t play it cool for the audi­ence; rather, he imme­di­ate­ly starts pulling down Don Siegel’s neo-noir Hem­ing­way adap­ta­tion The Killers, a five-pic­ture John Cas­savetes box set, and Al Rein­ert’s Bri­an Eno-scored NASA doc­u­men­tary For All Mankind. It’s not a sur­prise to see him go for an Orson Welles movie, but the one that first catch­es his eye is Mr. Arkadin, which Welles “made all over the world in the scrap­pi­est, most sort of home­made, put-his-friends-togeth­er, grab-some-cos­tumes, find-an-inter­est­ing-loca­tion kind of way.”

Fritz Lang’s The Tes­ta­ment of Dr. Mabuse, he recalls, pro­vid­ed him and his broth­er-col­lab­o­ra­tor inspi­ra­tion for the Jok­er as famous­ly por­trayed by Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight. The com­plete Apu tril­o­gy by Satya­jit Ray reminds him that, how­ev­er great an impact the first of those films made on him, he nev­er did watch the oth­er two. For many movie­go­ers in the Eng­lish-speak­ing world of the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, Ray’s work was some of the first “world cin­e­ma” they’d ever seen; Nolan’s fel­low cinephile-auteur Mar­tin Scors­ese has done his part to bol­ster that tra­di­tion with his World Cin­e­ma Project series, and Nolan pulls off the shelf one of its vol­umes fea­tur­ing pic­tures from Cuba, Indone­sia, Iran, and else­where.

Though tech­ni­cal­ly British, Nolan is the par­tial­ly Chica­go-raised son of an Amer­i­can moth­er long since accept­ed as a kind of Hol­ly­wood native. His taste in movies, too, reflects a streak of high Amer­i­can­ism, which man­i­fests in selec­tions like Spike Lee’s Mal­colm X, David Lynch’s Lost High­way, Carl Franklin’s One False Move, and Richard Lin­klater’s Boy­hood. (As for Robert Alt­man’s satir­i­cal thriller The Play­er, it would be hard to imag­ine how he could­n’t appre­ci­ate its wicked­ly inci­sive depic­tion of “the Indus­try.”) Com­ing to the end of his Clos­et time, he also man­ages to grab God­frey Reg­gio’s Qat­si tril­o­gy, which con­sti­tutes “one of the great pieces of pure cin­e­ma,” and Car­roll Bal­lard’s The Black Stal­lion, a child­hood favorite that stayed with him. Like all the most suc­cess­ful film­mak­ers, Nolan under­stands that you’ve got to end strong, and in a way that does­n’t require expla­na­tion: hence, per­haps, his final choice of Cit­i­zen Kane.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Christo­pher Nolan Vis­its a Paris Video Store & Talks with Cil­lian Mur­phy About the Films That Influ­enced Him

Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la Picks His Favorite Cri­te­ri­on Movies & Gives Advice to Film­mak­ers

Jim Jar­musch Picks His Favorite Films from the The Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion

The Cult of the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion: The Com­pa­ny Ded­i­cat­ed to Gath­er­ing & Dis­trib­ut­ing the Great­est Films from Around the World

What Makes Cit­i­zen Kane a Great Film: 4 Video Essays Revis­it Orson Welles’ Mas­ter­piece on the 80th Anniver­sary of Its Pre­miere

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How Cinemas Taught Early Movie-Goers the Rules & Etiquette for Watching Films (1912): No Whistling, Standing or Wearing Big Hats

I admit, I some­times pay a pre­mi­um at a cer­tain din­ner the­ater chain with a lob­by-slash-bar designed to look like clas­sic indie video stores of yore. It’s not only the padded reclin­ers and half-decent grub that keeps me com­ing back. Nope, it’s the rules. Print­ed on the menu are a list of dis­rup­tive behav­iors that will get you uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly tossed out—no refunds and no back­sies.

I’ve nev­er seen it hap­pen. Giv­en what peo­ple put down for tick­ets, din­ner, drinks, and/or a babysit­ter, it’s unlike­ly many risk blow­ing the evening. But know­ing that the the­ater takes silence seri­ous­ly brings seri­ous movie­go­ers peace of mind. What is a movie, after all, with­out the all-impor­tant dia­logue, music, and sound cues?

Well, it’s silent film. And even then, when movies were sound-tracked with live accom­pa­ni­ment and dia­logue appeared on title cards, peo­ple wor­ried very much about dis­trac­tions. It just so hap­pens that talk­ing and tex­ting (obvi­ous­ly) were the least of ear­ly audience’s con­cerns.

For one thing, the cin­e­ma was a place where class­es, races, sex­es, and ages “mixed much more freely than had been Vic­to­ri­an cus­tom,” notes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate. There were the usu­al con­cerns about cor­rup­tion of the “del­i­cate sen­si­bil­i­ties” of ladies.

“But female cin­e­ma-goers were just as like­ly to be seen as a prob­lem,” writes Onion, “giv­en their sup­posed propen­si­ty for wear­ing big hats and chat­ting.” The melt­ing pot demo­graph­ic of the nick­elodeon could be exhil­a­rat­ing, and audi­ence mem­bers found they some­times lost their inhi­bi­tions. “Some­how you enter into the spir­it of the thing,” observed author W.W. Win­ters in 1910. “Don’t you slip away from your­self, lose your ret­i­cence, reserve, pride, and a few oth­er things?”

These days we’re accus­tomed to cram­ming in elbow-to-elbow next to any­one and every­one, and we most­ly heed the onscreen cajol­ing to put our phones away and keep qui­et, even when we aren’t in spe­cial­ty bou­tique chains or local art­house the­aters. Then again, if cer­tain behav­iors weren’t an issue, there wouldn’t be ads pro­hibit­ing them.

Enor­mous hats and applause (and applause with things oth­er than hands) may be relics of cinema’s infan­cy. But swap out those admo­ni­tions for oth­ers of the smart­phone vari­ety and these lantern slides instruct­ing view­ers in 1912 about prop­er movie the­ater eti­quette don’t look so dif­fer­ent from today… sort of.

We might want for inter­mis­sions to return, espe­cial­ly after the two-hour mark, and wouldn’t it be nice if, instead of keep­ing us in our seats for post-cred­it scenes, big block­buster movies just said “Good Night”? See more of these delight­ful pub­lic ser­vice announce­ments from 1912 nick­elodeons at Back Sto­ry Radio.

via Slate

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2019.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Cre­at­ing Spe­cial Effects in Silent Movies: Inge­nu­ity Before the Age of CGI

Enjoy the Great­est Silent Films Ever Made in Our Col­lec­tion of 101 Free Silent Films Online

The Char­lie Chap­lin Archive Opens, Putting Online 30,000 Pho­tos & Doc­u­ments from the Life of the Icon­ic Film Star

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

Watch the First Spectacular Film Adaptation of the Odyssey (1911)

Pub­lic and com­mer­cial spaces around the world are now lined with imagery of a ver­te­bra-stud­ded bat­tle hel­met and stat­ues sur­round­ed by flame. It’s all part of the pro­mo­tion­al cam­paign for Christo­pher Nolan’s adap­ta­tion of the Odyssey, which will begin open­ing in the­aters lat­er this month. Much has been said and writ­ten about how the project rep­re­sents the next phase of Nolan’s ever-grander cin­e­mat­ic ambi­tions, but bank­ing on the spec­ta­cle val­ue of Homer has a long his­to­ry in film­mak­ing. When the Ital­ian silent adap­ta­tion L’Odis­sea came out in 1911, for exam­ple, it was uncer­tain even whether audi­ences would tol­er­ate the 44 min­utes it took to depict Odysseus’ ardu­ous jour­ney home.

Though it was released in the fall of 1911 in Italy and the fol­low­ing win­ter in the U.S., L’Odis­sea now looks like a sum­mer block­buster avant la let­tre, or ante lit­ter­am — or then again, giv­en the mate­r­i­al, πρὶν ὀνομασθῆναι, though most of us are still wait­ing to see just how ancient Nolan and his col­lab­o­ra­tors have allowed them­selves to get.

By the stan­dards of their day, the mak­ers of L’Odis­sea appear to have spared no expense on sets, cos­tumes, and even visu­al effects, most notably in its por­tray­al of the cyclops Polyphe­mus. Tech­ni­cal­ly, none of it may mea­sure up to what Nolan and com­pa­ny have in store, but the the­atri­cal ges­tures, shift­ing col­or tints, and occa­sion­al­ly bat­tered tex­tures do their part to con­jure up a real­i­ty of their own.

L’Odis­sea was actu­al­ly the sec­ond major lit­er­ary adap­ta­tion of that year for its direc­tors, the trio of Francesco Bertoli­ni, Adol­fo Padovan, and Giuseppe De Liguoro, all work­ing at the stu­dio Milano Films. Here on Open Cul­ture, we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured their first, L’In­fer­no, which dra­ma­tizes the first and most famous part of Dan­te’s Divine Com­e­dy at a length of 73 min­utes. That run­time qual­i­fied it as the first fea­ture-length film ever pro­duced in Italy, by com­par­i­son to which L’Odis­sea may have actu­al­ly felt like a more famil­iar view­ing expe­ri­ence to con­tem­po­rary view­ers accus­tomed to shorts. Now that human­i­ty has been re-accli­mat­ed to watch­ing things a few min­utes at a time here in the twen­ty-twen­ties, Nolan’s near­ly three-hour Odyssey looks like a bold move indeed. But then, an epic poem demands an epic inter­pre­ta­tion.

Note: If you click “cc” on the YouTube video above, Eng­lish sub­ti­tles will appear.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

An Inter­ac­tive Map of Odysseus’ 10-Year Jour­ney in Homer’s Odyssey

Hear the First Book of Homer’s Ili­ad Read Aloud in the Orig­i­nal Greek

Watch All 18,225 Lines of the Ili­ad Read by 66 Actors in a Marathon Event For an Audi­ence of 50,000

Watch L’Inferno (1911), Italy’s First Fea­ture Film and Per­haps the Finest Adap­ta­tion of Dante’s Clas­sic

Cinecit­tà Luce and Google to Bring Italy’s Largest Film Archive to YouTube

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How an Edward Hopper Painting Inspired Norman Bates’ Iconic House in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho

Alfred Hitch­cock was not Amer­i­can, as even casu­al view­ers of his tele­vi­sion show could tell right away. He may have exag­ger­at­ed his Eng­lish­ness, but like more than a few high-pro­file out­siders, he also used his cul­tur­al posi­tion to ren­der the Unit­ed States all the more vivid­ly in his work. Grow­ing up, he amassed enough sec­ond-hand knowl­edge of the coun­try in which he would one day live that he already knew his way around New York when first he set foot there. But it was some years after he relo­cat­ed to Hol­ly­wood that his films began to feel Amer­i­can — and, even­tu­al­ly, more Amer­i­can than those made by domes­tic direc­tors, thanks in part to his uncon­ven­tion­al per­spec­tive on local sources of inspi­ra­tion.

Image by Diego Del­so, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Take the archi­tec­ture. Asked by François Truf­faut about Nor­man Bates’ “ghost­ly house” in Psy­cho, he explained that “the mys­te­ri­ous atmos­phere is, to some extent, quite acci­den­tal. For instance, the actu­al locale of the events is in north­ern Cali­fornia, where that type of house is very com­mon.” He was­n’t try­ing to “recon­struct an old-fash­ioned Uni­ver­sal hor­ror pic­ture atmos­phere,” but “sim­ply want­ed to be accu­rate.” Yet the house is report­ed to have been inspired by an east-coast mod­el as well, and one found in art: Edward Hop­per’s paint­ingHouse by the Rail­road(top), from 1925, itself made with ref­er­ence to a real Vic­to­ri­an man­sion that still stands in Haver­straw, New York, between a rail­road and a ceme­tery.

Hitch­cock had already made use of Hop­per, that most cin­e­mat­ic of Amer­i­can painters. Here on Open Cul­ture, we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the visu­al influ­ence of Hop­per paint­ings from the nine­teen-twen­ties and thir­ties like Automat, Night Win­dows, Hotel Room, and Room in New York on Rear Win­dow. “Both artists explored the lone­li­ness that results from mod­ern­iza­tion,” writes Tim Brinkhof at Art­net. “Hopper’s paint­ings and Hitch­cock­’s films explore the extent to which progress and urban mod­ern­iza­tion have made the world lone­li­er and, as a result, capa­ble of acts of explo­sive, irra­tional vio­lence,” a capa­bil­i­ty per­son­i­fied in the dis­turbed motel-keep­er Nor­man Bates.

“The [Haver­straw] house was built in 1885, near the crest of a hill that ris­es steeply from the west bank of the Hud­son Riv­er,” writes Paul Bochn­er in the Atlantic. “By the turn of the cen­tu­ry it had been aban­doned; neigh­bor­hood chil­dren called it haunt­ed.” It was lat­er pur­chased by the dis­trict attor­ney of Rock­land Coun­ty, whose eldest daugh­ter remem­bered that, “when she was thir­teen, she looked out her bed­room win­dow and saw a man sit­ting across the road, paint­ing.” The man was, of course, Edward Hop­per. She would­n’t have known, sev­en­teen years before Nighthawks, that he was on his way to becom­ing one of the coun­try’s most famous artists. As for what the house would one day become in the hands of Alfred Hitch­cock, then just start­ing his career on the oth­er side of the Atlantic, nobody could have imag­ined.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

16 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

How Edward Hopper’s Paint­ings Inspired the Creepy Sus­pense of Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Win­dow

How Cin­e­ma Inspired Edward Hopper’s Great Paint­ings, and How Edward Hop­per Inspired Great Film­mak­ers

Alfred Hitch­cock Want­ed Frank Lloyd Wright to Design the North by North­west House: An Archi­tect Just Built It for $45 Mil­lion

How Edward Hop­per “Sto­ry­board­ed” His Icon­ic Paint­ing Nighthawks

Sal­vador Dalí Goes to Hol­ly­wood & Cre­ates a Wild Dream Sequence for Alfred Hitch­cock

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Alfred Hitchcock Wanted Frank Lloyd Wright to Design the North by Northwest House: An Architect Just Built It for $45 Million

Vil­lains who live in opu­lent, remote mod­ernist hous­es may have been a cliché since the last cen­tu­ry, but giv­en Hol­ly­wood’s addic­tion to the tried and true, they do still turn up now and again. Unsur­pris­ing­ly, few film­mak­ers have man­aged to use them any­where near as mem­o­rably as Alfred Hitch­cock did. Think back to North by North­west, that show­case of both late-fifties high style and unadul­ter­at­ed Hitch­cock­ery, and any num­ber of images come right to mind: the dead­ly crop duster bear­ing down on Cary Grant, the hang off the edge of Mount Rush­more, the cheeky cut to the train enter­ing the tun­nel. But on the archi­tec­tural­ly inclined, the deep­est impres­sion is made by not a shot but a set: the house — mod­ernist, opu­lent, remote — occu­pied by James Mason’s vil­lain Phillip Van­damm.

“The pio­neer­ing deci­sion to fea­ture a mod­ern house as the villain’s lair in North by North­west arose from both the prac­ti­cal needs of the script and the desire to explore inno­va­tion in archi­tec­tur­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion,” writes Chris­tine Madrid French, author of The Archi­tec­ture of Sus­pense: The Built World in the Films of Alfred Hitch­cock.

The look of the Van­damm House betrays con­sid­er­able inspi­ra­tion from the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, espe­cial­ly his “icon­ic Falling­wa­ter, best known for its aston­ish­ing pro­ject­ed porch­es can­tilevered over a run­ning stream.” As the Hol­ly­wood sto­ry goes, Hitch­cock asked Wright him­self about the pos­si­bil­i­ty of design­ing the house, but when the archi­tect asked for ten per­cent of the film’s entire bud­get, the job went to pro­duc­tion design­er Robert F. Boyle.

Despite the high­ly un-Wright­ian steel beams sup­port­ing the can­tilevered liv­ing room (insert­ed because Grant need­ed a way to climb in), movie­go­ers left the the­ater assum­ing that they’d wit­nessed a show­down in one of his hous­es. In fact, like so many of Hitch­cock­’s famous built envi­ron­ments, the struc­ture did­n’t actu­al­ly exist: Boyle and his col­lab­o­ra­tors con­struct­ed pieces on sets, com­plet­ing the rest with mat­te paint­ings. Yet their work did, in a sense, bring the Van­damm House into the world. A North by North­west fan since child­hood, archi­tect John Boc­car­do just this year achieved his $45 mil­lion dream of build­ing it for real. Apart from faith­ful­ly repli­cat­ing onscreen details, he also put in an eigh­teen-seat home the­ater, pos­si­bly on the safe assump­tion that the buy­er will be a fel­low cinephile — who, giv­en that the house over­looks Park City, Utah rather than sits atop Mount Rush­more, will sure­ly rue the day Sun­dance decid­ed to move to Boul­der. See pho­tos here.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed con­tent:

16 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

Alfred Hitch­cock Explains the Plot Device He Called the ‘MacGuf­fin’

Take a Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis House, the Man­sion That Has Appeared in Blade Run­ner, Twin Peaks & Count­less Hol­ly­wood Films

1,300 Pho­tos of Famous Mod­ern Amer­i­can Homes Now Online, Cour­tesy of USC

A Med­i­ta­tive Tour of Falling­wa­ter, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Archi­tec­tur­al Mas­ter­piece

Sal­vador Dalí Cre­ates a Dream Sequence for Spell­bound, Hitchcock’s Psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic Thriller

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Albert Einstein & Charlie Chaplin Met and Became Fast Famous Friends (1930)

Pho­to via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“You do not real­ly under­stand some­thing unless you can explain it to your grand­moth­er,” goes a well-known quote attrib­uted var­i­ous­ly to Albert Ein­stein, Richard Feyn­man, and Ernest Ruther­ford. No mat­ter who said it, “the sen­ti­ment… rings true,” writes Michelle Lav­ery, “for researchers in all dis­ci­plines from par­ti­cle physics to ecopsy­chol­o­gy.” As Feyn­man dis­cov­ered dur­ing his many years of teach­ing, it could be “the mot­to of all pro­fes­sion­al com­mu­ni­ca­tors,” The Guardian’s Rus­sell Gross­man writes, “and espe­cial­ly those who earn a liv­ing com­mu­ni­cat­ing the tricky busi­ness of sci­ence.”

Ein­stein became one of the world’s great sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tors by choice, not neces­si­ty, and found ways to explain his com­plex the­o­ries to chil­dren and the elder­ly alike. But per­haps, if he’d had his way, he would rather have avoid­ed words alto­geth­er, and pre­ferred acro­bat­ic feats of silent dar­ing to get his mes­sage across. We might at least con­clude so from his rev­er­ence for the work of Char­lie Chap­lin. Chap­lin was the only per­son Ein­stein want­ed to meet in Cal­i­for­nia dur­ing his sec­ond, 1930–31 vis­it to the U.S., when he was “at the height of his fame,” notes Claire Cock-Starkey at Men­tal Floss, “with news­pa­pers track­ing his every move and aca­d­e­mics clam­or­ing for expla­na­tions of his the­o­ries.”

The admi­ra­tion, of course, was mutu­al. Their first meet­ings hap­pened out­side the press’s scruti­ny, at Uni­ver­sal Stu­dios, “where the pair took a tour and had lunch togeth­er. They hit it off straight away, shar­ing quick wits and curi­ous minds.” In his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, Chap­lin writes that Einstein’s wife Elsa fina­gled an invi­ta­tion to din­ner at Chaplin’s house. And he “was only too hap­py to oblige,” Cock-Starkey writes, arrang­ing an “inti­mate din­ner, at which Elsa regaled him with the sto­ry of when Ein­stein came up with his world-chang­ing the­o­ry, some­time around 1915.”

The two con­tin­ued to cor­re­spond, and the big pub­lic unveil­ing of their friend­ship came when Chap­lin invit­ed Ein­stein to the pre­miere of City Lights in 1931 (see pho­to up top) where the mega-celebri­ties from very dif­fer­ent worlds were greet­ed by reporters, pho­tog­ra­phers, and ador­ing crowds. There are sev­er­al record­ed ver­sions of their con­ver­sa­tion. In one account, Ein­stein expressed bemuse­ment at the cheer­ing, and Chap­lin remarked, “the peo­ple applaud me because every­one under­stands me, and they applaud you because no one under­stands you.”

Chap­lin him­self wrote in his 1933–34 trav­el­ogue, A Come­di­an Sees the World, that one of Einstein’s sons uttered the line, weeks after­ward: “You are pop­u­lar [because] you are under­stood by the mass­es. On the oth­er hand, the professor’s pop­u­lar­i­ty with the mass­es is because he is not under­stood.” Yet anoth­er ver­sion, cir­cu­lat­ing on the Nobel Prize’s Insta­gram and col­lect­ing tens of thou­sands of likes, has the exchange take place in a dia­logue.

Ein­stein: “What I most admire about your art, is your uni­ver­sal­i­ty. You don’t say a word, yet the world under­stands you!”

Chap­lin: “True. But your glo­ry is even greater! The whole world admires you, even though they don’t under­stand a word of what you say.”

What­ev­er they real­ly said to each oth­er, it’s clear Ein­stein saw some­thing in Char­lie Chap­lin worth emu­lat­ing. Chap­lin left his mark on Exis­ten­tial­ist phi­los­o­phy, lend­ing the name of his film Mod­ern Times to Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir’s influ­en­tial jour­nal, Les Temps Mod­ernes. He left a lega­cy on Beat poet­ry, lend­ing the name City Lights to Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s infa­mous San Fran­cis­co book­store and pub­lish­er. And it seems he also maybe had some small effect on physics, or on the most famous of physi­cists, who might have har­bored a secret ambi­tion to be a silent film comedian—or to com­mu­ni­cate, at least, with the uni­ver­sal effec­tive­ness of one as skilled as Char­lie Chap­lin, favorite of genius­es and grand­moth­ers (and genius grand­moth­ers) every­where.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2020.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

60+ Free Char­lie Chap­lin Films Online

Einstein’s The­o­ry of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty Explained in One of the Ear­li­est Sci­ence Films Ever Made (1923)

Hear Albert Ein­stein Read “The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence” (1941)

The Char­lie Chap­lin Archive Opens, Putting Online 30,000 Pho­tos & Doc­u­ments from the Life of the Icon­ic Film Star

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

More in this category... »
Quantcast