Alfred Hitchcock Reveals The Secret Sauce for Creating Suspense

Speak­ing at an AFI Sem­i­nar in 1970, Alfred Hitch­cock revealed the essen­tial ingre­di­ents that went into mak­ing his films. When he stripped every­thing away, what Hitch­cock real­ly cared about was cre­at­ing sus­pense films (not mys­tery films) and get­ting the sus­pense ele­ment right. In the famous clip above, the direc­tor explains why sus­pense­ful scenes have to sim­mer for a time and then cool down prop­er­ly. Things can’t be brought to a rapid boil and then be quick­ly tak­en off the stove. Hitch­cock once made that mis­take in his 1936 film, Sab­o­tage. (Watch the offend­ing scene right below or find the full film here.)

Of course, Hitch­cock learned from his mis­take, and there­after shot count­less scenes where the sus­pense builds in the right way. But we par­tic­u­lar­ly want­ed to find one scene that pulls off the bomb sce­nario, and so here it goes. From 1957 to 1959, Hitch­cock pro­duced Sus­pi­cion, a tele­vi­sion series for NBC, and he per­son­al­ly direct­ed one episode called “Four O’Clock”. It fea­tures a watch­mak­er who sus­pects his wife of hav­ing an affair, and so, filled with jeal­ousy, he decides to mur­der her with a bomb made by his own hands. Things take an unex­pect­ed turn, how­ev­er, when two bur­glars tie him up in the base­ment with the tick­ing bomb. We leave you with the final, cli­mac­tic scene.

You can watch the full episode here. Enjoy.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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’

The Eyes of Hitch­cock: A Mes­mer­iz­ing Video Essay on the Expres­sive Pow­er of Eyes in Hitchcock’s Films

Alfred Hitchcock’s 7‑Minute Mas­ter Class on Film Edit­ing

Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diary: a ‘Warped Casablanca’

In ear­ly 1960, Hunter S. Thomp­son was just 22 years old and his jour­nal­ism career was already on the skids. His last two jobs had end­ed bad­ly. At one place he was fired for insub­or­di­na­tion; at the oth­er, for smash­ing the office can­dy machine in a fit of rage after it swal­lowed his mon­ey. So he drift­ed down to San Juan, Puer­to Rico, and took a job at a news­pa­per called El Sporti­vo. His beat: bowl­ing.

The news­pa­per went out of busi­ness a few months lat­er, but Thomp­son trans­formed his expe­ri­ences into a nov­el, The Rum Diary. In the pro­logue he describes the atmos­phere of a San Juan news­room peo­pled with shift­less expa­tri­ates:

They ran the whole gamut from gen­uine tal­ents and hon­est men, to degen­er­ates and hope­less losers who could bare­ly write a post card–loons and fugi­tives and dan­ger­ous drunks, a shoplift­ing Cuban who car­ried a gun in his armpit, a half-wit Mex­i­can who molest­ed small chil­dren, pimps and ped­erasts and human chan­cres of every descrip­tion, most of them work­ing just long enough to make the price of a few drinks and a plane tick­et.

Thomp­son fin­ished the nov­el in 1961, but his career as a fic­tion writer was soon eclipsed by a grow­ing recog­ni­tion of his gift for nar­ra­tive jour­nal­ism, and The Rum Diary was­n’t pub­lished until 1998. As soon as it came out there was talk of a film adap­ta­tion. “Hunter’s dream,” said his­to­ri­an Dou­glas Brink­ley, “was to have The Rum Diary as a movie, because I think he always saw it as a kind of warped Casablan­ca.”

Thomp­son killed him­self before that dream ever came to fruition. After more than a decade of delays, a film ver­sion of The Rum Diary final­ly opened last week­end to mixed reviews and small audi­ences. John­ny Depp plays the alco­holic new­pa­per­man Paul Kemp as if he were a young Thomp­son: more laid back than the gonzo jour­nal­ist of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but with the same pecu­liar alien­ation and low, mut­ter­ing voice. Direc­tor Bruce Robin­son cre­ates the vivid atmos­phere of a Caribbean boom­town inhab­it­ed by shady busi­ness­men, clue­less tourists, drunk­en jour­nal­ists and resent­ful natives. But the sto­ry is like its pro­tag­o­nist: adrift, irres­olute.

To learn about Thomp­son’s ear­ly efforts to get the sto­ry made into a movie, you can watch The Rum Diary Back Sto­ry, filmed from 1998 through 2002 by Wayne Ewing. It doc­u­ments the author’s ini­tial pride at the long-over­due pub­li­ca­tion of the nov­el, fol­lowed by his grow­ing frus­tra­tion with the glacial progress in turn­ing it into a movie. Ewing filmed Thomp­son at his home in Col­orado and in a fire­side meet­ing at Dep­p’s home in Cal­i­for­nia. In one com­i­cal scene (episode eight) War­ren Zevon reads aloud an insult­ing let­ter Thomp­son had sent to a pro­duc­er.

Episode One is above, and the rest can be seen by fol­low­ing these links to Episode TwoEpisode ThreeEpisode FourEpisode FiveEpisode SixEpisode Sev­enEpisode EightEpisode Nine and Episode Ten.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters From Hunter S. Thomp­son

Hunter S. Thomp­son Gets Con­front­ed by the Hel­l’s Angels

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards

 

David Lynch’s “Crazy Clown Time,” Stream the New Album

A quick fyi: We pre­viewed the title track a few weeks back. Now, you can stream the full album for free, cour­tesy of NPR. But don’t delay, the free tracks will only linger for a lim­it­ed time.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch Talks Med­i­ta­tion with Paul McCart­ney

David Lynch’s Organ­ic Cof­fee (Bar­bie Head Not Includ­ed)

David Lynch on his Favorite Movies and Film­mak­ers

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Jim Jarmusch: The Art of the Music in His Films

In the ear­ly 1980s, aspir­ing film­mak­er Jim Jar­musch immersed him­self in New York’s under­ground music scene. He played keyboards–a “fair­ly prim­i­tive Moog synthesizer”–in places like CBGB and the Mudd Club with a No Wave band called The Del-Byzan­teens and was deeply influ­enced by the spir­it of punk rock. “The aes­thet­ics of that scene real­ly gave me the courage to make films,” Jar­musch lat­er recalled. “It was not about vir­tu­os­i­ty. It was about expres­sion.”

Over the years, Jar­musch cast musi­cians instead of actors in many of his films: Joe Strum­mer, Tom Waits, John Lurie, Iggy Pop–all had some­thing in com­mon. Each had stood up against com­mer­cial pres­sure from the main­stream pop­u­lar cul­ture. Jar­musch car­ried the same uncom­pro­mis­ing spir­it into the cre­ation of his films.

In the dis­cus­sion above, record­ed some­time after the release of 1999’s Ghost Dog, Jar­musch explains his approach to using music in film.

The open­ing sequence of Jar­musch’s 1986 film Down by Law (above) rolls to the groove of Tom Wait­s’s “Jock­ey Full of Bour­bon,” from the clas­sic Rain Dogs album. Waits him­self plays a lead­ing role in the film. His music fits per­fect­ly into the atmos­phere of the sto­ry, writes Juan A. Suárez in his crit­i­cal study, Jim Jar­musch: “Wait­s’s songs tell of frac­tured romances set in an under­world of drifters, pimps, and prostitutes–to a large extent the milieu of the film. And both Jar­musch’s film and Wait­s’s songs recy­cle retro idioms. The visu­al style of Down by Law draws from a num­ber of 1940s and 1950s stu­dio gen­res, while Wait­s’s songs are replete with pas­tich­es of pol­ka, waltz, clas­sic blues, and Caribbean rhythms.”


For the sur­re­al 1995 west­ern Dead Man (sam­pled in the mon­tage above) Jar­musch enlist­ed Neil Young to com­pose and per­form the sound­track. “To me,” Young is quot­ed as say­ing at the out­set of the project by Jonathan Rosen­baum in his BFI Mod­ern Clas­sics book on the film, “the movie is my rhythm sec­tion and I will add a melody to that.” Young record­ed his min­i­mal­ist score, much of it impro­vised, in a large ware­house in San Fran­cis­co while watch­ing a rough cut of the film. Young played all the instru­ments: elec­tric and acoustic gui­tars, pump organ and a detuned piano.

The oth­er-world­ly, some­times jar­ring music baf­fled a few of the crit­ics. “A mood might have devel­oped here,” wrote Roger Ebert in a scathing review, “had it not been for the unfor­tu­nate score by Neil Young, which for the film’s final 30 min­utes sounds like noth­ing so much as a man repeat­ed­ly drop­ping his gui­tar.” Oth­ers heard genius. Rock his­to­ri­an Greil Mar­cus, in his “Ten rea­sons why Neil Young’s “Dead Man” is the best music for the dog days of the 20th cen­tu­ry,” wrote: “The music, as you lis­ten, sep­a­rates from the movie even as it frames scenes, ban­ter, recitals. It gets big­ger and more abstract, and it becomes hard to under­stand how any film, show­ing peo­ple doing this or that in spe­cif­ic, non-abstract ways, could hold it.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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:

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

New Jim Jar­musch Doc­u­men­tary on Iggy Pop & The Stooges Now Stream­ing Free on Ama­zon Prime

Jim Jarmusch’s Anti-MTV Music Videos for Talk­ing Heads, Neil Young, Tom Waits & Big Audio Dyna­mite

Filmmaking Advice from Quentin Tarantino and Sam Raimi (NSFW)

At Com­ic-Con 2009, some aspir­ing film­mak­ers had the chance to ask real-deal direc­tors how to make it in the busi­ness. Sam Rai­mi offered some very tan­gi­ble and prac­ti­cal advice — advice that prob­a­bly any young direc­tor should take to heart. Then Quentin Taran­ti­no fol­lowed up with some col­or­ful rec­om­men­da­tions (at the 2:20 mark) that may be more inspirational/aspirational than achiev­able. Robert Rodriguez and Guiller­mo del Toro also offer their thoughts.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Taran­ti­no’s Favorite Films Since 1992

Crack­ing Taran­ti­no (Award-win­ning Film From Brazil)

John Irv­ing: The Road Ahead for Aspir­ing Nov­el­ists

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Watch the 1953 Animation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” Narrated by James Mason

Back by pop­u­lar demand, and cer­tain­ly the right video for today’s hol­i­day — the 1953 ani­mat­ed film ver­sion of Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” nar­rat­ed by James Mason. Upon its release, the film was giv­en a bizarre recep­tion. In the UK, the British Board of Film Cen­sors gave the film an “x” rat­ing, deem­ing it unsuit­able for adult audi­ences. Mean­while, “The Tell-Tale Heart” was nom­i­nat­ed for the Acad­e­my Award for Best Ani­mat­ed Short Film in the US, though it ulti­mate­ly lost to a Dis­ney pro­duc­tion. The film runs a short 7:24, and now appears in our col­lec­tion of Free Movies Online.

And then we have anoth­er small Hal­loween treat — your favorite actor, Christo­pher Walken, read­ing anoth­er clas­sic Poe sto­ry, The Raven. It’s now added to our col­lec­tion of Free Audio Books, and don’t miss oth­er read­ings by Walken right below.

Christo­pher Walken Reads “The Three Lit­tle Pigs”

Christo­pher Walken Reads Lady Gaga

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Roman Polanski’s The Fearless Vampire Killers, a Halloween Treat

Over the years, when Roman Polan­s­ki was asked to name the film he was hap­pi­est with, his answer was sur­pris­ing: The Fear­less Vam­pire Killers.

The film was a com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal flop when it was released in 1967, and Polan­s­ki was furi­ous when MGM chopped 20 min­utes out of the movie and changed the title from Dance of the Vam­pires to the far­ci­cal The Fear­less Vam­pire Killers, or Par­don Me, But Your Teeth Are In My NeckA review­er for The New York Times pro­nounced the film “as dis­mal and dead as a blood-drained corpse.”

But as the years went by, Polan­s­ki pro­fessed a fond­ness for it. “The film reminds me of the hap­pi­est time of my life,” he told Le Nou­v­el Obser­va­teur in 1984. “It’s Proust’s Madeleine to the pow­er of a thou­sand. All my mem­o­ries come flood­ing back in one shot.” Polan­s­ki fell in with actress Sharon Tate while film­ing on a sound­stage in Eng­land and on loca­tion in the Ital­ian Alps.

Polan­s­ki also liked the film because it was unpre­ten­tious. He told Cahiers du Ciné­ma in 1969, “As a film­mak­er who wants to show some­thing inter­est­ing or new cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly speak­ing, I made Cul-de-sac. But for those peo­ple who want to go to the cin­e­ma for two hours and have a good time, I made The Fear­less Vam­pire Killers.”

Some view­ers have protest­ed that the film is not espe­cial­ly fun­ny or scary. Polan­s­ki said his inten­tion was to cre­ate a kind of cin­e­mat­ic fairy tale, a fan­ta­sy adven­ture. “I want­ed to tell a roman­tic sto­ry that was fun­ny and fright­en­ing at the same time,” he told Posi­tif in 1969. “These are the things we like to see when we’re chil­dren. We go to the fun­fair, sit in the ghost train, and hope to be fright­ened. When we laugh or get goose-pim­ples at the same time it’s a pleas­ant feel­ing because we know there’s no real dan­ger.”

The film tells the sto­ry of the eccen­tric Pro­fes­sor Abron­sius (Jack McGowran) and his young appren­tice Alfred (Polan­s­ki) as they ven­ture into Tran­syl­va­nia in search of vam­pires. They arrive at an iso­lat­ed Jew­ish inn, where a hap­less pro­pri­etor (Alfie Bass) has trou­ble keep­ing tabs on his beau­ti­ful daugh­ter (Tate).

“In the film there’s an East­ern Euro­pean cul­ture which was des­o­lat­ed by the Ger­mans and that’s been killed off for good thanks to Pol­ish Stal­in­ism,” Polan­s­ki told Posi­tif. “It’s the kind of thing that you can see in the work of fig­ures like Cha­gall and Isaac Babel, and also in cer­tain Pol­ish paint­ings. This cul­ture, which nev­er reap­peared after the war, is part of my child­hood mem­o­ries. There just aren’t any tra­di­tion­al Jews in Poland any more.”

There are some beau­ti­ful, dream­like moments in The Fear­less Vam­pire Killers. The open­ing scene, in which the pro­tag­o­nists are pur­sued by a pack of wild dogs, evokes the sort of child­hood night­mare in which we find our­selves unable to call out for help. In anoth­er scene, a hunch­back uses a cof­fin as a sled, glid­ing over the curv­ing hills like a sur­re­al Norel­co San­ta.

The Fear­less Vam­pire Killers is good fun as long as you fol­low the direc­tor’s lead and don’t take it too seri­ous­ly. This ver­sion (which has been added to our col­lec­tion of Free Movies) runs one hour and 43 min­utes. The Amer­i­can the­atri­cal release ran one hour and 28 min­utes, so it appears that most of the miss­ing footage has been restored. Make some pop­corn, turn down the lights and enjoy the film!

Books Come to Life in Classic Cartoons from 1930s and 1940s

Remem­ber Spike Jonze’s stop motion film Mourir Auprès de Toi? When we fea­tured it last week, one of our read­ers called it “Slow, bor­ing and unimag­i­na­tive.” He then con­tin­ued:

Warn­er Broth­ers’ ani­ma­tion depart­ment did sev­er­al car­toons based on this con­cept over 50 years ago that packed much more ener­gy and humor into a very few min­utes worth of daz­zling ani­ma­tion.

The read­er was also good enough to point us to one such ear­ly car­toon, which we’re fea­tur­ing today. (See above.)

Released in 1946, the Looney Tunes car­toon Book Revue starts with a scene that may look famil­iar if you watched Jonze’s film: It’s mid­night. The book­store is closed. The lights are off. No crea­tures are stir­ring, not even … Scratch that, the books are stir­ring. They’re com­ing to life. And the hor­mones are run­ning high, a lit­tle too high. You can watch the rest, but we’ll leave you with this tid­bit. In 1994, Book Revue was vot­ed one of the 50 great­est car­toons of all time by a group of 1,000 ani­ma­tion pro­fes­sion­als. We thank Mike for send­ing this our way.

For good mea­sure, let’s also rewind the clock to 1938, when Mer­rie Melodies released Have You Got Any Cas­tles? It may well be the orig­i­nal books-come-to-life car­toon. We start again at mid­night, and the book cov­ers do their thing. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Fu Manchu, The Phan­tom of the Opera, and Franken­stein make an appear­ance, along with oth­er famous lit­er­ary char­ac­ters. When TBS re-released this car­toon decades lat­er, sev­er­al char­ac­ters from this orig­i­nal film (Bill “Bojan­gles” Robin­son from The 39 Steps, and Cab Cal­loway singing “I’ve Got Swing For Sale”) were edit­ed out because of the indel­i­cate way that African-Amer­i­cans were car­i­ca­tured here. Tal­ent these 1930s ani­ma­tors had. But also their blindspots too.…

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