Dial M for Murder: A More Absurd Hitchcock

The amalgam of adultery and tennis players is in vogue right now, which, coupled with my penchant for the works of Alfred Hitchcock, finally got me to watch Dial M for Murder as it nears its 70th anniversary.

Based on a stage production written by Frederick Knott, Hitchcock revealed in a conversation with director François Truffaut that he was “playing it safe” with this adaptation of the Broadway hit, claiming that there isn’t much to say about it since he stayed faithful to the play, down to the fact that most of the film takes place within a single room. However, the film is still chock-full of the suspense, schemes and shots that make a classic Hitchcock, alongside some choices that perhaps the man himself does not recognize as being bizarrely unique. It is also perhaps his most Kafkaesque film, with a couple of scenes strongly supporting this claim.

The suspense here is similar to that of Rope, wherein the tension is about how long can our villainous leading man hide his actions rather than something like Rear Window, where the audience is actively trying to solve the mystery alongside our protagonist. Hitchcock has always been at the forefront of bringing strong anti-heroes to the silver screen. While Norman Bates remains the greatest Hitchcock character in this category, Tony Wendice is a close second. He is a suave mastermind and an effortlessly charismatic manipulator. As he lays out his murderous plan to Swann, we cannot help but feel entranced by his ability to plan for every conceivable possibility, even if his plan does not come to fruition the way he envisioned. The framing in that scene reflects this very idea and challenges the audience’s feelings. The overhead one-shot where Wendice explains himself is akin to a blueprint. It is a neutral narration of facts, simply giving the audience the outline of how this murder will occur. We are under no obligation to root for Wendice’s dastardly schemes, but the fact is that he is manipulating the audience as well as Swann through his unwavering command of the situation. The viewer is rather morbidly invested in this murder being successful, even if we know that it is unjustified. 

Hitchcock is no stranger to this trick. Bruno Antony from Strangers on a Train (another Hitchcock involving tennis players, adultery, and kafkaesque themes) is a similarly conniving leading man who convinces a stranger to engage in conspiracy for murder. Perhaps the most iconic scene in cinema history that exemplifies the very idea of an anti-hero’s effect on the spectator is watching Norman Bates in Psycho as Marion’s car sinks into the swamp. We have just seen our apparent protagonist  get murdered, and we shouldn’t feel disappointed at the fact that the car does not sink initially as we should want Marion’s body to be found. However, Hitchcock is a master of playing the animalistic desires of the audience against them and constantly makes us confront the fact that we are rooting for the bad guy.

Coming back to Dial M, Hitchcock does not stop at absurdity through anti-heroes; he also draws on the themes of Kafka. In The Trial, Joseph K. cannot help but make himself look as guilty as possible in the eyes of the bureaucracy as he navigates the unexplained and unexpected inquisition against him. Margot does the same when she is asked to re-enact the events of the prior night by Inspector Hubbard, implicating herself as the murderer rather than the victim. Both Joseph and Margot fall into the trap of answering incredulously leading questions, which in turn hurts their defense even if they are unequivocally telling the truth.  

The “Guilty!” scene encapsulates the essence of The Trial. Much like Joseph K. was tried ruthlessly for an unspecified crime he did not commit, Margot is also wrongly tried and found guilty. As the lighting turns an ominous, oppressive red and consumes a helpless Margot, the very same light illuminates the presiding judge, highlighting the ineptitude and authoritarian nature of the judicial system. This system was easily fooled by a few clever tricks that Tony Wendice came up with on the fly, as well as a jury that was already biased against the female defendant on account of some vague notion of morality connected to fidelity. One of the more surreal and expressionist scenes in Hitchcock’s filmography, it is a perfect complement to the absurdist, nightmarish fog that hangs over the words and worlds of Kafka, clouding the protagonists’ judgments as they confront systems that are inherently stacked against them.

Dial M remains one of the more underrated works from the mind of the Master of Suspense. While it would be a nigh-on impossible task to find a 3D screening today for the only movie the auteur made in this format, a regular viewing takes nothing away from the sheer brilliance of the performances, direction, and screenplay.

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