Editorials
‘Rear Window’: A Classic Murder Mystery and Strangely Timeless Exploration of Isolation
It’s a weird time to be alive right now.
Remarks on the supposed “crumbling” state of the world at any given moment often feel hyperbolic, as things tend to be with people growing up in the digital age that allows us access to culture, news, and events happening all around the globe. But with the COVID-19 pandemic reshaping the world around us, those hyperbolic statements become household terms, with people (preferably) staying indoors in an effort to beat the situation we’re in.
As is expected, the world of streaming has boosted to the forefront of entertainment in the wake of national theater closings (unless you’re willing to venture out for a drive-in feature) and streaming services have done their part in scooping up and promoting the various exclusives for people stuck at home to watch. Hulu, in an attempt to market themselves to viewers old and new, diversified their content with popular shows like Rick and Morty and South Park while snatching up some of the newest releases to hit the market, like Portrait of a Lady on Fire and Booksmart.
It was on a regular day of stream surfing for me when I came across a surprising Hulu addition that caught my eye: Alfred Hitchcock’s iconic murder mystery thriller, Rear Window, available with a Starz subscription. It being a classic and obviously not having the choice to go to a theater, I figured it would be a nice chance to finally watch and see what the hype was about. A murder mystery involving a man solving a murder while in the comfort of his own home? It sounded quite fitting given the situation.
Turns out, it was much more fitting than I had anticipated.
Spoilers ahead for Rear Window.
Rear Window, released in 1954, went on to become one of Alfred Hitchcock’s most acclaimed films, being rendered a timeless classic with its twisty mystery unraveling so meticulously and without much fluff to pad. James Stewart’s strong lead performance as our crippled main protagonist, L.B. Jeffries, confined to his apartment after an accident during his job as a photographer, puts the audience in Jeff’s shoes, tying our viewing of the film’s story with his voyeuristic tendency of observing his neighbors through his open window. He may not get a sexual thrill, but it still instills a jolt of life into his mundane routine of simply sitting. He’s just as much of an observer as the audience, leading to a stronger connection with him that has helped the film age like a fine wine over half a century.
Rear Window manages to accomplish much in spite of only taking place in one fleshed out location, that being Jeff’s stuffy apartment, by giving the audience a realistic look at the various apartments Jeff spies on with the use of his binoculars and camera scope. Much has been said about the “male gaze” on display with Jeff’s nosy tendencies, but Rear Window goes above and beyond when tackling Jeff’s, and ultimately our own voyeurism when we try to peek into the lives of strangers and friends behind closed doors.
Humans are naturally curious creatures, observing life around them and looking for anything remotely off to catch our attention. It’s no wonder that true crime stories, such as the recent Netflix sensation, Tiger King, fascinate us as viewers looking into a different and occasionally unbelievable world in an effort to fulfill a certain purpose within each of us. Jeff is the embodiment of that concept in Rear Window, digging into people’s personal lives out of sheer boredom and coincidentally coming across a murder in hiding.
But that’s just what happens to people who feel isolated, right? When a person is essentially cut off from the majority of the outside world without it being their choice, there are only so many ways to spend their time in isolation. Isolation drives us to find interest in the unexpected, with our usual luxuries of life temporarily out of use. The case of Jeff is an example of isolation’s effect on the human mind, with Jeff’s elongated home experience leading to conflict with his socialite girlfriend, Lisa Fremont, over his insecurity as a loving spouse to her.
This isolation drives Jeff to the point of spying on his neighbors, substituting or maybe even just blocking his insecurities by basking in the lives of others, even giving some of the neighbors their own nicknames, like Miss Torso and Miss Lonelyhearts. Despite not knowing them, Jeff forms a strange distant bond with these unsuspecting people, often taking the time to observe them even when Lisa and his nurse, Stella, converse with him. An innate desire for intimacy? He may have Lisa, but his high-thrill life as a photographer aches for action of any sort.
Therefore, catching what appears to be a murder in one of the apartments across from his gives Jeff the spark of life he was craving while sitting in his apartment. He may not move much, but his keen observational skills as a photographer help him deduce breadcrumbs of a crime that could’ve easily gone unsolved had he decided to mind his own business. But isolation drove Jeff to live his usual daredevil life from the comfort of his apartment. He didn’t need to and he would’ve stooped to a lower level on the morality scale for doing so, but Jeff, being human, just couldn’t help himself.
Hitchcock’s “film-esque” framing of Rear Window turns that notion towards ourselves, reflecting our own desires for something potentially dangerous. As audience members, we are likely to project a piece of ourselves into the narrative, wondering aloud how we as individuals would approach the situation. We do the same outside of the theater, casually observing our surroundings and secretly hoping for something unexpected. Why else would we direct our attention to a burning car on the side of the road when it most likely isn’t directly related to our lives?
Rear Window had already made its point regarding humans as natural voyeurs of the lives around us, but in 2020, the film has somehow managed to maintain even stronger relevancy thanks to the events rocking our world right now. Millions worldwide are now in the same position as Jeff, sitting in the confines of their homes while musing on the various luxuries of life previously taken for granted like walking outside and even just shaking somebody’s hand.
Isolation is now part of the norm, even being forcefully integrated into some people’s lives around the world and the results have been fascinating, to say the least. While there’s a whole group of people insisting on living life like nothing has happened, isolation has also inspired creative ways for people to stay connected with one another. You have likely seen the viral video of the people in Italy singing from the balcony of their apartments in an effort to lift spirits or the video of apartment neighbors playing a high-risk game of tennis from their respective windows.
Situations like these are but few of the many different manners isolated people have taken to make something out of their lives for the time being, and while the situation wasn’t quite as serious with Jeff breaking his leg, it’s interesting to note just how closely Rear Window ties into the lives we’re currently experiencing. Jeff finds a way to keep a connection to the outside world through observation and in 2020, we employ a similar tactic with how we now communicate, whether it be through text, call, video chat, or just a casual look through social media.
Like Jeff, we are in a state of meditation instead of actively moving forward, so our manner in staying connected involves our own observation of the world around us. It’s not encouraged to drive and go to parties, so we observe those who defy the rules and party hard (and perhaps harshly judge them too, depending on your stance). Maybe we watch YouTube videos of our favorite creators adapting to the situation at hand. Perhaps we even watch a classic Hitchcock thriller about a man doing the exact same thing we are right now.
While the idea of modern observation maintains relevancy regardless of the pandemic with the very existence of the internet, it just feels a little more close-to-home given the circumstances. In essence, Rear Window is one of the prime examples of an “isolation movie,” making use of limited and stuffy space to enhance the narrative and comment on an aspect of isolation as it pertains to humanity. Rear Window uses isolation to make a point about humans’ relationship with each other and the hoops we’ll jump through in order to maintain that connection, ironically in the same way that the coronavirus pandemic is currently testing us.
It may feel like a downer to talk about the pandemic in such detail, but I mention it to make a point on how even the most dire situations can end peacefully. At the epilogue of Rear Window, the ending doesn’t come with Jeff happily roaming about the city. His fight with Thorwald leaves him in arguably worse condition than before, yet he’s sleeping with a smile on his face, knowing that he solved a crime; it’s almost a reflection of his surroundings as his neighbors continue to live their lives accordingly, some even happier with new developments.
This ending is hopeful, implying that connections can remain even as you’re cooped up in your home. Jeff is still crippled, but his connection to Lisa, Stella, and the outside world remains strong. And if he was able to maintain this back in the mid-50s, it shouldn’t be an issue to try it out in 2020. Isolation can be a true pain, but it’s important to keep our connections strong and healthy without making foolish decisions in the face of the pandemic. Rear Window knew this way back then and it’s something for all of us to consider right now.
You could even say that Rear Window is the ultimate social distancing movie.
Horror was thriving so well in the 1980s that movies like Pen Densham’s The Kiss (1988) would understandably get lost in the shuffle, only to then gain their fans later on in life. Even still, this one Canadian-American curio has had a more challenging time than others, as far as contemporary reevaluations go, which is very likely due to the movie’s limited availability—at least as of this write-up.
However, the scarceness of The Kiss, while a bit annoying, makes it like catnip for ‘80s horror completists everywhere. Hopefully, a lot of them will walk away satisfied after watching this hidden gem.
Even though The Kiss was intended as the first of several horror collaborations between Astral Pictures and TriStar, as well as the first feature produced by Densham, Richard B. Lewis and John Watson’s Trilogy Entertainment Group, it ended up being the only one produced from that former union. Once the movie was released, TriStar’s distribution jitters—they opted for a regional rollout—did the $6-million flick no favors. TriStar’s cold feet toward horror releases have been well noted, but The Kiss still did a tad better than Night of the Creeps (1986), another genre outing that flopped due to its regional opening.
Shot in Montreal, but set in Albany, New York, The Kiss—which was still called The Host just a few months before its October premiere—concerns an average middle-class family and their forthcoming situation. The uncanny problem in store for them was, in fact, set in motion some years earlier. As that hot and dusty flashback to the Belgian Congo shows, a familial curse was set upon the two Dunbar sisters well before Meredith Salenger’s teenage character was born.
Meredith Salenger, Nicholas Kilbertus and Mimi Kuzyk in The Kiss
The Kiss, which was based on a story by co-writer Stephen Volk (Ghostwatch) and penned by both Volk and Tom Ropelewski, has the outward appearance of The Stepfather (1987). This movie, though, is anything but a gender-flipped retread of that classic domestic disturber. For starters, The Kiss is far less grounded in reality—that much is clear from its unsettling opening scene. There, a trusting girl (Priscilla Mouzakiotis) is the victim of her own deceptive aunt (Céline Lomez); the movie’s titular act, and the story’s first shock, becomes the means of transferring an ancient evil from one host to another.
In the present day, Salenger’s role of Amy Halloran, a religious schoolgirl, is dealt a harsh blow in life once her mother, Hilary Halloran née Dunbar (Pamela Collyer), suddenly dies in a freak accident. But rather than a complete stranger sweeping the Halloran widower (Nicholas Kilbertus) off his feet some months later, Joanna Pacula’s character is that chosen temptress. Here, Pacula plays the grown-up version of the afflicted girl last seen in the movie’s opener. Since Amy’s mother is insistent about there being no reunion between estranged sisters, and she even contemplates buying a gun shortly before her tragic demise, it’s presumable that Aunt Felice poses a threat to her family.
The Kiss isn’t a movie ever too concerned about its own predictability. The audience is indeed often one step ahead of the story here, but also keep in mind how every one of those steps is loud. Take, for instance, the death of Amy’s mother; the Halloran matriarch goes out in garish, gruesome fashion, as a supernaturally commandeered truck sends Collyer’s character through a store window first, then leaves her one leg short. The directorial enthusiasm truly comes out in horrific moments such as these.
The Kiss is always sure to revel in its characters’ ills and misfortunes. So if the plot doesn’t impress, then its lurid parts should. Amy’s mother’s exit scene was proof of an eager, first-time horror director proving his worth. Then, bestie Heather (Sabrina Boudot) survives to tell the tale of a bizarre escalator mishap that, despite showing relatively less gore, spikes viewers’ empathy meter. The wilder bits of this movie, however, commence with that inevitable hookup between Felice and Amy’s bewitched father; their kitchen coitus is paralleled by Amy’s feverish classroom terror. The outcome there is a disquieting cross-cut of sex magic and a young woman’s menstrual onset plus hallucinations.
Sabrina Boudot in The Kiss
From foam appliances to bladders, that parade of special effects in The Kiss casts its own spell on the audience. Felice’s familiar, a visibly malevolent cat, was realized here with several models, some more articulate than others. Admittedly, the demon cat’s not as convincing as most of the effects here, but accepting that artifice, as opposed to fighting it, will make the whole experience way more enjoyable. As for the makeup used to manifest Felice’s inner villainy, it is more minimal and subtle than one might like; yet the work done to turn Pacula into an antithesis of herself is nonetheless compelling.
The otherworldly perils and dreadful goings-on wouldn’t work half as well as they do in The Kiss without the story’s contrast effect. Finding frights in picturesque, extremely ordinary settings was something that took off in the ‘80s, thanks to that sweeping shift to locales like the suburbs. And Amy’s home, a replica of a real Montreal suburban house, is the ideal battleground for any proper good-versus-evil story. It’s also prime real estate for this movie’s satanic panic-inspired horrors.
Because of their ostensibly similar plots, The Kiss has been compared to The Exorcist (1973). Except in Densham’s movie, the sinister, non-Christian entity targeting a teen girl lies within something less apparent and, perhaps, more devastating upon its exposure. To an outsider, Pacula’s Aunt Felice is too beautiful and unobjectionable to ever suspect of being a monster. More suspicious is how quickly she rips into the fabric of the Halloran home. Felice’s mere presence upsets the “texture of family life,” according to the director.
The demon cat in The Kiss
Taking out Amy’s mother and best friend, and distracting her father, would suggest The Kiss is playing by a different set of rules. It is initially leaving its adolescent target unsupported in a rather grim scenario. In contrast, though, this story offers up a surrogate parent who does her best to fill in the holes of Amy’s eroding home life. Mimi Kuzyk does good work as that family friend and doctor, Brenda, who guides the lost child without also steering her in any one direction; she is naturally skeptical of Amy’s accusations until it’s almost too late to do anything about them. So although The Kiss does an admirable job of undoing the main character’s support system, it never leaves her without a lifeline. This dark movie, in spite of everything that’s transpired, doesn’t deprive itself of light and hope.
The Kiss is a potent mélange of familiar ideas. If not for the director’s surprise flair for horror, though, the movie would have been less effective. What a shame that Pen Densham didn’t continue with the genre. As for Joanna Pacula, she is, too, owed credit as the wicked vixen opposite Meredith Salenger’s pitiable Amy; she never fails to be unsettling in her role. Pacula makes Aunt Felice a sexy yet intimidating character.
For horror that steadily doles out madness and menace, while also delivering a flashy and ghastly conclusion, The Kiss is certain to please. Yes, it’s cheesy all the way, but most favorably, everyone involved plays everything straight. That kind of commitment goes a long way with this movie.
The Kiss
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