It's not one of Hitchcock's best efforts. The most notable thing about the film is how Hitchcock was a total bastard to Tippi Hendren. He couldn't get Grace Kelly, so he thought he'd invent one of his own, and that his creation should love him back. He ruined her career.
A film I watch again and again with the same pleasure. After 60 seconds, you know that you're seeing a film directed by Alfred Hitchcock. This is Style, this is Class. The shot of the street where is living Tippi Hedren's mother is mythical. Strongly recommended.
One of Hitchcock's (the arch-psychiatrist of cinema's) lesser known masterpieces. His near-telepathic ability to pinpoint the frailties of a person's psyche, was a blessing and a curse; notorious for deeply offending actresses just before a take in order to gain the most authentic response; thinly veiled misogyny from an obsessive director requiring the muse of a siren to stir his creative impulses...
MARNIE's depths are so obviously endless that it renders such a small piece of writing as this rather impotent. What a fragile picture, balanced so unusually between Hollywood classicism & European modernism! Character triangularity abounds, a spinning web of psychological associations. As often w/ Hitchcock, the themes of sexuality, trauma, & ambivalence towards remedies haunt everything. "I am Marnie" - Robin Wood
The psychosexual exemplar from the master of form, illogic, and the irreal. But it's real, man. If you don't learn this lesson I promise you that you will live a kind of living hell, and so will yr beloved, until one of you dies.
This is Grade A Hitchcock. One of his purest attempts of psychological cinema; channeling that Vertigo pathology with spells of neurotic hallucination. I can't help but think of Hitchcock in the position of Connery here, desperately attempting to win over his impossible blondes over hostage picnics and bondage retreats. I'm convinced that Connery's mock titled reading material is in reference to Hitch's own study.
Like a lost silent film discovered & instantly colorized and synched to sound. Along with The Birds, Marnie showcases Hitch working with pure cinema, and Tippi Hedren's recent public airing of her torment at his hands makes the relatively rounded, sympathetic views of her characters in the two films all the more tragic and upsetting. But they are also linked by perfectly ordered disorder, among Hitch's greatest works
"You Freud, me Jane?" As in Psycho, the passages of baldly stated cod-analysis are unfortunate, but they don't seriously detract from Marnie's uncanny power. For all of its slickness and urbanity (courtesy, mostly, of Connery, but also of Diane Baker), the film is nevertheless terrifically harrowing in a way that put me in mind of another study of the "Sexual Aberrations of the Criminal Female," Polanski's Repulsion.