BY JEREMY CARR
Alfred Hitchcock’s I Confess
opens on a desolate Quebec City just before nightfall. Overcast skies, drenched
streets, and a still rustling wind suggest the tranquility of a recently
concluded storm. The camera moves toward a house, easing through an open
window. Inside, a dead body, that of a lawyer named Vilette, lies bludgeoned on
the floor. A man in priest’s cassock, which he soon removes, flees the scene
under cover of darkness. He is then observed by another priest as he hurriedly
enters a rectory. About a minute into this 1953 film, there has been a murder,
a passing glimpse of the assailant, and a witness, and a previously serene
environment is now the backdrop for a sinister scenario. Thus we have many of
the main ingredients necessary to set up a prototypical Hitchcock story.
But this story goes one brilliant step further. Based on the 1902
play by French-Canadian Paul Anthelme, Nos
deux consciences (Our Two Consciences), I
Confess has the murderer, in actuality a sexton named Otto Keller (O.E.
Hasse), tell the real priest, Father Michael Logan (Montgomery Clift), about
his deed. The catch, of course, is that Michael cannot reveal what he knows due
to the strictures of confidential admission. Even if this wasn’t a perfect
murder—Otto only wanted to steal some money—it was a perfect confession.
The murder is more than simply an illegal secret Michael must
conceal, however. Visiting the scene of the crime the next day, his own
behavior raises suspicion, eventually to the point that he becomes the prime
suspect for Inspector Larrue (Karl Malden). And when the unhappily married Ruth
Grandfort (Anne Baxter) greets Michael and passionately mutters, “We’re free,â€
it becomes clear that indeed Michael also has reason for wanting the lawyer
dead: he and Ruth harbor a taboo, though presently platonic, love, and only
Vilette knew about it. So the question then becomes not how the characters will
react to the crime itself, but how they will function following the confession,
how all involved will deftly handle the aftermath of this crime that benefits
more than just the murderer, and potentially leaves the consequences to fall on
an innocent man.
George Tabori and William Archibald are credited with the
screenplay of I Confess (one of only
two writing credits ever for Archibald), but the film was rumored to have
involved nearly 12 writers at various points in its eight-year preproduction.
Yet with so many cooks working on the broth, I Confess retains a fair amount of Hitchcock flavor. It is even
tempting to further read into it a personal connection for the director, given
that he was raised Catholic and identified with the religious setting,
appreciating Father Logan’s adherence to his religious principles, for
instance.
While Clift’s Method acting background (and his drinking) sometimes
ran contrary to Hitchcock’s preference for blindly obedient and unquestioning
actors, the two evidently worked well enough to elicit an excellent performance
by the astonishing young star, already with two Oscar nominations under his
belt and on his way to a third, for From
Here to Eternity (1953). To see Clift’s face as Hasse tells him about the
murder is an acting master class in close-up. Held in a single take, Clift’s
expressive features register his shock at the announcement, his guilty consideration
of its advantageous value, his acceptance of its significance, and his return
to priestly concern, all with the mere crinkle of a nose, blink of an eye,
facial twitch, or furrowed brow. There is no doubt Clift had one of the
screen’s more breathtaking faces, but more amazing is what he could do with it,
and we see it all in just this one shot. Costars Malden and Baxter fit their
roles well, but Clift in general gives a type of nuanced performance rarely
seen in a Hitchcock film.
In the opening sequences of I
Confess, Dimitri Tiomkin’s exuberant score pounds to operatic rhythms
matched by camera movement and editing, rising to a crescendo of high-pitched
tension as all of the above mentioned pieces are put into place. Things calm
down not long after this breakneck opening, though, settling to a statelier
pace with extensive passages of dialogue, detailed procedural interrogations,
and later, a prolonged trial sequence. Even the basic generic tenor switches
gear for a time to have its drive be the forbidden romance rather than the
murder. Before the 30-minute mark, it is clear that Michael knows too much,
Otto and his scheming wife Alma, played by famed German actress Dolly Haas in
her only American role, both know he knows too much, and Larrue knows everybody
knows more than they’re telling. The main problem with I Confess, as far as its maintaining a consistent interest, is that
we too know more than we should. Where I
Confess falters is that by this point, not even half way through the
picture, everything is more or less explained, except for perhaps how and when
the truth will be revealed, and much of what transpires until that moment is
simply getting in the way.