Hitchcock’s Partner in Suspense: The Life of Screenwriter Charles Bennett

7. Alfred Hitchcock

63 7 alfred Hitchcock a strange and Bewildering character As the top writer, constructionist, and story author of Hitch’s early talking films, I knew him extremely well. In our nearly fifty-year association, I became closely acquainted with his brilliance, idiosyncrasies and weaknesses , jealousies and fears, and politically calculating mind regarding his own career. I was also familiar with his sense of humor, which, all too often, was lacking, perverted or misplaced, and verging on sadism. Having known him so, I write not of the world-famous director, but of the man himself—a very strange and bewildering character. There were so many sometimes contradictory facets attached to this man. Genius, of course. Tremendous ambition. Vast inventiveness. Curiously enough, an overwhelming fear of authority. There was also impatience—Hitch hated to wait for anything or anybody—except for me when I used to pick him up outside his Cromwell Road apartment on our way to the Gaumont British studio. He could be the kindest guy in the world. He could bend over backward to be kind. He could bend over backward to be sadistic and horrible. I suspect he was only kind because it made him feel how wonderful he was. Actually, he was a bully. I’m not saying anything I would not say to his face. I remember the evening he showed me Psycho—we were drinking at his house, and I said, “Hitch, you’re a sadist.” “Sadist? How could you possibly say that?” he asked. “Because only a sadist could have filmed that bathroom scene.” “What do you mean?” he inquired. I replied, “It was horrible, sickening.” I pointed out the obvious, the HitcHcock’s Partner in susPense 64 harrowing knife murder of Janet Leigh, the blood flowing down the drain, and so on. Hitch only grinned and answered, “Charles, you’ve lost your sense of humor. I directed that scene for laughs.” Laughs? I’ve seen the picture twice, but don’t remember any member of the audience falling in the aisle out of mirth. Then there were Hitch’s practical jokes, often cruel rather than funny. He bet his favorite property man that he couldn’t spend the entire weekend with his hands handcuffed behind his back. The man was delighted, jumped at the thought of five pounds, so the handcuffs were applied. What the poor man didn’t know was that Hitch had arranged a drink for him up at the local pub, laced with a very strong laxative. The result was obvious. Pity the man’s poor wife, having to tend to a husband who suffered a call of nature every few minutes but, with his hands locked behind his back, could do nothing to help himself. To Hitch this was hilarious, only encouraging further, often vicious sadism. But strangely enough, the people he seemed to enjoy hurting most were those whom he had every reason to be fond of and respect. I remember instances of his joking treatment of his favorite assistant director, Richard “Dicky” Beville. Dicky was a delightful guy. He’d been a turret gunnery officer who survived the ghastly World War I Battle of Jutland, even though his battle cruiser had been sunk and the British lost 6,274 crewmembers. But for Dicky, surviving Hitch’s droll tricks was another matter. There was the occasion when he had booked seats for the opening of the Covent Garden opera season, in those days a full-evening-dress affair—for Dicky, white tie and tails, and for Molly, his lovely, young wife, a specially designed evening gown. Leaving the BIP Elstree Studio after the day’s shooting, Hitch offered to run Dicky into town, so that he would have plenty of time to prepare for the important evening. He accepted gratefully and boarded Hitch’s huge, chauffeur-driven Minerva, which—since Hitch loathed fresh air—had closed and hermetically sealed windows. The journey proceeded, but along the way Dicky realized that the car seemed to be skirting London rather than driving into it. He pointed this out. But Hitch shrugged it off, saying, “This chauffeur likes to pursue his own shortcut routes. He knows his job.” And the chauffeur did his job, exactly as Hitch had ordered. The car alfred Hitchcock:a strange and Bewildering character 65 ended up at Shamley Green, Hitch’s country home, some twenty miles or more out of London. Dicky and Molly...