Auteur Theory Essay
To say that the auteur critical approach is a device intrinsically useful in the
understanding of Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958, U.S) would be a simplistic evaluation.
Though there is indeed merit in the painstaking effort of, as Andrew Sarris named
them “pantheon directors”, there is no obligation for a spectator to even consider
whether a piece of film has an auteur’s signature during the process of watching –
there is no concern for the status of the director, however more of an immediacy in
the quality of the piece.
Firstly, I will examine the sequence in which Vertigo’s protagonist, Scottie Ferguson,
first follows his soon to be femme fatale, Madeline Elster. Here Hitchcock
masterfully executes his idea of “pure cinema”, with prioritization given to the action
on the screen and not the dialogue of the script. We see Scottie, sharing his point of
view with us, following Madeline down the hills of San Francisco – in a notably
constant downward movement, just as his mental state will deteriorate as he
becomes further involved with Madeline. The employment of colour in Madeline’s
car is also interesting her, a green that has been associated with Madeline ever since
her initial introduction at Ernie’s Restaurant. Later, Scottie is positioned in the dark
of an exit to a florists, watching Judy through a crack in the mirror – highlighting the
performative and perverse nature of the film, with protagonist, and the spectator,
watching a lie unfold before their eyes.
Subtle details within this scene may point to Hithcock’s competency as an auteur
director, perhaps none more than the use of mirror throughout the scene, framing
Madeline –just as Kim Novak is framed within the film itself- in another shot. The
mirrors reflect a duplicity within Madeline’s character, highlighted later in the film,
and allow the charade of Scottie watching Madeline to take place, with her
completely aware of his place behind the mirror. These simple choices in blocking
and angles all abide by Alexander Astruc’s basic principle that the use of camera to
show what is happening to the audience is a uniquely filmic expression, and should
be given higher importance during production than the literary script.
The lavish interior sets – playing a vital role in components of meaning such as colour
and mise-en-scene- were all designed by Henry Bumstead. The costumes were a
product of eight-time academy award winner Edith Head’s work, and of course the
infamous score was composed by none other than Bernard Herrmann. The lengthy
list of collaborator’s on Vertigo seems to, within itself, challenge the status of it’s
director: although Hitchcock’s work as a director fits the necessary three
competences established by Sarris, it is reductive to assume that one person can
claim creative originality for the entire project. Instead I believe it is useful not to
look at the film as a book, and the director it’s author – but to look at the director as
the conductor, undeniably reliant on the musician’s, just as the musician’s are to the
conductor who will meticulously organize them in doing so. Pauline Kael proposed a
similar theory within her 1963 essay “Circles and Squares”. Within this essay Kael
challenged the idea of a director claiming all praise for a film, notably namely the
To say that the auteur critical approach is a device intrinsically useful in the
understanding of Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958, U.S) would be a simplistic evaluation.
Though there is indeed merit in the painstaking effort of, as Andrew Sarris named
them “pantheon directors”, there is no obligation for a spectator to even consider
whether a piece of film has an auteur’s signature during the process of watching –
there is no concern for the status of the director, however more of an immediacy in
the quality of the piece.
Firstly, I will examine the sequence in which Vertigo’s protagonist, Scottie Ferguson,
first follows his soon to be femme fatale, Madeline Elster. Here Hitchcock
masterfully executes his idea of “pure cinema”, with prioritization given to the action
on the screen and not the dialogue of the script. We see Scottie, sharing his point of
view with us, following Madeline down the hills of San Francisco – in a notably
constant downward movement, just as his mental state will deteriorate as he
becomes further involved with Madeline. The employment of colour in Madeline’s
car is also interesting her, a green that has been associated with Madeline ever since
her initial introduction at Ernie’s Restaurant. Later, Scottie is positioned in the dark
of an exit to a florists, watching Judy through a crack in the mirror – highlighting the
performative and perverse nature of the film, with protagonist, and the spectator,
watching a lie unfold before their eyes.
Subtle details within this scene may point to Hithcock’s competency as an auteur
director, perhaps none more than the use of mirror throughout the scene, framing
Madeline –just as Kim Novak is framed within the film itself- in another shot. The
mirrors reflect a duplicity within Madeline’s character, highlighted later in the film,
and allow the charade of Scottie watching Madeline to take place, with her
completely aware of his place behind the mirror. These simple choices in blocking
and angles all abide by Alexander Astruc’s basic principle that the use of camera to
show what is happening to the audience is a uniquely filmic expression, and should
be given higher importance during production than the literary script.
The lavish interior sets – playing a vital role in components of meaning such as colour
and mise-en-scene- were all designed by Henry Bumstead. The costumes were a
product of eight-time academy award winner Edith Head’s work, and of course the
infamous score was composed by none other than Bernard Herrmann. The lengthy
list of collaborator’s on Vertigo seems to, within itself, challenge the status of it’s
director: although Hitchcock’s work as a director fits the necessary three
competences established by Sarris, it is reductive to assume that one person can
claim creative originality for the entire project. Instead I believe it is useful not to
look at the film as a book, and the director it’s author – but to look at the director as
the conductor, undeniably reliant on the musician’s, just as the musician’s are to the
conductor who will meticulously organize them in doing so. Pauline Kael proposed a
similar theory within her 1963 essay “Circles and Squares”. Within this essay Kael
challenged the idea of a director claiming all praise for a film, notably namely the
