Vertigo last night - a dreamy, surreal movie with surprisingly modern touches, including the swirling vortex used to denote mental collapse in poor old Scottie. James Stewart plays another broken man - this time with a terrible obsession for a woman who never really existed. Although it is a great film in many ways, it's a disturbing one to watch and hard not to cringe (and feel implicated) at the humiliation of both Midge and Judy as they are subjected to an unforgiving male gaze. The Midge type characters in Hitchcock never get their man - but on the other hand, they are unlikely to end up dead. I was thinking about this film when I wrote this poem:

Hitchcock Blonde

Ice cool.
A frosted Barbie
hard and cold to the touch
her hour glass figure
infinitely breakable.

Examine her carefully.
The painted blue eyes
with built in tears
(press button A)
the immaculate underwear
uneasily prised
from her brittle carapace.

Shoe her in black
lay a tailored suit
on a firm foundation
restrain the breasts
(remove nipples first)
contain the ample derriere.

But still she will run
shackled for our entertainment
hobble to the nearest lake
the highest tower
fling herself in
or off.

Drama queen.

Torture her
against a backdrop of nuns
an op art chorus line.
She will raise a tiny hand
gloved in pearl grey.
Listen.
“Scotty,” she will murmur.
“Don’t let me go.”

( from Weeping for the Lovely Phantoms 2007)

Labels: hitchcock movies, poetry, Salt publishing, Vertigo