William Rothman is one of the great close readers of film, and he pioneered techniques of meticulous, exhaustive and astonishing frame-by-frame analysis in his 1982 book Hitchcock: The Murderous Gaze. For Rothman, what sets these films apart is that Hitchcock's images always think. While any juxtaposition of images cannot help but produce meaning, in a Hitchcock film there are no chance encounters between images. There are no mere accidents of formulaic editing, as the studio-era sometimes produced, nor, as in the case of experimentalists like Andy Warhol, does the camera ever simply run as a way of not thinking. Rothman argues that Hitchcock's films are different because every frame is related to and constitutes the whole of what Hitchcock, as auteur, is thinking. Indeed, The Murderous Gaze might be summed up as a lesson in how to recognize Hitchcock's filmic thought. In his new book, Must We Kill the Thing We Love? Emersonian Perfectionism and the Films of Alfred Hitchcock, Rothman again performs virtuoso acts of close viewing Hitchcock's films, and he both develops and substantially revises his conclusions from The Murderous Gaze. Following the work of Stanley Cavell's classic 1981 book on comedies of the 1930s, Pursuits of Happiness: The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage, Rothman now wants to see Hitchcock's films, particularly his later films, in the very terms that Cavell applied to the new and decidedly American vision of self-invention we find in It Happened One Night (Frank Capra, 1934) or His Girl Friday (Howard Hawks, 1940). For Cavell, these films were different because the obstacle to marriage was not an external conflict of social class but internal to characters who had to overcome their own limits and reinvent themselves as worthy partners for each other. For Cavell, these films were examples of Emerson's moral perfectionism, and they were profound affirmations of an American optimism. However, they are also comedies, in the strictest sense, about and ending in marriage. Rothman's attempt to interpret Hitchcock in these terms is problematic, as he well knows. To begin with, Hitchcock's subject is not marriage but murder, and while few of his films are strictly tragedies, they are all characterized by a kind of European pessimism. Indeed, Hitchcock's reception has always characterized him as a kind of lapsed Catholic who believes in original sin by way of UFA studios and German expressionism. In a significant way, Rothman's new book reads against many of the commonplaces of Hitchcock's long reception.
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