Well, it's identifiably a Hitchcock movie, but you have to watch it a little carefully to be sure. There are no dramatic set pieces, no mind-boggling crane shots, no screaming violins in the score, and the touches of humor are sparse and more understated than usual.
The story is basically a murder mystery generated by a false flashback, for which Hitchcock evidently received some critical heat. It's hard to understand exactly why. The flashback is told by an unreliable and half-hysterical narrator (Richard Todd) to the decent girl (Jane Wyman) who loves him, although he is obsessed with a glamorous woman of the theater (Marlene Dietrich). The lie is satisfactorily cleared up at the end. And the device of the lying flashback is common enough now. But in 1950, "Rashomon" hadn't swum into public view yet.
The performances are up to par. The film makes good use of established English character actors like Alistair Sim as Wyman's father, who is given the most amusing lines. At one point, Wilding the detective is chewing out Sim:
Wilding: "How could you let your daughter get mixed up in a thing like this? What kind of father do you think you are?"
Sim: "Unique."
Marlene Dietrich gets the award for second-best lines. "Don't confide in me, dear, just pour me some tea." And then there is Joyce Grenfell, a toothy spinsterish lady running a shooting gallery at the garden party -- "Come and shoot lovely ducks!" Michael Wilding is pretty handsome, isn't he? Or is he. From some angles and at certain times, he looks and sounds like Danny Kaye.
The tenor of the film is relaxed and casual. A bit unfocused at times. Joyce Grenfell is very funny but what is she doing in this scene? And what do we think is going to happen when Sims gets the little Cub Scout to climb on stage and present the blood-stained doll to Dietrich? Maybe it's supposed to catch her conscience, like Hamlet's play within a play, but it leads nowhere. The movie overall seems to lack tension, but it's still enjoyable to sit back and watch the characters go through their paces. All of the performances are good and the movie isn't a flop. It's just not one of Hitchcock's most memorable pieces, the kind only he was capable of.
The story is basically a murder mystery generated by a false flashback, for which Hitchcock evidently received some critical heat. It's hard to understand exactly why. The flashback is told by an unreliable and half-hysterical narrator (Richard Todd) to the decent girl (Jane Wyman) who loves him, although he is obsessed with a glamorous woman of the theater (Marlene Dietrich). The lie is satisfactorily cleared up at the end. And the device of the lying flashback is common enough now. But in 1950, "Rashomon" hadn't swum into public view yet.
The performances are up to par. The film makes good use of established English character actors like Alistair Sim as Wyman's father, who is given the most amusing lines. At one point, Wilding the detective is chewing out Sim:
Wilding: "How could you let your daughter get mixed up in a thing like this? What kind of father do you think you are?"
Sim: "Unique."
Marlene Dietrich gets the award for second-best lines. "Don't confide in me, dear, just pour me some tea." And then there is Joyce Grenfell, a toothy spinsterish lady running a shooting gallery at the garden party -- "Come and shoot lovely ducks!" Michael Wilding is pretty handsome, isn't he? Or is he. From some angles and at certain times, he looks and sounds like Danny Kaye.
The tenor of the film is relaxed and casual. A bit unfocused at times. Joyce Grenfell is very funny but what is she doing in this scene? And what do we think is going to happen when Sims gets the little Cub Scout to climb on stage and present the blood-stained doll to Dietrich? Maybe it's supposed to catch her conscience, like Hamlet's play within a play, but it leads nowhere. The movie overall seems to lack tension, but it's still enjoyable to sit back and watch the characters go through their paces. All of the performances are good and the movie isn't a flop. It's just not one of Hitchcock's most memorable pieces, the kind only he was capable of.