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t’s Bernard Herrmann month on Turner Classic Movies, and though I’m nowhere near an expert on film scores, I do know Herrmann from John Williams, if only barely. And in the 1956 remake of The Man Who Knew Too Much, the composer does an Alfred Hitchcock: he appears, uncredited, in his own film. Only, where Hitch’s appearances are fleeting, lasting usually only seconds, Herrmann appears throughout the climactic scene at Albert Hall.
The setup is one of the director’s droll jokes: as Doris Day heads to the Hall where a political assassination is about to take place, she passes a sign touting Herrmann’s appearance. To make sure we get it, she pauses in front of it, even though she’s in a huge hurry to get to where Inspector Buchanan (Ralph Truman) is helping to protect the Prime Minister of some imaginary state or another. Of course, Day’s character has no idea that her son was kidnapped to prevent them squealing about an assassination attempt on that very Prime Minister on that very night, it’s all a coincidence that she’s heading for Albert Hall, bent on getting the Inspector’s help.
Watching The Man, it struck me again how little internal sense Hitch’s movies often make. The plots seem to be little more than excuses for his famously suspenseful set pieces. This film is little different: the coincidences that lead to Louis Bernard (Daniel Gelín) dying in the arms of Ben McKenna (James Stewart) are p
lenteous and inane. When he gets to London, with the only clue the name “Ambrose Chapel,” he thinks it’s a person instead of an actual church. Wouldn’t you know there’s a guy with that name — two, actually: father and son — and they’re taxidermists with an amusingly foreboding shop chock full of assistants who manhandle and otherwise discomfit the hapless dad.
And finally, after Day is at the hall to foil the plot and Stewart to drive the bad guy to his death, Inspector Buchanan allows that he knows that their son is at the imaginary nation’s embassy. When asked how he knows, he he says mysteriously “We have means of finding out . . . on the inside,” and all I can say is “Thank God for that! Otherwise, we wouldn’t get to see the patently ridiculous — but suspenseful! — denouement.” Which as everybody knows, is another Hitchcock trademark. And which I, like any aficionado of the Master, dearly love.
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The “Ambrose Chapel” thing has bugged me from day one, and apparently everyone else too. About ten years ago I was watching it with a friend who had never seen it. I told him it was far down Hitch’s list of achievements but had great music and a few good set pieces. Anyway, once the Chapel thing happened he said, “Wait… it’s a person, not a church?” I tried to keep the secret but just said, “No it’s a church.” And he said, “Well yeah I mean, why would you first assume it was a person and not a church? Wouldn’t it naturally be the other way around?” Which it would of course but then they wouldn’t get to add another pointless 15 minutes of filler. Still, for whatever reason, I like watching The Man Who Knew Too Much. Hitch makes even the ridiculous enjoyable.
Me too, Greg. I can’t think of anyone who does it better, making the patently absurd go down smoothly, and making you say “Thank you, can I have another?”