Subpar Alfred
Hitchock still outpaces 90 percent of anything made in Hollywood 70 years ago
or now. But romance-thriller “Suspicion” is a stiff. I swear Hitchcock was
bored making it, because I was bored watching it, and that’s a tall order since
“Suspicion” stars Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. Apologies to the master and stars. History says morality-cop conservative
censors –- Hays Code –- killed this tale before film was set to camera. I believe
it. Plot: Wealthy gal Fontaine falls in love with wealthy party boy lothario
(Grant) who turns out not to be rich, but a gambling, lying, thieving heel who
gets away with such deeds because he’s Cary fuckin’ Grant. When hubby’s
best pal –- who is wealthy -- eventually
(a long eventually) turns up dead, wifey fears for her own life. Cue scariest
glass of milk ever. Cue ... nothing happens. Look, some scenes rock -- that glowing milk, the play of shadows as
a bird cage -- but this is a slog, and a sexist drudge as it plasters a heroine
who must learn to keep her trap shut and not doubt her crap-o hubs. Because
he’s Cary Grant. B-
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