Notorious (1946)

Can a limit be placed on patriotism? Surely there must come a point at which it transcends mere duty to one’s country and becomes a form of imposed servitude. Alfred Hitchcock’s Notorious tells the story of a person who faces this reality. Her name is Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman), the daughter of a convicted Nazi spy – and, as the title suggests, a woman with a notorious reputation. At the behest of the American government, she infiltrates a small but mighty band of Nazi war criminals in postwar Rio de Janeiro by pretending to fall in love with, then marrying, the band’s leader. While never seen, it’s obvious that part of this charade requires her to be the leader’s sexual partner. So then there’s really no getting around this: She has become a government-sponsored prostitute. Her past transgressions, many of which were not in her direct control, are being exploited for political gain.

Responsible for Alicia is Secret Service agent T.R. Delvin (Cary Grant), a man who does not trust very easily and is too quick to choose duty over love. He initially refuses to acknowledge his role in manipulating her, a decision, as will eventually be made abundantly clear, he will come to regret. Let’s just say that Alicia does a much better job than he initially thought. She feels the sting of his coldness, made all the more painful by the fact that she’s in love with him. It doesn’t help that she’s completely aware of how she’s being used by her own government, no doubt still reveling in their World War II victory. In many scenes, we will watch as she masks the hurt of continuous rejection with alcohol. She most certainly desires to be loved, but what she desires even more is to be trusted and respected – to no longer be judged by powerful men for the sins of her father.

In Rio, Alicia seduces Alexander Sebastian (Claude Rains), who was at one time her father’s friend and is still in contact with a number of relocated Nazis. Quite simply, the American government wants to know what he’s up to. Sebastian is a surprisingly complicated character; although clearly the story’s villain, he’s depicted in a somewhat sympathetic light. There are several reasons for this, most of which have to do with Alicia: Unlike Delvin, he implicitly trusts her, he genuinely loves her, and he wants nothing more than to marry her. One cannot help but savor the cruel irony of this scenario. There’s also the matter of his mother (Leopoldine Konstantin), a jealous and domineering old woman who can never so much as glance at Alicia without contempt and suspicion.

Although the plot is gripping and suspenseful, it’s also expected and represents little more than standard espionage fare. Rest assured, Sebastian and his men have hatched a nefarious scheme on an international level. I will do you the honor of not revealing it, for you deserve to see firsthand how satisfyingly it unfolds. Be sure, however, to take notice of the visual clues Hitchcock has placed with loving care and precision. One is the image of a champagne bottle, introduced by Delvin but factoring much more prominently in the life of Sebastian and is the subject of two very tense scenes. The other is a key, which Alicia will nervously fumble with as she tries to keep it hidden from Sebastian. One shot, visually stunning and a technical achievement, begins at the top of a staircase and slowly descends until it zooms onto a close-up of her hand.

Not so expected is the level to which Hitchcock and screenwriter Ben Hecht develop the characters and the subtexts they embody. They supply the three leads in particular with amazing dialogue, a skillful combination of wickedly clever observations, unashamedly romantic musings, and tragic emotional outbursts. Perhaps the extra effort put into the script was a direct result of the spot-on casting. Bergman, strikingly beautiful even when projecting heartache and panic, is not only a natural fit for this story but is also perfectly in sync with Grant and Rains, who each share their own unique chemistry with her. In Grant’s case, we see two people tormented by love, seemingly not reciprocated in one case and struggling to emerge in the other. In Rains’ case, we see a woman deftly playing her role and a man blinded by his own trusting nature – until such time when it puts him in a life-threatening predicament.

That the characters are infinitely more compelling than the plot is not something I hold against the film. It is, in fact, what makes me appreciate it even more. Notorious is essentially the story of two people, each in a quiet yet desperate struggle for redemption in the eyes of the other. On the one hand, we have a woman yearning to be accepted by the man she loves, for his approval would mean an end to a life of guilt. On the other hand, we have a man who has repressed himself emotionally; if he’s to love someone, he would have to make himself vulnerable and learn to look past what he considers undesirable. Whatever her past, the woman’s current situation has been orchestrated entirely by her government, who believe that sexual blackmail is permissible for the greater good of the country. America the free, indeed.