Under Capricorn

Under Capricorn represents the 44th movie of Alfred Hitchcock's filmography I've watched. I've seen quite the broad spectrum of movies, but one thing is for sure: all of his movies have something in them that propels them forward, that gives them substance. Even his failures, like Waltzes From Vienna, or Jamaica Inn, or The Skin Game, all have a life to them and a purpose. I don't like them all, and some are quite hard to get through, but none are ever outright inert or lack the weight necessary for their structure. Until Under Capricorn. "Inert" really is the word that best describes this basic, bare-bones period melodrama. It's like Hitchcock got a mandate to do a Gone With The WInd-style romantic melodrama, and he did just that, painting by numbers, delivering exactly that and nothing more. It takes place in the past (and in a distant land!) but not so past that it feels alien, there's a helpless woman caught between two good men, the colors are lush, the cinematography intoxicating, the costuming and set design is indulgent ... and it just kind of ... sits there. If Under Capricorn were a car, it would be a Rolls Royce parked under the Eiffel Tower, but it has no engine block. It is so in love with the idea of being a romantic period piece that it forgets that being one requires passion and a beating heart. Under Capricorn will try to convince you it has that, with the tug of war between Joseph Cotton and Michael Wilding vying for the affections of Ingrid Bergman. All three are acting their hearts out, building interesting, layered, flawed, human characters. Bergman, especially, plays a completely different kind of role than anything else I've seen her in; fragile, broken, haunted, and frail. Neither Cotton or Wilding are bad guys, either; both have flaws, yes, but both love Ingrid deeply and have a unique bond with her. Under Capricorn will try to distract you with secrets from their past, a murder and a mystery around it, a scheming housekeeper, and class struggles. It will try to use the long takes Hitchcock put to great effect in Rope here, except Rope had the energy of a dinner party being hosted by two thrill killers who hid a body in a trunk in the room. Under Capricorn doesn't have such exciting things going on, so the long takes and tracking shots don't breathe life into the movie; they anchor it, making scenes last much longer than they need to be. The extra plot elements feel intrusive, a way to add to Ingrid Bergman's extensive catalog of suffering rather than giving the story needed energy. And the acting, while excellent, can't hide the fact that the basics of the script are just that, basic. This is getting Michelin star chefs to grill a cheeseburger in the backyard. All this results in a movie that arrives, tells a soapy, sappy story, and leaves. Even Gone With The Wind, as insufferable as that movie is, had the balls to end with Clark Gable realizing Vivian Leigh was too toxic, even for him. There's no grand epiphany, no tragedy, no nothing by the time Under Capricorn ends. It is the biggest "well, that happened" ending you could possibly imagine, which is somehow the most appropriate thing for a movie so lacking in forward momentum. It's not a failure of any one element of the movie so much as it is a design flaw, except it isn't a flaw at all. It's just what it is.