With public interest in Freudian psychology increasing around the time of its release, Spellbound was able to tap into post-World War II questions about trauma, identity, and the subconscious.
Written by Andie Kaiser
On Halloween of 1945, Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound first premiered in New York (it would open wide on Dec 28, 80 years ago today). It’s a fitting date for the film to be shown, having so much to do with mystery, shadow, and the hazy realms of dreaming. But it's also a great film for the middle of winter, with lots of snow and a kind of cold eeriness that can only be combated by choosing the warmth of love. And although Spellbound may not be one of Hitchcock’s most iconic or acclaimed films (which isn’t saying much—it still racked up six Oscar nominations), it proved to be an immensely popular hit among audiences in 1945. Now, 80 years later, it still holds up as a fascinating piece of filmmaking, and an equally great collaboration between two of classic Hollywood’s biggest stars.
The protagonist is Constance Petersen (Ingrid Bergman), a psychoanalyst at a Vermont mental hospital. After the hospital's director retires, she meets his young replacement, Dr. Anthony Edwardes (Gregory Peck). The two are immediately smitten with one another, but this is soon complicated by the fact that Edwardes is suffering from amnesia and can’t remember who he is. Attempting to make sense of his intense fears (which stem from seeing parallel lines on a white background), Edwardes concludes that he’s killed the real Edwardes and replaced him. Petersen, who will continue to champion his innocence throughout the film, believes instead that he’s suffering from a guilt complex.
If you haven’t seen the film, its premise and the resulting plot twists and turns might seem convoluted, but it’s all explained rather clearly on screen. Whether you’re willing to buy the conclusions that characters jump to is another matter, but if you went in expecting to find a down-to-earth depiction of psychoanalysis, well, I’m not sure what to tell you.
Whatever your take on its credibility, though, psychoanalysis (in the most loose definition) certainly plays a large role in the picture. Producer David O. Selznick, who had positive experiences with psychoanalytic therapy, wanted Hitchcock to make a film on the subject and even brought his own therapist, May Romm, onto the production as a technical advisor. With public interest in Freudian psychology increasing around the time of its release, the film was able to tap into post-World War II questions about trauma, identity, and the subconscious. This all makes for a unique psychological backdrop to the film (which is really a story of two people finding themselves and finding love), and allows it to go to places, creatively, that otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to.
Perhaps the most famous sequence in Spellbound is its dream sequence, which was designed by iconic surrealist artist Salvador Dalí. Before watching the film, I had no idea that a Hitchcock-Dalí collaboration existed, and needless to say, it was a welcome surprise. While the sequence is about two minutes in the film, Bergman has stated that it was originally 20 minutes long (and is considered, tragically, to now be lost footage). Regardless, the sequence that remains is wonderful and unmistakably the work of Dalí. It was an unusual move for mainstream films of the time, which favoured blurred, unclear depictions of dreaming rather than the crisp specificity found in Dalís sequence, and as such it offered a truly new way of thinking about how dreams could appear onscreen. When looking at dream-logic in films since, it’s impossible not to think of David Lynch and his expert use of dreams within narrative. One could easily draw parallels between Spellbound and Mulholland Drive (2001), for instance, with their surrealist and noir-inflected stories of amnesia, repressed memories, and falling in love.
Another now-iconic facet of this film is the score by Miklós Rózsa, who won the film’s only Academy Award. The score featured the theremin, one of the first popular uses of the instrument in a film, which gives it a signature sound of eeriness and mystery.
But what many still talk about when this film comes up is its leading duo. Both at heights of their popularity in America, Bergman and Peck light up the screen in Spellbound, both alone and together. Their chemistry in the film is palpable (perhaps reflecting an offscreen chemistry which I’ll let anyone interested research for themselves), and they succeed in believably falling for one another at first sight. It’s a dynamic that’s dramatically compelling as well as entertaining— as Petersen, Bergman plays the determined leader opposite Peck’s anxious Edwardes. It’s a complex role she has to play, with Petersen being undermined at every turn by the misogynistic society around her. Her capacity for love is questioned because of her “cold” expertise as a psychoanalyst, and simultaneously, her professionalism is questioned when she falls for Edwardes. Bergman skillfully navigates the internal struggles that her character must always be going through, and clearly communicates that professional capability and sincere love are not mutually exclusive qualities within women.
If you haven’t already seen Spellbound, it’s a great one to check off as the year ends. With lots of wintery Vermont scenery, it’s a perfect film to curl up by during cold weather and long nights.
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