THE LADY VANISHES Deciphered: Still Both Funny and Thrilling

When talking about Alfred Hitchcock, the first things that come to mind are, of course, Psycho, followed by The Birds, Vertigo, Rear Window, Strangers on a Train, and then, further down the list, titles that are likely known primarily to passionate cinema enthusiasts – North by Northwest, Shadow of a Doubt, Rebecca, Suspicion, and many others. It’s quite a list, and the genius director was also one of the most prolific creators, leaving a strong mark on cinema with his successive works. One could take any film from Hitchcock’s body of work and use it to show how much it changed the art of filmmaking. Following this path, one would have to accept that every film by the Englishman is a work of art, even those that are difficult to regard as successful, such as Torn Curtain, Topaz, or Suspicion. But what about titles that are overtly entertaining, not claiming to be anything more than exceptionally skillful and, over time, even revolutionary craftsmanship, like The Lady Vanishes?

The Lady Vanishes (1938) was made in England and was Hitchcock’s penultimate film before his move to Hollywood, where he debuted with the Oscar-winning Rebecca. Prior to this, the director had already made a name for himself as the creator of thrilling films (The 39 Steps, The Man Who Knew Too Much), able to turn even an unassuming literary material into a film full of fresh directorial ideas. Perhaps the most enduring title from that period of Hitchcock’s work is this highly comedic thriller, which is not without class and charm but also typically escapist, featuring an intriguing starting point and heading toward a solution that isn’t entirely serious. In fact, many of the famous director’s films can be described this way, including the much later North by Northwest.

The action of the film adaptation of Ethel Lina White’s novel takes place in the fictional country of Brandice, where Iris Henderson, a British woman about to marry, is preparing to return to her homeland. At the inn where she is staying, she first meets the titular Miss Froy, a former governess now traveling across Europe as a tourist, and later Gilbert Redman, a perpetually cheerful researcher of folk music, although initially, to Iris, he is an annoying impertinent. We also meet Charters and Caldicott, who are hurrying to a cricket match, a couple of lovers with problems, a famous surgeon, and a group of foreigners. All of them meet on a train heading to England, but when Miss Froy disappears at one point, Iris turns out to be the only one who saw her. None of the passengers admit to having had any contact with the woman, and all attempts to prove her existence end in failure. Is the old lady just a figment of the girl’s imagination, or is there some disturbing secret behind her disappearance?

It is not difficult to call Hitchcock’s film a prototype of the modern thriller set on a train, though it is not confined to just that. The same premise also drives Flight Plan, in which Jodie Foster searches a flying airplane for her possibly existing daughter, and speaking of that title, it’s worth mentioning the recent films with Liam Neeson, Non-Stop and The Passenger. Echoes of Hitchcock can be heard quite clearly in both, even though they are drowned out by the Irishman’s action-packed antics. The Lady Vanishes therefore holds undeniable significance for contemporary cinema, serving as a model for the skillful use of practically just one location, its advantages of being in constant motion, and a mystery too compelling to abandon, even though Iris has no real connection to Miss Froy. This, in fact, might be seen as Hitchcock’s greatness – putting the mystery above credibility, avoiding questions about why the girl is so determined to find a woman who is practically a stranger (of course excluding human kindness and altruism).

The director is not afraid to tell the audience how it’s possible that the rest of the passengers deny the presence of Miss Froy on the train, even though we know perfectly well that they saw her. The cricket enthusiasts don’t want to be late for the match, so they prefer not to engage in unnecessary, especially for them, investigations; the famous lawyer fears that any interactions with the other passengers will reveal his affair, while the lover, though at one point admitting she saw the old woman, is also afraid of the consequences of exposing their informal relationship. It’s easier for them to ignore signals pointing to danger than to risk personal discomfort. There are also people who seem too suspicious from the first glance for their testimonies to hold any value. Hitchcock doesn’t so much deceive us as he wants us to feel like Iris, aware of the existence of the missing woman and helpless against the attempts to prove her existence.

The whole is, however, so light and effortless that it almost feels awkward to call this film a thriller. Much of this is due to the two actors playing the lead roles – the charming and convincing Margaret Lockwood as Iris and the lively Michael Redgrave as her only ally, Gilbert. Especially he gives the impression of a person who is enjoying himself far too much, even when danger is staring him in the face. The duo of Charters and Caldicott (later used in three other unrelated films) is a comedic element in itself, but it also plays a more serious role in critiquing certain types of English behavior on the eve of the Second World War (and it’s worth noting that the film was made a year before it started). It’s easy to spot in The Lady Vanishes allusions to the political situation in Europe at the time, and especially the tension resulting from Hitler’s rise to power – Bandrica may be a fictional country, but as the end draws nearer, it becomes increasingly clear that Hitchcock’s intentions are somewhat serious, and the unrestrained entertainment gains weight. At the same time, the entire film maintains the appearance of fun, revealed even in the resolution, which reduces the mystery to a melody containing a cipher, upon which the fate of the civilized world depends.

After almost 90 years since its premiere, Hitchcock’s work is still watched with genuine pleasure, seeing how much contemporary cinema owes to this title and how few modern films achieve the high standard set by the master of suspense. But the question posed at the beginning of the text is still valid – is The Lady Vanishes a work of art? Even the British Film Institute placed it on the list of the best British films of the 20th century, which in itself is a significant achievement. But if we accept that we are dealing with a work of art, is it due to its contributions to cinema, Hitchcock’s revolutionary talent, or perhaps the escapism underpinned by a real fear of reality?

The catalyst for these reflections were some Oscar nominations from the past, specifically the recognition of Get Out and Logan in very important categories. My very good friend, who – importantly – enjoyed both films, was outraged by this selection, not seeing any signs of art in these titles. It’s true that Get Out addresses important racial issues, and Logan is more than just a superhero movie, but in the end, both, according to my friend, fail to turn their ambition into something more profound and worthy of even a nomination from the American Academy of Arts (yes, Arts) and Motion Picture Sciences. No one claimed that The Lady Vanishes deserved any awards at the time of its release, but today it is considered one of the best entries in Hitchcock’s oeuvre, deserving of memory and recognition. I suspect that it will not be the Academy members, nor even the audience, who will verify the value of a given title, at least not to the extent that time will. If, 90 years from now, any films are remembered and appreciated as well as the comedic thriller by the creator of The Birds, it will be hard to deny them the label of art.