The Amelia Project - Episode 60 - Alfred Hitchcock (1951)

Episode Date: October 21, 2022

"You are the first person I have ever told this story." Featuring Dino Kelly, Hemi Yeroham, Erin King and Jordan Cobb. Written by Philip Thorne with story editing by Oystein Ulsberg Brager. Music and sound design by Adam Raymonda. For full credits and transcript, check our website. Website: https://ameliapodcast.com Transcripts: https://ameliapodcast.com/transcripts Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ameliapodcast Donations: https://ameliapodcast.com/support Twitter: https://twitter.com/amelia_podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ameliapodcast/ Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ameliapodcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Cold tapes. A gripping crime story that will chill you to the bone. You know, life on the base means, well, it's close to six months without light. That does things to people that study that he was doing to watch us and then set off us like mice around this special little experiment how many people are on this space 16 on this one someone amongst them is our killer experience cold tapes the murder mystery podcast game start your investigation where you get your is our killer. Experience Cold Tapes, the murder mystery podcast game. Start your investigation

where you get your podcasts. This episode is dedicated to Ashlyn Brand, who will plummet to death whilst attempting to scale Mount Rushmore and will be resurfaced as a taxidermist in Camden.

Schmore and will be resurfaced as a taxidermist in Camden. Another log on the fire. You didn't take us all the way to Scotland for atmosphere. You said this place had something to do with the Amelia Project. I took you here to go on a journey. Literal and metaphoric. Yes, but a journey has a destination. Doesn't it? Please tell me this is going somewhere. You do not like my story.

So far I have told you about the Roswell alien, Amelia Earhart's granddaughter, and Elvis Presley. I think that is a very good story. He's right, Mia. Let's keep listening. We'd got back to, what, 1979? Okay, but why this field? What happened here?

At least tell us that. In time. Now. Why are you dragging it out like this? Maybe this journey is simply a... MacGuffin. A MacGuffin? You're not fans of Alfred Hitchcock?

Hitchcock? A MacGuffin is an event that holds your attention and guides you through the story, but in itself, it has no significance. I'm not sure I follow. Hitchcock made it his trademark, but it has been present from time immemorial. Take the Holy Grail. It is the desired object that sends Arthur and his knights on their quest. But the Crail itself is of no importance. And believe me, I should know. So this is a long-winded way of saying none of this goes anywhere?

No. I am saying the journey is more important than the destination. I am saying what is the rush? I am saying there is is the rush? I am saying, there is always time for a story. And what's the next story? Hmm. Well? Let me take you to a small motel on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The year is 1951. The Amelia Project.

Created by Philip Thorne and Osten Ulsbeck-Braga, with sound direction by Frederik Baden and sound design by Adam Raimonda. Episode 60. Alfred Hitchcock. 1951. On top of Old Smoky, all covered with snow.

I lost my true love, all caught in the snow. Caught in the play. Who is that? Who is this? Hello? Hello? Are you alright in there? Oh, yes, I... Did I frighten you?

No, the shower curtain came loose. Who are you? I would like to talk to you. About what? I think this would be easier face to face. I think this would be easier face to face. I find there is nothing more scary than a closed door. One moment. Mr. Hitchcock!

Please, call me Alfred. Ho, ho, ho! Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense. You live up to your moniker. Has there been a murder? I'm a typed director. If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach. What is Alfred Hitchcock doing in my motel room at seven in the morning. I apologize for the unexpected visit, but I need to be on the Warner Brothers lot at eight-thirty, and this conversation must be conducted in utmost secrecy. Ah, you came just in time. How so?

I go home this afternoon. Home? England. Home? England. Really? I hear the rationing of chocolate and soap has ended, which makes the return bearable. And I miss the earthy smell of the air after the rain. I thought you worked for Republic Pictures. My stint in Hollywood has come to an end.

I must say, I am surprised. I hear you're the best in the business. And what business would that be? Monster makeup and prosthetics. Did you see Invasion of the Flying Discmen? I did not. The Terror from Beyond the Grave? Killer Rabbit's Revenge? No.

So you are not familiar with my work. I am familiar with your reputation. Well, as amusing as covering faces in fur, creating a fully rotating head, and a six-faced sorcerer have been, it is time I got back to my real job. It's not your real job? Hmm. Let us call it a sabbatical. A pleasant distraction. An opportunity to exchange the austerity of Britain with the abundance of America.

I understand. This country has been very kind to me, too. But before you go home, I need your help. Alfred Hitchcock is making a monster movie? No. I only accept challenges. You should contact my agent, Martha Plum.

You can reach her at... This is not a traditional job. And I don't want to talk about it to more people than necessary. Interesting. Do you have time for a story? Do I have time for a story? Always!

But I warn you, this is a horrifying story. From you, I expect nothing less. Oh, far stranger than anything from one of my pictures. Should I begin? Hold on, hold on one moment. Stories should never be consumed on an empty stomach, and I have not eaten breakfast. Would you join me for an omelette, Alfred? Oh. You do not like omelettes? No. I am frightened of eggs. Oh, frightened? That white, round thing without any holes. Have you ever seen anything more revolting

than an egg yolk breaking and spilling its yellow liquid? Blood is jolly red, but egg yolk is yellow revolting. No, I've never tasted it. Just coffee, then? Black. The way I like it, too. And I will make myself toast. Unless you find toast frightening, too.

Toast is fine. Though with timing, montage, and surprise, I could shoot the popping up of toast from a toaster in a way that would make the audience jump out of their skins. I am sure you could. You play the audience like a piano. Well, looked at in the right way, anything can be terrifying. Even that sparrow sat outside your window. I doubt that even the great Alfred Hitchcock can make sparrows frightening. Well, I am tempted to make a picture to prove you wrong.

A glimpse into the world proves that horror is nothing other than reality. But today, I have a story for you that is not about the horror of the mundane, but rather the horror of the supernatural. I am all ears. It started back in 1927 on my third picture. A silent film, The Lodger, the story

of the London fog. Do you know it? I do not. What is it about? A boarding house where the landlady wonders if her new lodger is Jack the Ripper. And is he? Ah, you must watch the picture. Of course, I will. I enjoy a good crime movie. Everybody

enjoys a good crime. Well, except the victim. True. Well, tell me about the lodger. It opens with the head of a blonde girl screaming.

I remember the way I photographed it. I took a sheet of glass, placed the girl's head on the glass and spread her hair around until it filled the frame. I then lit the glass from behind so that one would be struck by her light hair. That sounds terrifying and beautiful. I have always filmed my murders like love scenes, and my love scenes like murders. Oh.

And you always murder blondes. Well, blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints. Hmm. And what happens after the girl is murdered? We cut to an electric sign advertising a musical play. Tonight, golden curls with a reflection flickering in the water. The body of the girl is hauled out of the water, the police arrive and the press, there is a montage of the news spreading, a busy newsroom,

reporters dashing from their desks to meet their deadlines. But in the centre of the kerfuffle, But in the centre of the kerfuffle, a stout man working the telephone, and this is where things get odd. Odd? How so? I have no recollection of the man on the telephone being there when we shot that scene. No worse. I am convinced he was not there. Strange. It gets stranger. I stare at this interloper who has imposed himself onto the celluloid, and despite the fact that I can see only the back of his head, I recognize him almost immediately. Oh?

Who is it? Me. I believe your toast is ready. Well, so let me make sure I have understood this. When you shot the scene, the man was not present. Yet when the film was screened, he appeared. Precisely. And this man was you. Or someone with my exact physique.

But you did not see his face, you say? My silhouette is very recognizable. But how can you be... I still had a full head of black hair back then. How can you be so sure it was you? Well, I couldn't at first. It was more, it was more a feeling, a chill that ran down my spine when I set eyes on the fellow. But then, towards the end of the film, an angry mob comes to attack the lodger, and I spot him again. There he is, yelling in the crowd. It's brief and blurry, but this time the

camera catches his face, and it's my face. I tried to dismiss it, told myself it must be an extra I did not recall. It was a big production, you know, hundreds of extras. But the fleeting image of this stranger with my face continued to haunt me. Could I have some more coffee, please? Oh, certainly. Later that year, I'm doing post-production on Easy Virtue, my film adaptation of the Noel Coward play. I'm at Islington Studios watching the rough cut. And we get to the scene at the tennis court, and my heart skips a beat. A passerby with a cane, who I'm convinced wasn't part of the original scene, walks right past leading lady

Isabel Jeans. He is wearing a hat, and his head is tilted to the side, but I recognize the gates as my own. Alfred, what did you do? I told the projectionist to stop the film and sent everyone out of the room. And when I was all alone, I turned back the reel and watched those six seconds again, and again, and again, and again, at least a dozen times. And with each viewing, I became more certain. The flickering black and white presence on that screen was me. I left the screening room, went to the Adam and Eve and ordered a whiskey double. And then five whiskey doubles later, I stumble home and tell my wife I will never make another picture.

Did you tell her why? What could I possibly say without sounding like I'd lost my mind? Alma put me to bed, and the next morning she talked sense into me. I went back to work and tried to blame the last night's occurrences on an overworked imagination. After all, dealing with murder, kidnapping and extortion every single day, even fictional, is bound to take a real life toll. real-life toll. And sure enough, the next three films passed without incident. I put the Lodger and Easy Virtue out of mind and never watched them again. But then, just as I convinced myself that these strange happenings had been nothing but a trick of mind and memory, he appears again. And this time there can be no mistake.

He is not blurry or in the background or hiding behind a hat. He appears on a subway train right in the center of the frame, visible for at least ten seconds. Which film was that? Blackmail, 1929. This one I have seen. Yes, my first talking picture. Oh, yes. I remember seeing you in the train. Being annoyed by a little boy, if memory serves. Indeed. But, Alfred, you are talking about your cameos. You appear in every one of your films. You are famous for it.

No. Oh, come now. I have even heard you talk about it in interviews. No, my friend. It is the story I tell to cover up the truth. tell to cover up the truth. So you have a doppelganger who inserts himself into your pictures? I told you it was a strange story. Oh very strange indeed. So what happened after the subway appearance in Blackmail. My next picture was murder. A whodunit.

I don't really approve of whodunits. Why not? Well, they are rather like a crossword puzzle. No emotion. You simply want to find out what happens at the end. I prefer the MacGuffin to the murder mystery. MacGuffin. MacGuffin, MacGuffin, MacGuffin. I like that word. What does it mean? Two men sit in a railway compartment and one says to the other,

what's that package up there in the baggage rack? The other answers, oh, that's a MacGuffin. baggage rack. The other answers, oh, that's a MacGuffin. The first one asks, what's a MacGuffin? Well, the other man says, it's an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands. And the first man says, but there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands. And the other answers, then that's no MacGuffin. But I digress. I was telling you about murder. Yes, yes, you were. For this picture, I insisted on auditioning every extra myself,

I insisted on auditioning every extra myself, which earned me the reputation of being the most controlling director in the business, even stricter than Erich von Stroheim. In reality, you were just trying to keep out the trickster with your face. Precisely. I didn't let anyone onto that set who came close to my height or build. And yet... He reappeared.

Yes. And he knew I was watching. How so? In murder, he crosses the road in a hurry. But before he walks out of the frame, he looks up directly into the camera, and his gaze met mine in the Islington screening room, as if to challenge me. I screamed and threw my chair at the screen. Once again, I sent everyone out. I was now not only London's most controlling director, but also its craziest. And from this moment on, each one of my doppelgangers' appearances seemed designed to torment me. In the thirty-nine steps, I spot him in the background dropping litter, a habit I deplore. In Young and Innocent, he peeps up from behind a movie camera as if to say that he can do my job better than me,

that he can replace me. Each of his appearances was like the stab of a dagger to the heart. Each of his appearances was like the stab of a dagger to the heart. So when Hollywood called, I thought it was an opportunity to put an ocean between myself and the imposter. I was still clutching to the belief that there was a rational explanation to all of this, that it was a prankster wangling himself onto my sets time and time again. But his appearance in Rebecca, my first American picture, put an end to that delusion. Ah, he could have just followed you across the Atlantic?

But how could he find his way from the cutting room floor back into my picture? You mean you actually... Yes. Once I discovered him and Rebecca passing in the background while Jack Favell talks to a police officer, I decided enough was enough and cut the scene from the film. But at the premiere, he was back. No. Yes. A ghost of the celluloid. And you are the first person I've ever told this story.

Why? Why what? Why are you entrusting me with this story? Because I can no longer bear the knowledge that there is a being out there that shares my face. I see. So you want me to... Give me a new one. I am not sure that is wise. But you are the master of prosthetics, are you not?

Correct. But I am not sure that changing your face will solve your dilemma. Changing appearance is the only way to escape my double. Unless he's not so much a double, but rather a mirror. If I changed your appearance, there is a chance he may change too. your appearance, there is a chance he may change too. Then there is also a practical problem. And what's that? You said it yourself. Your silhouette is very recognizable, iconic even. You with a new face? It would just not be you. Yes, but that's the objective. I think you would be putting your

career in jeopardy. I will abandon my career along with the face. You will abandon your career? I will stop making pictures. Alfred, you cannot do that. I will let him take my place. I will let him take my place. You think that is what he wants? What else could he want? I've felt it ever since he appeared from behind the movie camera in Young and Innocent. He thinks he can do a better job than me. And you know what? Maybe he's right. You do not really think that. I am tired of fighting it.

I give up. Just let me retire in peace and anonymity, please. With a new face. What? Did I say something funny? No, it is just... You have come knocking on the right door. You mean you'll do it? Well, I have not decided yet.

But it is time that I told you my story. You remember I said that my career in B-movies was really just a sabbatical? Yes. Well, let me tell you about my proper profession. I work for an agency that specializes in dismantling old identities and crafting new ones. We can wipe your slate clean and bring you back as whoever you wish. That's perfect. But it is a one-way street.

There is no returning to your old identity afterwards. We only take on clients who are absolutely sure. Oh, I am absolutely sure. But I am not. What do you mean? I think you still have many stories in you, Alfred. Your greatest works may still be ahead of you. You promised to make a movie that proves that birds can be frightening, remember?

I do, but I- Your desire is driven by fear, and this is not a good motivation. I like to have people who have a strong and positive vision for their future. Not people who simply wish to run away from their current existence. Yes, yes, I admit it. I am afraid. But you would be too if you were being taunted by your doppelganger. Most certainly. Then take pity on me.

I can no longer live with this constant terror. Think of it as the source of your genius. What on earth do you mean? Maybe this is precisely what makes you Alfred Hitchcock. How do you mean? You see fear in everything. In the yellow of an egg yolk, in the drip of a shower, in a closed door, in the chirp of a sparrow. You imbue your movies with this dread and create masterpieces of suspense.

Maybe underlying it all is your own terror of being pursued by your double. Without access to this horror, your pictures might not be so good. The fear torments you, but it also makes you a great artist. I am no artist. I am an entertainer. Even better. We need entertainers. I do not want to deprive the world of your movies and the thrills that only they can deliver. You provide us with nail-biting suspense and the pleasure of waking up from a nightmare.

But for me it is a nightmare from which there is no waking. Do you still love making movies? Well, of course. When you look forward and the road is clear ahead and you're going to create something, I... I think that is as happy as I ever want to be. Those are not the words of a man ready to quit, Alfred. But then I see the finished film. Those are not the words of a man ready to quit, Alfred. But then I see the finished film, and am overcome with fear. Here is what I suggest. Think about what I have said.

Give it another year. Then, if you still feel the same way, come and find me here at this address. Miss Plum's Plumbing. Plum Manor. Lincolnshire. Plumbing? A cover. Come find us at the manor and bring a clear idea for your new existence.

If you do that, I promise we will help you. What do you say? One more year. One more year. Very well. Oh, goodness. Eight already. I'm expected on set in half an hour. And what picture are you shooting? It's called Strangers on a Train.

It's about two strangers, each with a desire to kill someone. They decide to swap murders. Each will murder a total stranger with no apparent motive, so neither will be suspected. A fascinating premise. I look forward to watching it in the cinema. Thank you. I did not get what I came here for, but I must say, you have been very helpful. I enjoyed our conversation. Thank you for telling me your story. I collect stories, and I have never heard a tale quite like yours and remember embrace the fear it is what makes you Alfred Hitchcock hear that You are right.

Maybe birds are scary. Imagine if birds from all different species flock together. If that happened, we wouldn't stand a chance. How could we possibly hope to fight them? I look forward to that movie. Until we meet again. If we meet again. I will find you at Plum Manor.

My colleagues and I will welcome you with a hot mug of cocoa. Cocoa? Until then, to chills and thrills. Yes, to chills and thrills. S.A. Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits. This episode was written and edited by Philip Thorne, directed by Philip Thorne and Einstein Braga, with story editing by Einstein Braga. Music and sound design by Adam Raimunda.

It featured Dino Kelly as Alfred Hitchcock, Hemi Yiroham as Kozlowski, Jordan Cobb as Jackie Williams and Aaron King as Mia Fox. Production assistance by Marty Patsival and graphic design by Anders Pedersen. We wouldn't be making this show if it weren't for our Patreon supporters. So if you're making a per episode pledge on Patreon, thank you so, so much for allowing us to keep telling stories. If you're not yet a Patreon supporter but would like to become one,

visit our website. Choose how much you'd like to pledge per new episode. For example, the price of a cup of cocoa. And by pledging a minimum of $5, you will not only be able to listen to the entirety of the bonus series the alvina archives you'll also get a new full length bonus episode next week featuring the interviewer alvina amelia kozlowski and walter get more of the show and help keep it alive by becoming a patron today as always a massive thank you to our super patrons.

That's Heat312, Sigrid, Rodney Dulleghi, Ella Silver, Kevin Rowland, Sophia Anderson, Jem Fiddick, Alban Assant, Amelie and Alison, Stephanie Weitenhiller, Rafael Eduardo Vifas-Virastaki, Ashlyn Brand, Alison Throh, Patricia Bornwagner, info on how to support the show as well as transcripts, merch and much more over at ameliapodcast.com and make sure to follow us on Twitter, Tumblr and Instagram. And now the epilogue. Well, of course not. You met him in the 50s, and we know he kept making movies well into the 70s, right?

But maybe that wasn't him. What do you mean? Maybe his double killed replaced him and then kept making movies. Yup. Or maybe he just made the whole thing up. That hasn't occurred to you? It has. He did enjoy pranks and telling stories. Well, that makes two of you. Or maybe the story was fake, but the fear was real. Huh?

Maybe it was just a way for him to talk about feeling inadequate. Fearing irrelevance or being replaced. about feeling inadequate, fearing irrelevance or being replaced. After all, he went from being a grocer's son in Essex to becoming the most celebrated director in Hollywood. I would not be surprised if he suffered from imposter syndrome. You mean the story about the double was just... a MacGuffin? I still don't understand what that word means. Blondes make the best victims. What a creep. Did you see the movie? Which one? The one he was making when you met him. Oh, Strangers on a Train.

Yes, I did. A magnificent film. There are two sets of detectives in two cities and two strangers embroiled in a double murder. In fact, the whole film is obsessed with doubles. And does he appear in it? He does. He gets on a train,

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