Heroes and Saints

Indiana Jones. Oskar Schindler. Rhett Butler. T.E. Lawrence. Atticus Finch. James Bond.

There are two types of good guys in the movies. And when I say that, I don’t mean there are two types of protagonists in the movies; there’s a thousand different kinds of protagonists—anti-heroes, scoundrels, conmen, soldiers, spies, and the like. I’m talking about the real good guys, the characters that you respect for their noble qualities. And although these characters come in all shapes and sizes and varieties, they can all essentially be broken down into two groups—the heroes and the saints.

Of all the great movies that exist, I can think of none that showcase the nobilities and the flaws of these two dynamic onscreen personalities more admirably than Alfred Hitchcock’s 1946 classic (and in my opinion, his finest picture,) Notorious.

Notorious, which sports one of the most delicately balanced scripts in the movies, targets its attention on both plot and character, without either becoming the primary focus (unless, of course, you can say that both are the primary focus). It tells the story of Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman), whose father has just been imprisoned for treason as a Nazi spy. As she parties and drinks and socializes to forget her woes, she’s approached by Mr. T.R. Devlin (Cary Grant), an American agent who believes her father’s position inside the spy rings could make her a valuable source of information. As fate would have it, however, she is assigned to keep tabs on Alex Sebastian (Claude Rains), one of her father’s old buddies who, once upon a time, was very much in love with her. So Alicia does what she can to convince the love-struck Nazi that the feeling is mutual, but surprise! by now she’s really fallen for Devlin.

Unlike most of Hitchcock’s great movies, which placed foremost emphasis on the suspense and thrills with a romantic subplot, Notorious is, well, notorious in its decision to reverse those roles. What’s fascinating about this film is its differing perspectives, not only that of its heroine but also of the two men who love her. She’s always the same person, but the effect she has contrasts greatly between them—Sebastian , who can’t believe his good fortune at this woman returning to his life, loves and trusts her completely, whereas Devlin is always suspicious that she may actually love Sebastian instead of him. It plays wonderfully against what’s actually going on, as both men believe something which is the exact opposite of the truth. Maybe their false assumptions stem from their motives—Sebastian is driven by genuine love, while Devlin is motivated first and foremost by the job, and secondarily by his affection for Alicia. Why Alicia does what she does is less clear; perhaps she truly wants to serve her country, or maybe she’s just trying to cleanse herself of her father’s actions. In either case, there’s never any doubt that Alicia sees Sebastian as the bad guy.

But we don’t.

Indeed, it can be fairly jarring when the film reminds us that Claude Rains is, in fact, playing a Nazi. He certainly doesn’t seem like a Nazi—he actually seems like a pretty nice guy. In many ways he’s the exact opposite of the tall, handsome, charming ladies’ man Cary Grant is famous for portraying. Sebastian is not too handsome, he can’t melt a woman’s heart with a couple of words, and he’s not that tall, either. An interesting fact is that Ingrid Bergman was actually quite a large woman in real life—there are famous stories of Humphrey Bogart being propped up on pillows or boxes to appear taller than her in Casablanca—but Hitchcock purposely avoids this here, visually reminding us of Alicia’s power over Sebastian. He doesn’t do that when she’s onscreen with Grant. As the film shies away from the international intrigue, instead using it as a vehicle for a romance, we find ourselves identifying more with Sebastian than we do with Devlin. In fact, aside from the exposition in the first few scenes, Hitchcock seems to be purposely avoiding reminding us that he’s a Nazi. And when Sebastian realizes what’s really going on (his famous line, “I’m married to an American agent”), our world feels just as shattered as his must be.

Saints endure pain. That’s how I define them in the movies, anyway. They may not always be moral exemplars, but they’re motivated by virtue and end up with the short end of the stick. As such, they’ll always be the characters we identify with. For some reason or another, people are more responsive to others when they see them hurt—we tend not to recognize the full humanity of another person until we see them in a great deal of pain. Maybe we’re not as cynical and selfish as we seem to be, since we always feel closer to another in their hour of need. The duration of Notorious is Alex Sebastian’s hour of need, not T.R. Devlin’s. And it’s Sebastian, not Devlin, who gets left out in the cold in the end.

Heroes are the people we admire for their greatness. They can do anything—save the world, get the girl, capture the bad guy, whatever. Nothing can stop a hero, and we love them for it. That’s the kind of character Cary Grant always played, and T. R. Devlin is no exception. Throughout the film, although we know he has to love Alicia, we never get the impression that she’s at the top of his list of priorities. Come to think of it, I can’t think of any movies where Grant seemed to be concerned a primarily with the girl—he always wanted her, but not as much as he wanted something else, and the same applies here. And it tears us up inside to see Devlin behaving how he does and know that he’ll win Alicia. All the while, Sebastian is fighting with everything he’s got for her, but we know he doesn’t stand a chance against Devlin. Deep down, he seems to know it, too. All this gives remarkable punch to the film’s best line, ironically delivered by Grant after he’s been caught kissing the little lady: “I knew her before you, loved her before you, only I’m not as lucky as you.”

The hero is who we wish we were. The saint is who we’re probably closer to, even if we don’t like to admit it. And if truth were told, most of the people we know would probably say the same thing.

No matter how many times I see Notorious, I can never for the life of me work out who I want to see come out on top. Ingrid Bergman seems to have a thing about tearing herself between two men, but in Casablanca we knew we wanted her to end up with Rick. Notorious is the exact opposite—Cary Grant is the dashing, romantic hero, but he seems to take her for, well, granted. At the same time, Claude Rains seems to love her much more, but she doesn’t love him, and he can be just as despicable as Grant, albeit in different ways. No matter who she picks, the ending is unsatisfying, and it forces us to consider who these characters really are. Hence, I have written this thing.