Strangers on a Train is based upon a novel by Patricia Highsmith and Hitchcock’s adaptation is remarkably faithful…to the basic plot. Beyond that, however, everything is almost completely different. The climax takes place aboard a ship, not a carousel, for instance. Most significantly, however, is the change to Guy Haines. He goes from being a relatively unknown architect who does not fail to live up to his bargain in the “criss-cross” to a very famous tennis player who does.
The opening line is the closing line and this repetition and its content is the key which opens the door to an explanation of the significant changes made to the original source material. “I beg your pardon, but aren’t you Guy Haines?” How many architects are recognized in real life? Here’s a good exercise: what does Frank Lloyd Wright look like? Arguably the most famous architect in American history, the name is familiar and probably a few of the buildings, but the face? The transformation from architect to famous athlete is the transformation from just some random guy to Guy Haines. The alterations made to Highsmith’s story all point to a foundational thematic construct having something to do with the downside of being famous. Bruno’s end comes in isolation at sea in the book, but with an audience watching on in horror in the film. (An audience watching in horror…wonder what celebrity that might be all about?) This is not to suggest that Haines is a stand-in for Hitchcock, but, well, they do share the same last initial and “Guy” could be a stand-in for any male name.
When watching Strangers on a Train, one need always be aware that right from the start Guy Haines is lured into Bruno’s insanity not because he is a stranger on a train, but for precisely the opposite: celebrities are never strangers. Yes, of course, they are, but in the mind of people far less psychopathic they are like old friends. In the minds of people far more psychopathic than Bruno, celebrities are not just not strangers, but lovers worth assassinating the President over. (Or trying to, anyway.)
All of this is to point out an irony often overlooked or under-appreciated in criticism of the film version, especially in contrast to Highsmith’s novel: it is not about strangers, plural, but a single stranger. Bruno to Guy is absolutely a complete stranger, but Guy to Bruno? Not so much. Not so much at all.
Analysis of an Alfred Hitchcock film usually begins and ends with Hitch, but this analysis has to break from tradition. The director is one of the most famous and renowned figures in cinematic history and rightfully so. When critics, scholars and fans discuss a Hitchcock film, acting brilliance is usually not at the top of the list. Only on the rarest of occasions does an acting performance often get singled out when analyzing Hitchcock’s films; most criticism is instead focused on symbolism, imagery, cinematography, art design, etc. Over the course of his entire output, spanning most of the twentieth century, only eight actors were ever nominated for an Oscar for a role in a Hitchcock film, with only one actually taking home the gold. And the Oscars being the Oscars, the two performances arguably most deserving of winning that award were not even recognized with a nomination. One of them being, of course, Anthony Perkins for Norman Bates.
And the other is—almost beyond argument—the best performance ever given in any Hitchcock film: Robert Walker as Bruno Anthony.
