Hitchcock’s North by Northwest and The Thirty-Nine Steps through the lens of Adaptation Theory (MAY, 2023)
Literary adaptation is a complex and intriguing field that sits at the confluence of literature, cinema, theatre, and an array of other media forms; it is a process that involves the transformation of a written work, typically a novel, into the visual code, such as a film. This dynamic, multifaceted art bridges the gap between text and viewer, giving rise to creative productions that reinterpret and recontextualise original narratives. Whether it is a contemporary film, born from a twentieth-century novel (take the example of the Bond cinematic series which are, to use Wagner’s term, a typical ‘transpositional’[1] adaptation of Fleming’s literary counterpart), a Broadway musical formed from a popular book, or a video game adapted from a comic-book series, adaptations continue to demonstrate the fluidity and transformative potential of storytelling.
The field of literary adaptation is, as you can imagine, a complex area of interest. In light of this, this essay, centring its case studies and theoretical analyses around Alfred Hitchcock’s The Thirty-Nine Steps (1935) and North by Northwest (1959), will aim to provoke meaningful discussions around the topic of authorship, fidelity, and the critical roles of both the viewer and the reader in the interpretation of a text - particularly in Hitchcock’s transformation of the written into the audio-visual mode. From this, I endeavour to bring about a nuanced, holistic, although comprehensive, perspective on the field of literary adaptation.
Film adaptations often become cultural touchstones in their own right; reflecting - and maintaining - not only the themes, narratives and ‘the appropriation of meaning’[2] of their source material, but also the zeitgeist of their time. Describing their cultural significance, the English academic, Colin MacCabe, writes how “the cinema promotes a new form of adaptation in which the relation to the source text is part of the appeal and the attraction of the film.”[3] The symbiosis between novels and films is, as MacCabe suggests, not always unidirectional. A successful film adaptation - beyond it serving as a metamorphosis for ageing novels - significantly boosts the popularity of the originating novel, leading to increased sales and renewed interest in the book, even years after its initial publication. This relationship hinges on the premise of media visibility, as well as the phenomenon of 're-mediation' (Bolter & Grusin, 2000), wherein an audience is led back to a book through its cinematic counterpart.
However, the marriage between novel and film can become one entangled with class-based presumptions.
As Henry Yates observed:
“When we say the book is better, we’re announcing that we read, we’re cultured, we feed our brains something loftier than big, colourful moving images. This is rooted in the stubborn snobbism that film is the weak sibling of the arts.”[4]
However, whilst some literary purists argue that the intimate and subjective nature of prose is lost in the translation to the screen, others emphasise the added value of visual, auditory, and performative elements in film. This dichotomy, often simplified to a 'book versus film' contention, inherently grapples with the unique characteristics of each medium. Books, with their inherent linguistic and narrative freedom, allow readers to create individualised mental pictures, fostering a personal engagement with the story and its characters. On the other hand, film, a primarily visual medium, can instantly convey a multitude of ideas through its mise-en-scène, cinematography, and actor performances, which contribute to providing a more immediate, visceral engagement.
This ‘transcodification’, referring to the transfer of the narrative of the literary mode into the visual mode, could, however, be viewed as an essential part to embrace for the evolution of the novel; a means for it to survive in both a capitalist industry, an industry which continues to find ways to revive past texts (consider how many adaptations there have been of Shakespeare’s plays), and to distance itself from the perception that ‘books are bourgeois [and] films are for the working class’[5] through their permeability into multiple mediums.
However, it is important to note that through the novel’s metamorphosis into film, meaning is conveyed differently in its new state.
Unlike a film, meaning in a novel is derived through the progressive absorption of words and symbols, set out in a linear arrangement, as they appear on the page. When it comes to understanding a scene or a physical setting, or of understanding the gravitas of Richard Hannay’s situation, we are compelled to follow the narrative through the linear organisation of arbitrary symbols presented in horizontal rows. Whereas a film operates in a spatial sense, a novel is restricted in its unravelling of meaning, through a linear sense. It is by this method, as McFarlane observes, that ‘the gradual accretion’[6] of the text’s information is delivered upon its reader. When a novel is translated to screen, its linearity is displaced by the film’s spatiality.
“The camera becomes the narrator”[7], writes McFarlane. And it is through the deliberate manipulation costume, lighting, and the visual components within a film frame, that the camera assumes the narrative voice, effectively conveying the story to the audience. Although meaning from the source text can be lost in translation to the visual mode, either through artistic omission or the pollution of unintended articles entering into the frame, it is important to note that, with Hitchcock, he was a filmmaker known for keeping a meticulous control over the mise-en-scene in his films. As such, in his conversation with Dan Varndell (who asks him whether there were any accidents within Hitchcock’s framing), the Canadian film scholar and author, Murray Pomerance, gives the rather simple assertion that ‘you can’t have accidents’[8] in a film. “It costs too much.”[9]
Yet, despite the often-tumultuous intersection between these two mediums, they remain the cultural 'bread-and-butter' of our society, sparking late-night discussions and intellectual debates. As with the timeless 'chicken-and-egg' dilemma, the question of primacy between the novel and the film continues to echo amongst their admirers, illuminating an intriguing parallel in the way we grapple with these enduring forms of storytelling.
However, one can argue that in the field of literary adaptation, it is not so much about the superiority of one form over another, but rather an appreciation of how different mediums bring distinct perspectives and interpretations to a narrative. As such, the richness of the adaptation process lies not in fidelity to the original text but in the various creative expressions that are offered between text and screen. “Every best-selling novel has to be turned into a film”[10], writes Anthony Burgess. “...The assumption being that the book itself whets an appetite for the true fulfilment - the verbal shadow turned into light, the world made flesh.”[11]
The process of adaptation necessitates a delicate balance between fidelity to the original work and innovation, which can lead to an array of critical responses, from accolades of artistic brilliance to accusations of distortion or misrepresentation.
“As soon as the cinema began to see itself as a narrative entertainment”[12], expresses Brian McFarlane, “the idea of ransacking the novel - that already established repository of narrative fiction - for source material got underway, and the process has continued more or less unbated for ninety years.”[13] Yet, even after their emergence in the early twentieth century as an audio-visual medium, adaptations have not fallen short of criticism and fierce contention with their literary counterpart.
Alfred Hitchcock (1899-1980), revered as the 'Master of Suspense' and one of the most celebrated auteurs, is a figure who has undoubtedly left an indelible impact on the world of cinema. Hitchcock's distinctive directorial style, characterised by meticulously crafted suspense, visual storytelling, and psychological depth, transformed the landscape of narrative cinema, redefined audience expectations and conventional filmmaking practices.
As an adaptor of various literature into film (such as Rebecca (1938), based on the novel by Daphne du Maurier, Strangers on a Train (1951) and Psycho (1960), inspired by Robert Bloch's chilling novel, engrossing viewers with its iconic shower scene and its exploration of both psychological torment and the duality of human nature), Hitchcock held a distinct perspective, believing in the autonomy of film as a separate medium and not a mere translation of text. As such, in a 1963 interview with François Truffaut, Hitchcock’s response when asked about his approach to literary adaptation (“What I do is read a story only once, and if I like the basic idea, I just forget all about the book and start to create cinema”[14]), raises the complex debate surrounding authorship in relation to film.
Published in 1915, ‘The Thirty-Nine Steps’ revolves around the character of Richard Hannay, an ‘ordinary man thrown into an extraordinary circumstance’[15], embroiled in espionage and intrigue, who goes on a run after being wrongfully accused of murder. Hitchcock’s movie, however, introduces slight alterations and embellishments in order to align with his directorial vision and detract from the controversy regarding Buchan’s framing of its Jewish characters.
Questions like "Is it truly reflective of Buchan?", "Does it adhere to the author's intentions?", or "Does it encapsulate his essence?" are ones that question Hitchcock’s fidelity to Buchan’s original text and are invoked as a ‘yardstick’ for evaluating the novel’s filmic adaptation. However, this persistent notion needs a thorough re-evaluation and perhaps, some degree of devaluation, as it does not represent the most valuable aspect of an adaptation’s merit.
As Richard Hannay’s neighbour brazenly informs him in the text’s opening chapter:
“The Jew was behind it, and the Jew hated Russia worse than Hell. ‘Do you wonder?’ he cried. ‘For three hundred years they have been persecuted, and this is the return match for the pogroms. The Jew is everywhere, but you have to go far down the backstairs to find him.”[16]
During World War I, Buchan served in the British War Propaganda Bureau, also known as Wellington House, in which he used his command of the English language in producing pro-British material. In his role with the Propaganda Bureau, Buchan was responsible for writing a series of monthly news articles, known as the “War in Pictures”, with the intent of maintaining morale and presenting Britain’s war efforts in a favourable light. Hannay is a character who, as Ken Follett describes, ‘upholds British values of decency and Empire’[17] - a somewhat avatar of Buchan whose attitudes were, undoubtedly, shaped by the colonial mindset of the British Empire during the early twentieth century; a period when Eurocentric views and racial prejudices were widespread.
Although, to the contemporary reader, Buchan’s text is one seared with bigotry and antisemitism, Hitchcock’s subsequent ‘cleansing’ of Buchan’s attitudes is one that exemplifies the director’s dominance and highlights the notion of the ‘auteur’ in cinema. In relation to Wagner’s theory of adaptation, Hitchcock’s ‘commentary’ (‘purposeful change the to the original in order to interpret or critique the original’[18]) on Buchan’s text, is one that demonstrates the deific power the director, the prime creative force, is sometimes afforded in the interpretation of the original author’s story.
Unlike the novel, where the credit of the author is issued to the one responsible for the penning of the text, the successes of a film, despite the many bodies that contribute to its production, typically gets handed to its director. Writing about Hitchcock’s perennial popularity, Gene D. Phillips suggests that “one of the reasons that Hitchcock’s career is so fascinating is that he was, of course, one of the very few directors in the history of motion pictures whose name has always been as important on a movie marquee as that of any actor appearing in one of his films.”[19] Even in the Criterion edition of The Thirty-Nine Steps, the film is marketed (with Hitchcock’s name introducing the title) as though he was the sole voice behind its creation.
Andrew Dix’s observation is one that also illuminates this complexity: “Can a film ever be said to have an author in the same way that we conventionally ascribe authorship of novels, plays and poems? If Shakespeare is usually nominated as the author of Macbeth and Dickens as the author of Bleak House, who or what, is the author of Fast and Furious 7 (2015).”[20]
The auteur, it seems, is given a birth right of being allowed to infuse their own ideology, their own beliefs, into their reworking of the predecessor. Equally, they wield the power to omit and produce, either through omission or inclusion, a new work that contains strands of the former.
The train escape scene, in the second act of the film, is one that, not only displays Hitchcock’s unique blend of tension, suspense and storytelling but, forces the otherwise docile, ‘bumbling’[21] and two-dimensional Richard Hannay into becoming an ‘active’ character in his struggle to outwit his enemies and survive.
The scene starts with an establishing shot of the train entering the frame, providing a sense of scale and perspective for the audience observing the narrative space. The train, a technological symbol of unstoppable force and determinism, remains the fixed setting, and the embodiment, throughout this claustrophic moment.
Hitchcock’s choice of a series of medium and close-ups, to alternate between Richard Hannay and the police who are searching for him, brings the viewer closer to the subject, enabling a more intimate and personal connection. The technique of the shot/reverse shot, with each cut back and forth, only adds in heightening the tension and drama - increasing the suspense as we anticipate the inevitable confrontation.
Neil Potts’ term of ‘character interiority’[22], used in reference to his essay on Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1960), and a term referring to the audience being able to understand the psychological state of a character by observation of their external behaviour, is one equally applicable in an analysis of this scene. As Potts’ states, “we extrapolate belief in the existence of ‘other minds’ through our own self-knowledge.”[23] By eliminating distractions, and closing in on the facial expressions, gestures and subtle nuances, we - the audience - are granted insight into Hannay’s thoughts, emotions and psychological states.
Hitchcock also cleverly uses mise-en-scène to tell his story. Hannay’s need to navigate through tight, claustrophobic spaces (such as the train compartments), subtly echoes the theme of Hannay’s predicament - a visual reminder that he is an ordinary man trapped both physically and literally within his circumstances.
Hitchcock displayed a remarkable penchant for pushing the boundaries of sound in his cinematic works, as exemplified in films such as “Lifeboat” (1944), “Rope” (1948), and "Rear Window" (1954), in which he imposed severe limitations on the soundtrack; opting to restrict the use of non-diegetic music. This artistic decision aligned with Hitchcock’s pursuit of suspense through an intensified sense of reality and time. When presented with a proposal for a background score in “Lifeboat”, Hitchcock questioned its feasibility, asking, “Where would the music come from?”[24] Hitchcock, as implicated by his response, understood the importance of sound’s origin, and the restriction of boisterous orchestral scores, in maintaining both the authenticity of the scene and heightening the level of dramatic intensity.
As such, the diegetic, auditory accompaniment of the whistling train and the low rumbling of the wheels on the tracks, in ‘The Thirty-Nine Steps’ underscores the tension and lends an addition layer of realism to the Hannay’s escape. Because there is no soundtrack (as is a pattern with action films) what we hear is what the character would hear. Hitchcock, in effect, positions us in that moment. We are alongside Richard Hannay.
The use of an eyeline match, when Hannay spots the police on the platform, gives us a clear view of his perspective and insight into his thoughts. The high angle shot of the police, as viewed from Hannay's perspective, amplifies the perceived threat they pose.
The scene when Hannay eludes capture by impulsively kissing a random woman in his train compartment, making the police officers believe that they are a couple, is one that provides an intriguing lens through which to examine gender dynamics. Hannay’s actions reflect the prevailing gender norms of the time, which positioned men as assertive and women as passive recipients of romantic advances. By taking the initiative and initiating the kiss, Hannay not only showcases his quick-thinking skills, but asserts his dominance by reinforcing traditional gender roles. For the contemporary viewer, it is a moment that affords the female character a lack of agency and a violation of her consent.
Similarly, "North by Northwest", working from Ernest Lehman’s original screenplay, demonstrates Hitchcock's adeptness in adaptation. The film follows Roger O. Thornhill, a suave and handsome, New York advertising executive mistaken for a government agent, leading him into a treacherous cross-country chase. The biplane chase scene, taking place in the second act, features the protagonist Roger Thornhill standing alone on the desolate ‘Highway 41’ as he awaits for a mysterious contact. The scene is remarkable not only for its technical ingenuity, but also for the manner in which it aligns narrative momentum with formal filmic elements.
The scene begins with a long shot of the open, expansive, and isolated Midwestern landscape, devoid of any major structures, save for the lone figure of Thornhill. Suddenly, he notices a plane flying low overhead, which initially seems innocuous. However, the plane, now circling back around towards Thornhill’s direction, swoops down, and attempts to attack him with a tirade of bullets.
The mise-en-scène is strategically designed to emphasise Thornhill's vulnerability and isolation. His dark suit starkly contrasts the bright cornfield, visually underlining the protagonist's alienation. The absence of any close buildings or vehicles signifies there is no immediate help at hand, thereby amplifying the suspense.
The diegetic sound of the approaching plane, at first a distant hum growing steadily louder, intensifies the impending threat. “Sound is often very effective”, Hitchcock had told journalist, Stephen Watts in 1933, “and its effect is heightened by the proper handling of the music before and after”[25]. But in this scene, there is no music. Hitchcock, just as he had chosen to do during the train scene in Thirty-Nine Steps, opts to preserve the authenticity of the chase by keeping non-diegetic sound absent. Yet, this artistic decision works. Restraining any non-diegetic entities from muddling with the organic sound of the spitting of bullets, or the roaring of the plane’s engine, keeps the focus on the dominant presence in the scene and maintains the sense of realism which runs throughout the film. Francois Truffaut, the French film director, greatly admired this scene for its ‘silent musicality’[26], noting that “in Hitchcock, every moment was musical, even silence; a rest could be as significant as a note”[27].
As Debra Daniel-Richard’s later states in her essay:
“The emptiness of the soundtrack reflects the emptiness of the scenery, as the camera cuts between midrange shots of Roger and point-of-view long shots of the surrounding flat countryside. When another man appears across the road from Roger, their mutually awkward silence imparts an uneasy awkwardness to the viewer as well. Even in the pacing of the conversation that follows once Roger has crossed the high-way, the uncomfortable pauses and the man’s brief replies enhance the almost overwhelming silence of the scene. Once the unnamed man has boarded his bus and departed, the intense silence returns. There is no wind, no squawking birds or animals, nothing to alleviate the oppressive lack of sound, nothing to lighten the crushing sense of menace. Nothing, that is, until the distant whine of the crop duster invades our heightened senses.”[28]
Camera movements, and shot variety, is another element that Hitchcock masterfully exploits to escalate the suspense in the scene. His alternation between point-of-view shots, from Thornhill’s perspective, to high-angle shots from the plane’s perspective, is, in a sense, a visualised dichotomy of the predator-prey dynamic as well as a juxtaposition of Thornhill’s fear and confusion with his relentless pursuers.
‘The Thirty-Nine Steps’ and ‘North by Northwest’ exist in a Hitchcockian ‘ecosystem’ of shared allusions, mise-en-scene and character archetypes. “My hero,” Hitchcock once said, “is the average man to whom bizarre things happen, rather than vice versa.”[29] Afterall, characters like Hannay and Thornhill, who become entangled in a case of mistaken identity and conspiracy, are the antithesis to the rather suave, polished and competent image associated with a spy. “Unlike Fleming’s James Bond,” Varndell notes, “these characters, such as Hannay and Roger Thornhill, do not have the qualifications, nor the skillset to anticipate the opposing force.” [30]
In conclusion, studying the works of Alfred Hitchcock and his skilled approach to literary adaptation casts the field of adaptation theory in an intriguing light. Undoubtedly, the theory serves as a significant tool in unpacking the complex process of transforming a textual narrative into a visual one. It provides a lens through which we can understand the translation of mediums, explore the interplay of fidelity and creativity, and evaluate the impact of cultural contexts on adaptations.
Hitchcock's adaptations are characterised by a deep understanding of the source material, a masterful crafting of suspense, and the ability to manipulate the cinematic medium to its full potential. His work, while sometimes straying from strict fidelity, embodies the spirit of the original text, exemplifying the successful adaptation.
Consider, for example, Hitchcock's reimagining of Robert Bloch's “Psycho”. Instead of a verbatim adaptation, Hitchcock demonstrated his mastery by capturing the essence of the source while introducing film-specific elements. The notorious shower scene, brilliantly conceived and orchestrated, is Hitchcock's cinematic innovation, absent from Bloch's novel, yet it effectively encapsulates the novel's suspenseful atmosphere and proved that successful adaptations could involve considerable creative departure from the source.
The traditional view of adaptation theory - judging adaptations by their fidelity to the source - falls short. Hitchcock's adaptations, like many others, prove that adaptations should not be shackled by the source; instead, they can soar higher when they imbibe the spirit of the original and use the unique elements of the cinematic medium to create a new experience. Whilst adaptation theory should not be dismissed, it is better to view it as a guide, or a compass, rather than a rulebook, that is constantly subject to reinterpretation and evolution in the light of remarkable adaptations.
However, the study also prompts a critical appraisal of adaptation theory in its current form. To judge an adaptation strictly on its fidelity to the source material, as some interpretations of the theory would suggest, seems limiting. Hitchcock’s artistry challenges this narrow view by demonstrating that the success of an adaptation lies not in the letter-by-letter translation of the narrative, but in its ability to evoke the same emotions and themes, often through vastly different cinematic techniques.
Acknowledgement of the multifaceted creative input intrinsic to filmmaking has not invariably resulted in a complete disavowal of auteur theory as a theoretical framework. Instead, critics have frequently supplanted the traditional auteur—the director—with alternative creative figures, thus reshaping the auteur concept. Instances of this approach can be observed in the discourse within Cahiers du cinéma, where Jacques Rivette contended that the unique gestures and dialogue delivery of renowned French actor Jean Gabin, during the mid-twentieth century, made him 'almost more of a director'[31] than the actual credited directors of his films.
This reinterpretation of auteur theory does not confine itself to actors; it also extends to other professionals involved in the filmmaking process. A pertinent example is the critical consideration of Bernard Herrmann, a composer, as an auteur. Herrmann's insistence on providing musical accompaniment to the shower scene in Psycho, despite Hitchcock's initial objections, testifies to the composer's creative autonomy and influence on the film.
Therefore, the concept of ‘auteur’ is malleable, encompassing not only the director's vision but also the distinctive contributions of actors and other film personnel, who shape and influence a film's aesthetic and narrative trajectory. A solution, perhaps, would be to consider film as a ‘collective authorship’[32], rather than an introverted and solipsistic art, thereby expanding the scope of the auteur concept beyond its traditional boundaries.
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BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Bolter, Jay David, and Richard Grusin. Remediation: Understanding New Media. United States: The MIT Press, 2000.
BBC. ‘BBC - John Buchan Master of Suspense’. YouTube. 58:44. Posted by Three5ths, June 16th, 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFBAAe-NFGE
Buchan, John. The Thirty-Nine Steps. England: Penguin Books, 2004.
Burgess, Anthony. ‘On the Hopelessness of Turning Good Books into Films’, New York Times, 20 April 1975. Accessed 20 May 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/1975/04/20/archives/on-the-hopelessness-of-turning-good-books-into-films-on-the.html
Coe, Jonathan. ‘Good book, great film’ The Guardian, 1 April 2011. Accessed 20 May 2023 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/apr/01/book-adaptations-film-jonathan-coe - :~:text=In the course of,idea, I just forget all
Dix, Andrew. Beginning Film Studies. 2nd ed. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2016.
Dudley Andrew, ‘Adaptation’, in Film Adaptation, ed. James Naremore. Great Britain: The Athlone Press, 2000.
Daniel-Richard, Debra. ‘The Dance of Suspense: Sound and Silence in North by Northwest’. Journal of Film and Video 62.3 (2010): 53-60. Accessed 17th May 2023. https://doi.org/10.5406/jfilmvideo.62.3.0053.
Hiller, Jim, ed. Cahiers du cinema: The 1950s. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986.
Henry Yates, ‘A novel idea: Is the book always better than the film?’ The Guardian, 7 December 2020, accessed 15 May 2023 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/dec/07/a-novel-idea-is-the-book-always-better-than-the-film
Kalinak, Kathryn. Settling the Score: Music and the Classical Hollywood Film. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992.
MacCabe, Colin. True to the Spirit. United States of America: Oxford University Press, 2011.
McFarlane, Brian. Novel to Film: An Introduction to the Theory of Adaptation. United States: Oxford University Press, 1996.
North by Northwest. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1959. Feature Film.
Phillips, Gene D. Alfred Hitchcock. Great Britain: Columbus Books, 1986.
Pomerance, Murray. ‘Pomerance talk, pt.1’. Lecture. University of Winchester. 2023.
Potts, Neil. ‘Character Interiority: space, point of view and performance in Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958)’. In Style and meaning: Studies in the detailed analysis of film, edited by John Gibbs and Douglas Pye, 85-97. Great Britain: Manchester University Press, 2005.
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Varndell, Dan. ‘British Origins: 39 Steps’. Lecture. University of Winchester. 2023.
Varndell, Dan. ‘Introducing Adaptation: Rear Window’. Lecture. University of Winchester. 2023.
Varndell, Dan. ‘The Wong Man’. Lecture. University of Winchester. 2023.
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FOOTNOTES
[1] Geoffrey Wagner, The Novel and the Cinema (Fairleigh Dickinson University Press: Rutherford, NJ, 1975), 222.
[2] Dudley Andrew, ‘Adaptation’, in Film Adaptation, ed. James Naremore (Great Britain: The Athlone Press, 2000), 29.
[3] Colin MacCabe, ‘Introduction’, in True to the Spirit (United States of America: Oxford University Press, 2011, 5.
[4] Henry Yates, ‘A novel idea: Is the book always better than the film?’ The Guardian, 7th December 2020, accessed 15th May 2023 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/dec/07/a-novel-idea-is-the-book-always-better-than-the-film
[5] Dan Varndell, ‘Introducing Adaptation: Rear Window’, Lecture, Winchester University, 2023
[6] Brian McFarlane, ‘Background, Issues, and a New Agenda’, in Novel to Film (United States: Oxford University Press, 1996), 27.
[7] McFarlane, ‘Background, Issues, and a New Agenda’, 27.
[8] Murray Pomerance, ‘Pomerance talk, pt.1’, Lecture, Winchester University, 2023.
[9] Murray Pomerance, ‘Pomerance talk, pt.1’.
[10] Anthony Burgess, ‘On the Hopelessness of Turning Good Books into Films’, New York Times, 20th April 1975, accessed 20th May 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/1975/04/20/archives/on-the-hopelessness-of-turning-good-books-into-films-on-the.html
[11] Burgess, ‘On the Hopelessness of Turning Good Books into Films’.
[12] Brian McFarlane, ‘Background, Issues, and a New Agenda’, in Novel to Film (United States: Oxford University Press, 1996), 6.
[13] McFarlane, ‘Background, Issues, and a New Agenda’, 6.
[14] Jonathan Coe, ‘Good book, great film’. The Guardian, 1st April 2011, accessed 20th May 2023 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/apr/01/book-adaptations-film-jonathan-coe - :~:text=In the course of,idea, I just forget all
[15] Dan Varndell, ‘British Origins: 39 Steps’, Lecture, University of Winchester, 2023.
[16] John Buchan, The Thirty-Nine Steps (England: The Penguin Group, 2004), 6.
[17] BBC, ‘John Buchan - Master of Suspense’, YouTube, 58:44, posted by Three5ths, 16th June 202, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFBAAe-NFGE&t=3s
[18] Dudley Andrew, ‘Adaptation’, in Film Adaptation, ed. James Naremore (Great Britain: The Athlone Press, 2000), 9.
[19] Gene D. Phillips, ‘Prologue: The Hitchcock Touch’ in Alfred Hitchcock, ed. Warren French (Great Britain: Columbus Books, 1986), 19.
[20] Andrew Dix, ‘Film and authorship’, in Beginning Film Studies, 2nd Ed, eds. Peter Barry and Helen Carr (Great Britain: Manchester University Press, 2016), 168.
[21] Dan Varndell, ‘British Origins: 39 Steps’, Lecture, University of Winchester, 2023.
[22] Neil Potts, Character Interiority: space, point of view and performance in Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) in Style and meaning: Studies in the detailed analysis of film, ed. John Gibbs and Douglas Pye (Great Britain: Manchester University Press, 2005), 86.
[23] Neil Potts, Character Interiority: space, point of view and performance in Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958).
[24] Kathryn Kalinak, Settling the Score: Music and the Classical Hollywood Film (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 13.
[25] Debra Daniel-Richard, ‘The Dance of Suspense: Sound and Silence in North by Northwest’. Journal of Film and Video 62.3 (2010): 53, accessed 17th May 2023, https://doi.org/10.5406/jfilmvideo.62.3.0053. (53–60).
[26] Debra Daniel-Richard, The Dance of Suspense: Sound and Silence in North by Northwest’. Journal of Film and Video 62.3 (2010): 59, accessed 17th May 2023, https://doi.org/10.5406/jfilmvideo.62.3.0053.
[27] Jack Sullivan, Hitchcock’s Music. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 46
[28] Daniel-Richard, “The Dance of Suspense: Sound and Silence in North by Northwest.”, 59.
[29] Gene D. Phillips, ‘Prologue: The Hitchcock Touch’ in Alfred Hitchcock, ed. Warren French (Great Britain: Columbus Books, 1986), 20.
[30] Dan Varndell, ‘The Wong Man’, Lecture, University of Winchester, 2023.
[31] Jim Hiller, ed., Cahiers du cinema: The 1950s (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986), 118.
[32] Paul C. Sellors, Film Authorship: Auteurs and Other Myths (London: Wallflower, 2010), 68
