Sleuthing Caps On for Rear Window

The hall of Old Main was bustling with activity, for class had just been released: ten to noon. I slipped out of my Creative Writing classroom, eyes flickering around, catching sight of my peers scattered along the corridor's walls. Marley followed after me, and we both strode past my next class' door, attempting to secure a segment of the wall for ourselves. We settled down, mirroring one another, chatting about the mundane, although I loath to describe our conversations as such, for I grasp any snippets I can get, cradling them with reverence. Five to noon. My finger settled on the phone, eyes darting periodically to check the time, as class started at twelve, and even the concept of lateness generated discomfort in me. With a minute to spare, I bid her goodbye, refocusing my mind toward class. 

Stepping into Room 207, I sat myself down, preparing for a film. I lacked all knowledge of what the movie could be, for I failed to remember its title from the syllabus, and had not investigated its plot either. I was, admittedly, thinking heavily about scheduling at the time. The class was handed a list of terms, and as we meandered through them, I recalled my high school Creative Writing course, where I had to present on the multitude of shots directors utilize in their productions. A stab of nostalgia ran through me, and I allowed myself a brief moment of rumination before brushing it off. I owe that class, and Mrs. Campbell herself, for awakening my passion for writing.

Blinds were lowered, lights were extinguished, and the film began to play: Rear Window flashing across the screen. We were thrust into the everyday hustle and bustle of several apartment complexes, gleaning an insight into the residents' daily lives right alongside the protagonist, Jeff. I could not contain my incredulity upon watching the morning routine of Miss Torso, as she was depicted unrealistically through the male gaze. Despite her profession as a ballerina, it is preposterous to assume that she would gallivant around her own apartment in the mornings to the extreme shown. The routine was obviously included as a form of "eye candy" for the audience, which initially incited annoyance, but that was later subverted when Jeff himself appeared disgruntled at a married man's yearning stare toward her. Also, the inclusion of Lisa's character as a recognized hard-working woman counteracts the initial objectification of women... but only to an extent, for she is included solely as a love interest for the male protagonist, and her beauty is the trait primarily commented upon. The blatant use of gender roles and traits is a product of the film's time (1954), which should be taken into account, and they can also be referenced to showcase the progress made over the succeeding decades. 

My initial protests against the film may lead readers to believe that I failed to enjoy it, which is certainly not the case. I adore the way Alfred Hitchcock (the director) immerses the audience in Jeff's snooping, as well as setting the film entirely in one location. He masterfully curates interest, and I found myself attempting to predict the sequence of events as details were revealed. I am in anticipation of the film's conclusion, for the mystery remains afoot.