Review: The Film, Vertigo…

Imagine this for a moment. In a fictional story, someone decides to murder their spouse. Money and resources are unlimited, and exposure is no concern, giving them the freedom to devise almost any scheme imaginable. Would they keep the plan simple or make it unnecessarily complicated? Would those complications improve the chances of success—or perhaps increase the risk of failure?

Alfred Hitchcock’s (Psycho) Vertigo (1958) seems to embrace the idea that a complicated murder plot isn’t just acceptable—it’s essential. But here’s the question: do all those complications actually make sense? We’ll talk more about this later in this review. 

After a rooftop chase ends in tragedy, Detective John “Scottie” Ferguson (James Stewart, It’s a Wonderful Life) retires, haunted by the fear of heights that causes him to freeze. Then an old acquaintance, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore, The Shadow), asks him to follow his wife, Madeleine (Kim Novak, Picnic), who he claims is possessed by the spirit of Carlotta Valdes, a suicidal ancestor. Scottie is quickly drawn into the mystery—and falls for Madeleine along the way. When his vertigo keeps him from stopping her apparent suicide from a mission bell tower, he is devastated. But the truth is even darker: Elster murdered his real wife and used Judy Barton, disguised as Madeleine, to fool Scottie. After a breakdown, Scottie meets Judy again and becomes determined to remake her into Madeleine, setting both of them on a path back to the bell tower and one final, tragic confrontation.

The film’s major twist rests on an impressively elaborate setup, and this is where it begins to test our suspension of disbelief. To secure his wife’s inheritance, Gavin Elster hires Judy Barton to pose as the supposedly “possessed” Madeleine and stages a series of public incidents intended to draw retired detective Scottie Ferguson into the deception. The plan requires Scottie not only to fall in love with Judy, but also to serve as a convincing witness to Madeleine’s apparent breakdown. That is a lot of maneuvering for a single murder. At Mission San Juan Bautista, Elster throws his real wife’s body from the bell tower while Scottie, halted midway by his acrophobia, sees only a falling figure and assumes that “Madeleine” has died by suicide. The scheme is certainly clever, perhaps even ingenious, but it may be too clever for its own good: its many moving parts make the twist dramatically satisfying while also highlighting just how easily the entire plan could have gone wrong.

Hitchcock makes an interesting choice by revealing the truth before the final act. Judy writes Scottie a letter explaining the whole scheme, then tears it up—but not before we get to read it. From there, the suspense is no longer about who did it. Instead, we wait to see what Scottie will do when he realizes he has been a pawn in Elster’s cruel plan. When he later meets Judy without knowing she played Madeleine, his grief slowly turns into obsession. He pushes her to change her clothes, hair, and makeup until she looks exactly like the woman he thinks he lost. That obsession reaches its tragic peak when Scottie takes Judy back to Mission San Juan Bautista and makes her climb the bell tower again, hoping to conquer his trauma. After he forces her to confess, a nun suddenly appears and startles Judy, sending her to her death. Scottie may finally overcome his vertigo, but the ending leaves him facing another tragedy—a grim reminder that conquering a fear does not undo the damage caused by obsession.

At its heart, the film explores human vulnerability, obsession, and the danger of illusion. Scottie cannot let go of his idealized image of Madeleine, so he tries to remake Judy in her likeness—a choice that turns grief into control and finally tragedy. The story suggests that living inside a carefully built fantasy can make reality feel unbearable, especially when Scottie chooses an impossible image from the past over the real woman in front of him. Identity also appears fragile and open to manipulation: first Gavin Elster and then Scottie reshape Judy’s clothes, appearance, and behavior to fit a male fantasy. Scottie’s survivor’s guilt after a colleague’s death deepens his obsession, while Judy’s own guilt draws her back toward the bell tower and its fatal consequences.

Vertigo is filled with memorable motifs and symbols that quietly reinforce its larger themes. Spirals appear in the opening credits, the bell tower’s architecture, and Madeleine’s braided hair, suggesting both Scottie’s physical dizziness and the psychological pull of repetition and unresolved trauma. Hitchcock’s famous “vertigo effect” makes that fear visible by stretching perspective and briefly unsettling our sense of space. Mirrors add another layer, especially during Judy’s transformation, by emphasizing divided identities and self-deception. Color matters, too: ghostly green surrounds Madeleine with illusion and the past, while flashes of red signal danger, desire, and moments when reality begins to break through.

James Stewart plays Scottie Ferguson, and he uses his familiar, likable screen presence in a surprisingly unsettling way. As Scottie slips into obsession, Stewart gradually reveals the character’s controlling and desperate side. Kim Novak is equally impressive in the demanding dual role of Madeleine Elster and Judy Barton, balancing Madeleine’s mysterious, tragic elegance with Judy’s more ordinary and vulnerable reality. Barbara Bel Geddes brings warmth and common sense as Midge, Scottie’s ex-fiancée and friend, offering a grounded contrast to his growing fixation and a clear view of his troubled state of mind. Tom Helmore rounds out the cast as Gavin Elster, giving the character a polished charm that quietly hides his cold, calculated deceit. 

Some viewers and critics have found Gavin Elster’s elaborate murder scheme a little too convenient and far-fetched, since it depends on several precise variables—including Scottie’s particular fear of heights—falling perfectly into place. As I mentioned earlier, I share some of those concerns. Hitchcock also chooses to reveal, midway through the film and from Judy’s perspective, how Madeleine’s “suicide” was staged rather than saving the disclosure for the climax. While this shifts the story’s focus from mystery to psychological suspense, some viewers feel that it weakens the traditional whodunit tension. Judy Barton’s quick transformation from a willing accomplice in a murder plot to a deeply lovesick woman desperate to please Scottie may also seem difficult to accept. When Vertigo first appeared, contemporary reviewers similarly criticized it as overlong, tedious, and sluggishly paced, responses that contributed to its disappointing initial box-office performance. Some also found Kim Novak’s early portrayal of Madeleine somewhat artificial or awkward, while stylistic choices such as the surreal dream sequence can feel dated to modern audiences. 

Vertigo is often considered a foundational text in film theory because it invites rich discussions of psychoanalysis, the male gaze, and the instability of identity. Laura Mulvey’s ideas about scopophilia and the male gaze are especially useful here: Scottie turns Madeleine into an idealized object of desire, and after her apparent death, his attempt to remake Judy in Madeleine’s image becomes an extreme form of fetishistic displacement. In the process, Judy’s agency is pushed aside so that she can fit Scottie’s fantasy. His psychological regression and vertigo can also be read through Freudian ideas about unresolved trauma, guilt, and the death drive. From a Lacanian perspective, Madeleine functions as the unattainable “objet petit a”—less a real person than a projection of Scottie’s desire.

Building on these psychological readings, scholars also view the film as a self-aware commentary on cinema itself. Gavin Elster directs Judy’s performance within the story, while Hitchcock shapes that performance for the audience; together, they transform her into the illusion of Madeleine and reveal Hollywood’s power to construct compelling images. In turn, the film’s vivid colors and recurring spirals transform Scottie’s psychological breakdown into a dreamlike visual world, making his trauma visible rather than presenting a purely objective reality.

Although its convoluted murder plot sometimes strains credibility, Vertigo remains a haunting master class in visual storytelling and psychological suspense.