Of course the epithet has always been used with affection by those well-meaning triflers who call themselves “film buffs.” These people like to memorize “great touches,” “classic scenes,” the clips that fill out TV specials: Cary Grant on his way upstairs with the Fatal Glass of Milk, Cary Grant running away from the crop-dusting plane, Gary Grant on his way downstairs with Ingrid Bergman, Janet Leigh taking her shower. Such a talent seems manipulative as well as limited a “master of suspense” is, literally, a puppeteer. Knowing all the tricks of the trade, that “master” could work his audience adroitly. “Master of suspense” also connotes the technician’s narrow expertise. It suggests, first of all, that Hitchcock was stuck in a rut, playing with kid stuff: he made “thrillers” (as John Ford made “Westerns”), while Welles and Bergman created films. The epithet is rich with slighting implications. For years, Alfred Hitchcock was written off as “the master of suspense,” and now the late Sir Alfred has been similarly eulogized.
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