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Cary Grant. Grace Kelly. Alfred Hitchcock. The French Riviera.
There’s nothing else you need to make a wildly entertaining thrill ride, complete with some romance, action, and beautiful jewels. It’s charming minor Hitchcock, but an entry that is demonstrative of his range as an artist. After the one-two punch of the prior year’s Dial M for Murder and Rear Window, both claustrophobic movies dripping in suspense, it’s fun to watch him shake loose with this soufflé-light dessert.
At times, To Catch a Thief does play like a trial run for North by Northwest, or even a road map for the eventual James Bond franchise only a few short years away. Mainly, this feeling occurs during the awkward first thirty minutes as we play a waiting game for Grace Kelly to emerge and sit through some awkward dubbing of a few of the French actors. Still, it’s a chance to watch Hitchcock direct Grant and that accounts for a lot of mileage.
No other director did as much to carve into cinematic royalty the visages of Grant or Kelly as Hitchcock, and here he gives them the flimsiest pretense of characters to play. It doesn’t really matter what their names are, we’ve come to watch Grant seduce Kelly, Kelly swoon, Grant look debonair, and bask in the reflected glory of their combined beauty. The main crux of the story is a retired cat burglar (Grant) getting framed for crimes he didn’t commit, and wooing an American heiress (Kelly). That’s it, and that’s more than enough of a framing device to watch them together.
Lovingly dubbed a “snow covered volcano” by the director, Grace Kelly reveals a hitherto unseen penchant for naughtiness. She exhibits a barely concealed carnality here, exemplified by the infamous fireworks scene. Her décolletage on proud display, she bends over to turn off a lamp telling Grant that he’s about to see one of the great sights of the French Riviera before quickly adding that she’s talking about the fireworks. Yeah, right, the fireworks. Hitchcock gave Kelly the best parts of her career, and this role is no different with her rich, glacial beauty embodying all of the alluring schisms in this film.
For all the surface beauty on display here, there’s one stylistic choice that is downright questionable. Late in the film, a green light becomes the default for evening scenes, bathing everything in a sickly glow. This one problem aside, which is easily overpowered by the sheer beauty of the rest of the movie, To Catch a Thief is a high point of cinema-as-travelogue. There’s a blatant worship in the luxury passing before the screen, not only the landscapes but the movie stars, cars, and clothes.
There’s still the unmistakable markings of Hitchcock’s greatness all over To Catch a Thief. The innocent man on the run is a reoccurring theme, as is the remote, cold blonde goddess with undercurrents of explosive sexuality, the daffy mother (Jessie Royce Landis, practically humping Grant’s leg during their first scene together), and the suave elegance of Cary Grant used for darker impulses. It may not be an essential viewing experience in the careers of Grant or Hitchcock (of the four films they made together, either Notorious or North by Northwest earns that title), but it is essential Grace Kelly, with Hitchcock's ultimate frozen blonde goddess slowly thawing in the face of risqué gags and fireworks ejaculating outside the window during a slow burning seduction.
I cannot make any solid arguments against classifying To Catch a Thief as a bauble in-between the more ornate masterpieces, but goddamn is it a blast! In order to celebrate the truly towering works of artistic genius we must also be able to indulge and recognize the great works of popcorn-entertainment. It can’t hold a candle to Rear Window, Vertigo, The Wrong Man, or any of the other stone-cold classics during this incredibly rich period of Hitchcock’s output, but I just really love this movie. Much like Kelly’s icy ingénue, the surfaces are immaculately crafted with some kinky jollies just roaring to break free underneath.
