Notorious is a romance wearing the clothes of an espionage thriller. Ingrid Bergman plays Alicia Huberman, a woman fallen from grace after her father is exposed as a Nazi traitor. Alicia gets her chance to clear her own reputation when handsome government agent Devlin (played by Cary Grant) offers her the chance to perform a valuable service for her country. But her task, seducing a Nazi leader (played by Claude Rains), demands that she step into the very role she’s running from. Alicia is in effect a character given no ownership over her own identity. But through her own resilience and strength of character, she asserts that her identity is in her own hands, not the hands of the men in her life.
I came into this project with a deep love for the film and for the character of Alicia. I consider it to be my favorite Alfred Hitchcock film and Alicia to be the standard for writing not just compelling female characters but compelling characters in general. Just so, this film predates a lot of modern sensibilities about representing female characters, and so I was also prepared to use this essay to discuss some of the internal contradictions within her character that might undercut the feminist aspects of her story. I envisioned this piece as an analysis of the differences between writing strong female characters in the 1940s versus today. Imagine my frustration when my research indicated that everyone else seemed to love Alicia as much as I did.
Angelica Jade Bastién writes for the Criterion Collection,
Janet Maslin wrote for The New York Times in 1980,
“One of the more remarkable things about Notorious is that it hasn't seemed to age; if anything, it grows more timely. The climate that made a ‘notorious’ woman out of Alicia because of her drinking and apparent promiscuity is more permissive these days . . . but Alicia's recklessness helps make her seem a more modern, believable character than many strait-laced movie heroines of the same era.”
That this film is almost universally celebrated within feminist circles despite predating “modern feminism” is striking. As for why that is, I can only speculate. But since I’m here, allow me to venture this claim: Notorious reaffirms that the key to writing strong female characters is to write strong characters.
Brief Refresher
The first time we see Alicia Huberman is at her father’s trial, wherein he receives a life sentence for his work for the Nazis. Alicia herself was never involved in their work, but she still inherits the shame of her father’s transgressions. Between this and her reputation for drunken, sloven behavior (in original drafts she was in fact a prostitute), Alicia is a marked woman.
Enter government agent T.R. Devlin, who offers Alicia the opportunity to wipe her slate clean by enlisting in a critical government mission in Rio de Janeiro, one which will help put an end to the activities of the remaining Nazis. Alicia accepts the assignment and flies to Rio with Devlin.
Alicia, then, is pigeonholed into an impossible scenario. The only way she can wash herself of her sins is by becoming the very woman everyone says she is. She’s laying her dignity aside in order to help her country, but no one sees it that way, least of all the man she loves.
There’s an interesting real-world parallel between Ingrid Bergman’s performance here and her off-screen life. About four years after this film’s premiere, Bergman was hit with controversy when news of her affair with director Roberto Rossellini soiled her reputation with American audiences. (Be Kind Rewind gives in-depth coverage of the scandal on her YouTube channel.) As the Criterion Collection said of Alicia, Bergman’s transgressions suddenly framed the totality of her identity. The question of whether or not a woman can be forgiven for existing outside of a specific template of morality is perhaps more than a thought experiment.
Notorious Women
Hitch has a reputation for subjecting his leading ladies to these intense ordeals of fire. Hitch is especially famous for his casting of icy-blondes, including Eva Marie Saint, Grace Kelly, and of course Ingrid Bergman, in roles that walk the fine line between gender conforming and subversive. Women in his films are at once exotified and humanized. Hitch frames his women as paintings for his audience to behold while also shaming audiences for beholding them like paintings.
Take for example his 1958 film Vertigo. This film features a former police officer “Scottie,” played by James Stewart, assigned to tail the wife of his former colleague, Madelaine, played by Kim Novak. Scottie is assigned to watch her every mysterious move in an effort to understand her. Madelaine is hauntingly beautiful, and Scottie’s pursuit of her inevitably leads to romantic involvement with her which leads to an obsession which leads to psychological freefall which leads to . . . if you’ve seen it you know. The film indulges the male viewer in a voyeuristic fantasy in which this goddess of sexual allure begs the male viewer to discover her secrets, but it also reveals the façade behind the fantasy and the distress it wreaks upon the subject of such a fantasy. The question is, is Madeleine being objectified so much that she reveals the snares by which all womenkind are bound by the lecherous and possessive gazes of the men who hold power over them, or is she just being objectified?
Also relevant is Melanie Daniels, the protagonist of his 1963 film, The Birds, played by Tippi Hedren. Melanie is the daughter of a wealthy head of a newspaper. In her youth she was a loose cannon of a person and often got herself involved in highly publicized scandals, and she is still marred by the scandals of her youthful escapades. She tries to prove her maturity to a skeptical (and attractive) lawyer, Mitch Brenner. But Melanie’s arrival into his life occurs in tandem with flocks of birds attacking the townsfolk in orchestrated waves of violence. Through Melanie, mother nature herself appears to be punishing the prodigal daughter.
Already we can see that Alicia is a common ancestor for Madelaine and Melanie. The men in Alicia’s life define her by her sexual allure, just like they do with Madelaine. And like Melanie, Alicia’s arc is one giant penance walk for sins she is only partly responsible for. Women in Hitchcock’s films are often tortured individuals, dodging double-standards or suffocating under the lecherous looks of the men in their life.
Where is the line between representing vs enabling objectification? We've been debating that for years. Further muddling the conversation is Hitchcock's own reputation for possessive behavior. In 2017, actress Tippi Hedren disclosed her own experiences with Hitchcock pursuing her during the making of her two films with him and subsequently sabotaging her career after she did not accept his advances. Knowing this, Hitchcock’s studies of male predation start to read like personal confessions.
Just so, leading ladies of these films are undeniably complex characters. Even when they aren’t the protagonists in their respective films, Hitchcock’s leading ladies demonstrate a range of intelligence and autonomy rarely seen among other female characters of the time. Some of the richest female characters from classical cinema came from Hitchcock, and this is clearer nowhere than with Alicia.
Alicia Huberman, a Woman of That Sort
The first time we hear Alicia speak is at a party at her house following her father’s trial. Far from shame or grief, her persona is one of gaiety. “The important drinking hasn’t started yet,” she proclaims to her guests. But we soon come to see this persona as a mask. Alicia will later confide in Devlin that it was learning about her father’s work with the Nazis that drove her to the bottle in the first place. This isn’t who she is.
The first time we see the real Alicia comes when Devlin plays her a recording between her and her father months before his arrest. Alicia insists to Devlin that she cares nothing for America, but in the recording the boldness with which she declares to her father that she would never betray this country outs Alicia as a patriot. This is who she really is, and it reveals her character not just to the audience but also to Alicia herself. Her slovenliness, her indifference, it all masks nobility and virtue.
This is why her assignment, to seduce a high-ranking Nazi, is so charged. Part of it is the “Nazis=gross” bit, but more than that the situation puts into question which side of Alicia is her true self: Joan of Arc or Jezebel. Devlin, we find out, does not have faith in her. Devlin reasons that if Alicia were truly a changed woman--if she truly loved him--she would never have accepted the assignment, let alone accomplish it so masterfully.
The film almost makes a spectacle out of Alicia’s humiliation, bringing us back to the question of representation versus exploitation, but our sympathies lie unquestionably with Alicia through this ordeal. When Devlin continually shames her for being thrown into an impossible situation, we see her tears, and more importantly we feel her tears. Tania Modleski writes in her book “The Women Who Knew Too Much: Alfred Hitchcock and Feminist Film Theory,”“If Notorious suggests the important of recognizing male masochism, it equally demonstrates the ease with which this masochism may be repudiated, and, most importantly, it reveals the potentially dire consequences for women of this repudiation.”
The men in the film display animosity toward Alicia through their snide comments toward her, but the film refutes this animosity by exposing the unrecognized values inherent in her.
Let’s now take stock of the assets Alicia demonstrates herself while on the assignment: She can maintain her composure under pressure, averting detection with nothing but her wits even as circumstances change. She is keen and observant and sees things others don’t want her to see. Not only does she ascertain that the secret is in the wine bottles in the cellar, she cleverly manages to steal away the keys to break in to her own house. Most importantly, she is committed to get the job done, no matter the personal cost to her.
This is where the film reveals Alicia’s characters strengths: she is good at her job, and not just because Sebastian has the hots for her, but because she is intelligent and determined. Alicia’s trial by fire becomes the light by which her nobility and virtue are revealed. This is the true Alicia, however the other men in her life define her.
Devlin and Sebastian
While we’re here, let’s also talk about the other two points in this love triangle.
Walter Beardsley: Oh, I don't think any of us have any illusions about her character. Have we, Devlin?
Devlin: Not at all, not in the slightest. Miss Huberman is first, last, and always not a lady. She may be risking her life, but when it comes to being a lady, she doesn't hold a candle to your wife, sitting in Washington, playing bridge with three other ladies of great honor and virtue.
Devlin seems to recognize that Alicia’s participation in this mission only reveals her nobility, he’s just caught in the trap of his own pride. And it’s worth noting that the film expects Devlin to swallow this pride and confront the toxicity of his behavior—which he does, and we’ll get to that.
In the wake of his discovery, however, Sebastian’s first impulse is one of wrath, such that he fantasizes about strangling her in her sleep. That Sebastian never considers leaving the Nazis for Alicia is also telling. He also shows himself to be possessive of Alicia, like when he manipulates Alicia into having sex him with in order to “convince him” that Devlin means nothing to her. He demonstrates the same mistrust of Alicia that makes Devlin so frustrating, but Devlin grows to see the error of his ways. Sebastian doesn't.
Both Devlin and Sebastian display possessive behavior over Alicia, and while they both may have loved her, only Devlin ever grows past his selfish tendencies. Devlin then proves himself worthy of her love and is allowed to live while Sebastian meets a dark end. In this way, the film holds men accountable for their crimes against women.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s look closer at the film’s ending to dissect the most interesting comment the film makes on gender.
Is Alicia a Damsel in Distress?
A slip-up at a party causes Sebastian to discover that Alicia is an American agent. When he confides in his mother, they concoct a scheme to gradually poison Alicia before the other Nazis learn that Sebastian has been leaking information through her. By the time Alicia realizes what they are doing to her, she’s too deteriorated to escape on her own. Meanwhile Devlin grows disturbed at Alicia’s absence, and so he takes matters into his own hands and breaks into Sebastian’s house to find her.
The dynamics here are interesting. Alicia has been the central character of the film, the heroine, for the entire runtime. Yet for how complex the film has painted Alicia, the film almost undermines its own effort to make the audience take her seriously by having her man swoop in and carry her near lifeless body to safety like she's your standard damsel in distress.
But there’s an intelligence underlying this scenario. For one thing, by this point there shouldn’t be any doubt about the strength of her character. She’s proven herself smart and capable more than once within the film. Why would any of that be suddenly questioned just because she needs to phone a friend this one time?
The ending is less a reflection of Alicia’s powerlessness than of Devlin’s responsibility to change and the expectation for all men to stop strangling women with their indifference. Maybe having Devlin sweep in and scoop Alicia out of the fire affirms the helplessness of the female who need always be rescued by her man. Or, maybe it’s a call for men to confront their own internal misogyny. If we’re being honest, Devlin wasn’t even “saving the day.” Hadn’t Alica done that by learning what the Nazis were planning? The only thing Devlin was saving was the woman he had wronged to begin with. Alicia had already proved herself a heroine, Devlin was just proving himself deserving of her.
Notorious, then, seems to be making a comment on how women are drowning because of male ego and indicting men for their complicity in the subjugation of women. Says Modleski,
“Alicia’s suffering also, eventually, causes Devlin to come round and admit his own pain and suffering. One might speculate that the appeal of Notorious as a woman’s film is directly related to the way in which Alicia’s tribulations force Devlin to acknowledge his vulnerability and his error: in his way, Alicia’s ‘persecution, illness, and [near] death’ may be said to provide an outlet for the female spectator’s anger.”
The question then is less about whether or not Alicia is a strong character—it has given its answer on this question many times over throughout the film—and more about whether or not a strong character should expect the man she loves to rise up to meet her.
Conclusion
This isn’t to say that there are no discrepancies between this film and modern feminist sensibilities. I believe, for example, that had the film been made today there would be more incentive to surround a complex female character like Alicia with more complex female characters, other women to support her. As is, the only other significant female character in the movie is Alex’s mother who is very much an antagonist. As such, the movie largely remains a document of one woman’s worth as viewed by the men in her life, and I think it’s fair to expect more from modern films.
Feminism in film has gone through a dozen or so movements since 1946. The modern discussion is especially fascinated with how female characters are represented by female filmmakers.
One of the more recent landmarks of feminist filmmaking is 2017’s Lady Bird, directed by Greta Gerwig. The film was widely celebrated for its intelligent writing and for a lead heroine who walked the line of female maturation with such honesty. Critic Dana Stevens of Slate celebrates the titular character as “unapologetically imperfect.” Said Gerwig of the writing process,
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| Lady Bird (2017) |
“Writing this character was an exploration of all these things I didn’t have access to or I couldn’t be. In that way, it almost felt like this fairy-tale invention of a deeply flawed heroine, but one who I admire. I think she shows courage and a lot of character even when she’s flailing.”
A throughline of writing strong female characters throughout film history has been the capacity to represent them as whole human beings not easily sorted into broad categories. “Strength” is a secondary objective after “complexity.” When you achieve the latter, your character ceases to be an object of male ownership and becomes an agent in her own story. In this way Notorious was a pioneering effort that modern heroines like Lady Bird are benefiting from.
As our understanding of the gender gap has matured, the film industry has been given incentives to improve how it represents the female, and it’s made significant strides forward because of it. But I find unexpected rewards in looking at ways in which classical Hollywood got it right without needing an incentive. A film like Notorious spotlights female agency and character in a way that feels so refreshing in any era, and that it came to these conclusions without responding to a hashtag makes it all the more remarkable.
Notorious’ Alicia carries the cross allotted to women as she learns to recognize her own character and virtue underneath the labels she has been assigned. Even as the men in her life seek to possess her image and autonomy, her ownership of her identity only shines brighter for it. She is “neither projection nor perfectly perfumed fantasy.” As Alicia’s character oscillates between a man’s plaything and a feminist warrior, she becomes something else entirely: a human being.
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