Storefront Hitchcock

The Hitchcock here is Robyn, the English musician known for his participation with the Egyptians and the Soft Boys, and his surreal and melancholy outlook on life.   During a spoken bit between tunes in 1998's STOREFRONT HITCHCOCK, the singer-songwriter muses on his eventual presence as a ghost, floating above the environmental erosion of his birthplace, The Isle of Wight, described as if England pushed out a diamond shaped infant.  He will occupy a timeline space near WW2 veterans and distanced from Cro-Magnon man.  He addresses future viewers of director Jonathan Demme's documentary as "computers" who changed the face of man. 

Hitchcock performs to a presumably small (heard but never seen) audience in an abandoned Manhattan store, with his back to the window.  His stage is spare.  The street is visible beyond.  Is it Broadway?  Or is it 6th Ave.? People and traffic fly by as they always do.  Some folks peer into the window.  One guy waves.  Another holds up a painting.  One is frequent Demme colleague Kenneth Utt.  The effect of watching life pass by never feels like some arty or pretentious gimmick, but natural.  Never distracting.  Quite "informal", as Robyn muses.

But later the windows are blacked out.  Candles are lit.  Then a disco ball appears.  Whatever the props, Demme and DP Anthony Jannelli create pure cinema.  There are tilts down to and closeups of Hitchcock's guitar strumming.  Light across his forehead.  As in Demme's celebrated Talking Heads concert film STOP MAKING SENSE, there is amazing use of light and color.  In fact, there are moments in STOREFRONT HITCHCOCK that are easily as inspiring and exciting as in the earlier classic, a film I place in my All Time Top 10. This film, as someone pointed out, is like SMS's introverted cousin.  Robyn is wry and his music is low key, even when he puts down the acoustic and plugs in.  He forever chants pained, unusually intelligent lyrics; this includes a song he describes as non threatening and comfortable.

Demme again creates unexplainable magic by being unobtrusive, yet always finding the right shot.  Hitchcock's face sometimes appears warm and other times quite frightening.  Always entirely compelling and fascinating.  I came into this film ignorant of the man's catalogue.  His songs are clearly influenced by the likes of Bob Dylan and Syd Barrett.  Maybe even David Byrne, who he actually mentions by name during a song.  I became a fan of this movie on first watch, even though I kinda wish we could see out that window the entire seventy-seven minutes.