The film-essay is usually a hard genre to digest; while there’s a lot to be gotten out of them, often they tend to be very trying and difficult. “Double Take,” directed by Johan Grimonprez, is an exception to the rule (the fact that it got any theater time at all should be argument enough), as it remains consistently enjoyable and humorous throughout its duration. The central ‘plot,’ if you want to call it that, revolves around Alfred Hitchcock encountering his double in his studio. This eerie premise opens up many doors, including one that leads into the world of the Cold War and American paranoia.
The film seems to have plenty to say, alternating between Hitchcock meeting his double (the Hitchcock look-alike Ron Burrage), Hitchcock hosting his television show, creepy Folgers coffee commercials, and the kitchen debate between Vice President Nixon and Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev. Within these scenes we also get a sense of the impending doom that both television and nuclear war represent. It is all very interesting to watch (especially the debate and the coffee commercials, which might be the most unintentionally brilliant adverts ever created), even if the thread linking all of these elements seems non-existent. Actually the entire thing is really about doubles, as seen when Hitchcock meets his own or in the debate between the U.S. and Soviet Union. Grimonprez sticks to the quote “If you meet your double, you must kill him.”
Indeed, that quote explains much of the intention behind the film: how doubles co-exist while at the same time trying their utmost to wipe one another out. Aside from the obvious US vs. Soviet Union clips, there’s also a sense of the underlying paranoia around war and bombs, with Hitchcock films like “The Birds” and “Topaz” serving as both extremely well-made movies and the celluloid manifestations of peoples’ fear of attack. Interestingly enough, the only clips from the television show “Hitchcock Presents…” are his clowny opening introductions and aforementioned commercials from the sponsor, Folgers. Why the actual programs were left out may seem a mystery, but for this kind of film has to be absolutely intentional. Could it be the that Grimonprez is focusing on the silliness of television and implying that movies, and movies alone, should remain in the cinema? Or could it be him exposing the emptiness of the medium, presenting it as having nothing to show or say for itself?
That one’s up in the air, but there is a lot to be pulled from those strange Folgers commercials, each structured almost as a Hitchcock film. They feature a housewife (either knowing that her coffee is terrible or getting berated by her husband for its awfulness) going at length to find the perfect coffee, asking advice of the local grocer or neighborly friend. In the end, the husband gets his delicious coffee, and all is well in the world. We’ve seen this before: there were plenty of golden-age films that somehow ignored World War 2, and these commercials are another example of the bullshit American dream-life that was being sold during the beginning of the Cold War. These silly advertisements focus on their product (as any advert would) and portray that all is right in the world once that particular cup of joe is ingested. But what of the odd pacing, and the impending doom in the directing style? These commercials can almost double as a comment on then-current American life, wherein people tried to live like in the movies but always had a sense of paranoia, of something happening beyond them. If so, they prove that maybe television does have something to say about the world, which makes the war between television and film even trickier.
The film is so dense and ripe with material that it’s easy to lose your way, which may lead to some writing it off. But it succeeds because it doesn’t force everything upon you, rather its juxtaposition of TV clips and films allows you to think and gather your own conclusions. It’s honestly rather brilliant at times, but it does require a certain amount of patience, and that’s if you don’t immediately get lost in the absurdity of Nixon and Khrushchev roasting each other while impending doom lurks in the background. Maybe it would’ve been more successful if it had simplified its material a bit; as it stands now it can get a tad tedious at times. But when all is said and done, the film still works as a love letter to Alfred Hitchcock, and any fan of his is likely to be very pleased with the attention given to him and his work. Admittedly, the film isn’t for everyone, but if you’re willing to give it a chance it can give you a lot back in return. [B+]