Peeping Tom (1960)

I’ve always thought it’s a little disingenuous when today’s critics say that they can’t imagine why Michael Powell’s 1960 film Peeping Tom caused such an uproar when it was first released. Granted, the critical reaction was excessive (Powell’s career was basically destroyed by it) but it’s anything but incomprehensible. In the first place, this was easily the most explicit film (in terms of both sex and violence) to have received mainstream distribution in Great Britain up to that point, and this aspect of the film is intensified by the fact that it shows its audience a glimpse of the seamy underbelly of London that exists cheek by jowl with the ordinary city (the studio where pornographic photos are taken is both right above and supported by the local newsagent’s shop, after all). But then there are all the other aspects of the film that make it both so powerful and so difficult to forget. For example, Powell goes out of his way to make his protagonist, Mark Lewis, a sympathetic figure, despite his horrific crimes. He has clearly been traumatized and victimized by his sadistic scientist father, and the film reminds us of this fact repeatedly (rather than just mentioning it quickly as a backstory), right up until the film’s closing words. In this respect, casting Carl Boehm as Lewis, although he wasn’t Powell’s first choice, turned out to be a brilliant decision. Not only does Boehm give an amazing performance, but his accent subtly sets him apart from the other characters, heightening our impression of how isolated this character is from everyone else around him. And then there’s the aspect of the film that personally I find most challenging, interesting, and (not incidentally) still relevant, namely, all the ways in which the film makes the viewer self-conscious about the act of viewing. In other words, what we unavoidably share with Mark Lewis is the compulsive desire to watch, a voyeuristic desire to be entertained by the pain and suffering of others. Hitchcock touches on this same theme in his portrayal of Norman Bates in Psycho (also released in 1960) of course, but Powell’s exploration of this subject is infinitely more complex and daring. It’s this aspect of Peeping Tom that contemporaneous reviewers could not forgive Powell for; no one who watches this film, even today, can remain untouched by the experience of being placed firmly, even relentlessly, in Mark’s position. But we can still learn as much from this experience today as the film’s original viewers over 50 years ago.