Wednesday, August 13, 2014

A Very Hitchcockian Poem, On the Old Guy's 115th Birthday

Hey kids! Ya know what today is? Yup, it's the anniversary of the birth of one the great geniuses of cinema, Sir Alfred Hitchcock. The great man would be turning 115 today, if he hadn't already died at 80, a few decades back. So, I was thinking of what I should do to commemorate this event. And looking back, I remembered something I had written a few years back. It was a poem about Hitchcock, that I had composed for an event called For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon III. This is an annual blogathon dedicated to film preservation, and this particular year's theme was, of course, Alfred Hitchcock. Granted, this may not be the best poem ever written, but it does include every single Hitchcock film. So that's something, right? Anyhoo, here we go...

A Poem in Hitchcockian Meter

There once was a man named Sir Alfred
Whose demeanor was so Rich and Strange
The dread in his soul, this Shadow of a Doubt
He knew he could never make change
So with Murder! in his eyes and full of Suspicion
This man he made way for the coast
North by Northwest he did so travel
A Notorious Bon Voyage he did toast
So taking up residence at the Jamaica Inn
He found himself with The Farmer's Wife
A woman of Easy Virtue in her Pleasure Garden
The one for who he had been searching all his life
Her name it was Rebecca by day
But he called her his Marnie at night
Ever fearing he was The Wrong Man
The Lodger he did suffer from Stage Fright
But our hero he so wanted this girl
Danced Waltzes from Vienna all day
Through the Rear Window he handed her a Topaz
And at night, The Skin Game they did play
Sir Alfred was surely Spellbound
He plied her with Champagne and such
Acting the Young and Innocent
He was secretly The Man Who Knew Too Much
And one day he did suspect Sabotage
As The Lady Vanishes without note
But it was The Manxman who did take her
Sailing away together in The Lifeboat
Sir Alfred was put into a Frenzy
To rescue her from doom so certain
This Saboteur he vowed to find
Searching behind every Torn Curtain
He enlisted the aid of a Foreign Correspondent
Who once helped him on The Paradine Case
Searching high and low To Catch a Thief
But Sixteen times they were slapped in the face
It was Number Seventeen where they did find a clue
But what it meant these heroes did not know
In the corner of the room sat the Secret Agent
A man with a bad case of Vertigo
He told them that it was a Family Plot
After Mr. and Mrs Smith they did marry
The cousin did not want any part of it
That was always The Trouble With Harry
So Sir Alfred and his friends moved on
Climbing The 39 Steps to the top
Aventure Malgache yelled the Frenchman
But our intrepid hero he would not stop
Downhill he would search Under Capricorn
Where The Birds chirped all round the clock
I Confess was yelled from the treetops
By none other than Juno and the Paycock
Elstree Calling for a stop to this Blackmail
The villains in The Ring could not touch
Sir Alfred he was named the winner
Once again The Man Who Knew Too Much
So tied together with Rope our lovers reunited
High above the city on a swinging steel girder
No longer Strangers on a Train to each other
They pick up the phone and together Dial M for Murder

That's it gang. See ya 'round the web.

4 comments:

  1. Wow! Brilliant is all I can say.

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  2. I like your poem a lot. This is a very creative poem for sure and a great way to celebrate one of the best directors when it comes to suspense.

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