Like the film Capote about the iconic American writer, Hitchcock achieves a mild success largely because of the masterful impersonation of Anthony Hopkins in the eponymous role. All the more impressive since, unlike the lisping, snickering-over-cocktails Truman, Hitch didn’t exactly have the spiciest personality—at least on the surface. But Hopkins admirably captures the deadpan wit, the jaundiced critical eye, the automaton-like walk. Which makes for an entertaining watch, especially for those who remember the corpulent film master from his introductions to the famed Alfred Hitchcock Presents television series.
Broken Blossoms, directed by one of cinema’s technical pioneers D.W. Griffith, illustrates why the creation of art shouldn’t concern one race apologizing to another for the mistakes of history—namely because the result can’t help but be politically correct pablum. Sure, maybe Griffith had gone too far in Birth of a Nation, depicting the KKK as white-steed-riding warriors who saved the nation from the “evils” of miscegenation. But hey, it’s a viewpoint—albeit a distorted one—and, at the risk of stating the obvious, he has a right to express it under our Constitution without being coerced by resentnicks into issuing an apology in filmic form.