Alfred Hitchcock makes a murder-swap proposal into a tense, slyly funny thriller. Robert Walker’s unsettling charm is the attraction; the plot needs more help from coincidence than we would like.
Strangers on a Train is a tense, darkly funny thriller, with a weakness for coincidences that its actors mostly persuade us to forgive. Alfred Hitchcock takes the proposed exchange of murders seriously enough to frighten us, but never loses sight of the absurdity of discussing it with a new acquaintance. The danger begins in an ordinary conversation, which is a sound basis for suspense. We have all met someone who mistook our politeness for a willingness to hear considerably more.
Robert Walker plays Bruno Antony with such inviting confidence that the proposal almost sounds like an opportunity Guy would be rude to decline. We caught ourselves warming to him, then felt uneasy about it, because Robert Walker makes an appalling suggestion sound like an attempt to make a friend. His charm has something needy about it, and that need makes his persistence frightening. The attraction between the men is there without being explained to death; Bruno appears interested in his prospective partner well beyond the practical requirements of the plan.
Farley Granger, as Guy Haines, has the less rewarding task of keeping us concerned about the person listening. He supplies enough discomfort to make the encounter work, although Guy never becomes as interesting as the man proposing the crime. Ruth Roman gives Anne Morton a steadiness we welcome, but the part offers less room for surprise than Bruno’s. The imbalance is useful while Guy is listening to Bruno, but becomes a limitation whenever the film expects its more respectable characters to hold our attention unaided.
Robert Burks’s photography gives the shadows enough weight to make ordinary settings uneasy without making every image look like a warning. The crisscrossing railway tracks announce how closely the two men’s paths will become entangled, and Alfred Hitchcock keeps returning to circles and doubles. Those patterns are legible without requiring us to stop and decipher them. The fairground scenes benefit particularly from this control: a place built for amusement becomes frightening without ceasing to look like somewhere people would enjoy themselves.
William H. Ziegler’s editing is crucial to how easily we accept the film’s contrivances: the suspense gives us something immediate to worry about before we can start checking the reasoning. Even the more elaborate set pieces remain easy to follow. Dimitri Tiomkin’s music is sometimes more emphatic than the performances need, especially when Robert Walker has already made us uncomfortable. Yet the score’s energy suits a thriller that enjoys giving us a fright and makes little attempt to be discreet about it.
The screenplay, credited to Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde from Patricia Highsmith’s novel, is less persuasive about motives than it is about consequences. Too much depends on coincidence, and we occasionally notice the effort required to keep Guy in trouble. That matters in a thriller whose premise invites us to think through the practicalities of getting away with murder. Bruno’s behaviour remains compelling because Robert Walker makes his wish for companionship disturbing without reducing it to a tidy diagnosis.
At 101 minutes, it is a good choice for an evening when we want suspense without a long apprenticeship in the characters’ unhappiness. The qualification is simple: anyone who needs every decision in a thriller to survive interrogation will have objections here. Watch it for Robert Walker, and allow the plot a few favours.
