The Woman in the Window

I've walked out of a movie theater maybe once—just can't do it—but the nice thing about watching movies at home is that I have no qualms about turning it off once I realize it's garbage. So why did I torture myself by watching this movie to the end? First of all, just by chance, one of the last movies I watched was also called The Woman in the Window (Dir. Fritz Lang, 1944)—which I happened to watch as part of research I'm doing for a novel I'm writing that deals with voyeurism, obsession with a painting, and “the unreliable narrator.” So when this 2021 The Woman in the Window immediately referred to two other sources of my inspiration—Laura (1944) and Rear Window (1954)—I was in— despite the obvious red flags (based on bestselling thriller novel; production history—if you pay attention to that kind of thing). My favorite part of this movie is how Amy Adams recites her address like 18 times, so of course you look it up—and seeing the actual location exteriors (a brownstone block in Harlem) gives you a kind of interactive voyeuristic thrill. Also, I'm all for revisiting Rear Window (in fact, I have a proposed “sequel” to that great film in an outline—a kind of obvious idea that someone else will no doubt get to, first). The appeal of Rear Window, however, isn't its grisly murder or un-shocking ending, but its style, the world it creates, and its humor. The only thing that I found remotely humorous in this movie is when Amy Adams tried looking up her mysterious neighbor, Jane Russell, on the internet—and, of course, there's lots of images of Jane Russell. Ultimately, the only thing shocking about this movie was how it turned out to be moronic “make-you-jump” horror movie manipulation, propelled by the schlocky, cliché-ridden Danny Elfman score. Especially shocking given that some of my favorite actors are in it, including one who is credited as screenwriter. The final third especially felt like too many amateur coke-head chefs in someone's dad's ill-fated restaurant kitchen. I don't know, maybe the audience for this kind of high-pitched, sharp-object conclusion is kids who filmed/videoed much the same things—while at that tender age—as we did (Rolf, 1975, Super-8). And maybe it's really just my problem, expecting more, and being fooled to watch it until its final credit: “The making and authorized distribution of this film supported over 15,000 jobs and involved hundreds of thousands of work hours.” Nice. Billions and Billions Served.