THE FLOCK

CONVERSATIONS UNDER THE KNIFE

—A Brief Interview With Alfred Hitchcock

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“Welcome aboard, Mr. Hitchcock,” I sighed. “John St. Evola neglected to mention that this luncheon interview required me to row both you and your picnic across Bodega Bay.”

Hitchcock regarded the arrangement with quiet satisfaction.

“Yes,” he said. “There is a certain type of gentleman who believes a lady performs best when placed under just enough unnecessary adversity.”

I disliked admitting it, but he had perfectly summarized my predicament. I dug the oars back into Bodega Bay and said, “Very well, Mr. Hitchcock. Let us begin the interview.”

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Mrs. Begonia: Mr. Hitchcock, something rather remarkable has occurred since your time.

Hitchcock: Ahhh. . . another flock of birds, I presume.

Mrs. Begonia: Not exactly a flesh and blood flock of birds.

Hitchcock: They always begin with “not exactly,” Mrs. Begonia. In my experience, those are the words immediately preceding a catastrophe.

Mrs. Begonia: There is now a company called Flock. It places cameras on lamp posts and street corners. They work together in flocks, rather like birds.

Hitchcock: Ahhh…

(He pauses, looking faintly pleased.)

You mean to tell me. . . someone has taken the most unsettling image in my film and converted it into a business model?

Mrs. Begonia: That thought occurred to me.

Hitchcock: Ohhh, I shouldn’t worry overmuch. The public has an extraordinary talent for ignoring symbolism. They imagine a bird is merely a bird. . . until one hundred of them are quietly watching from the telephone wires.

Mrs. Begonia: The company’s logo is a bird!

Hitchcock: Of course it is.

Mrs. Begonia: So the lesson wasn’t about birds?

Hitchcock: My dear Mrs. Begonia. . . birds were simply the cast.

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Mrs. Begonia was still laboring at the oars while Mr. Hitchcock calmly attended to the remainder of his fried chicken.

Just then, an elderly woman glided effortlessly past in a weathered kayak. It was Mrs. Bundy, the ornithologist.

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“I have been thinking,” Mrs. Bundy called out. “Years ago I remarked that I had never known birds of different species to flock together. The very concept seemed unimaginable. Why, if that happened, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mrs. Bundy nodded toward the utility poles, where living birds shared the wires with cameras.

“Now I find myself wondering whether someone in the branding department at Flock possessed a rather mischievous appreciation for Mr. Hitchcock. Falcon. . . Raven. . .Condor. . . Sparrow. . all happily flocking together.”

Mrs. Begonia paused just long enough to catch her breath.

“Do you really think it was intentional?”

Mrs. Bundy smiled.

“My dear, I merely study birds. Human beings have always been far more difficult to classify.”

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Mr. Hitchcock brushed a few crumbs from his lap and, without looking up, offered only this:

“People often suppose The Birds was about birds,” he said. “It wasn’t. The birds were merely the instrument. The real subject was that delicious discomfort which arrives the moment one realizes one is no longer alone—that unseen eyes may already have settled upon you long before you thought to look back.”

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More of Mrs. Begonia’s Adventures Can Be Found: HERE