During my visit to NYC last week, our EM contributor, Emily Baines, sent me a link to a limited edition Barbie doll from Mattel, the Purveyors of Amerikitsch and anatomically incorrect role models. Presumably to celebrate the 45th anniversary of Sir Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds , the corporation is releasing a doll this Fall that is modeled after Tippi Hedren in a memorable scene: where the lovely blonde sylph runs for dear life, shielding her perfect face from a murder of crows. On the Mattel website, they posted an absurd advertisement that stated the doll, “includes real fake birds.” Don’t ask me why, its not even worth puzzling over. Aside from the iconic pose and outfit, they couldn’t even make Barbie look remotely like Hedren, whose demure grin could melt the heart of a soulless man and whose limpid eyes could magically mist at cue.

Don’t get me wrong, of course I loved everything celluloid that Hitchcock molded with his brilliant imagination and we should be commemorating his heavy contribution to the world of cinema. However I beg to differ in the approach that is taken in celebrating his genius, or dare I say, in appropriating his classic masterpiece into this gimmicky representation. His influence on the American psyche is indelible, particularly the way in which he molded the suspense element in films. His stylistic approach affected the spirit of the 1970’s American film renaissance, especially noted in Brian de Palma’s psycho horrors and even to this day his techniques have been employed in countless scenes for numerous mainstream blockbusters. Yet, in spite of how groundbreaking his stylistic techniques were, he was never granted an Oscar during his prolific career. The only film that came close was Rebecca , starring the doe-eyed, wholesome Joan Fontaine and the debonair Lawrence Olivier. Even then, the film only garnered an Oscar for production, while grievously glossing over Hitchcock’s genius in using lights and shadows to such amazing emotional heights. Coincidentally this movie also happened to be inspired by Daphne du Maurier, the same novelist whose short story was loosely used for his later film, the Birds .

In her email regarding the Tippie Barbie, Emily passionately mentioned to me, “I saw this and had to share it with you. Is NOTHING sacred anymore? Hitchcock must be rolling over in his grave.” My response is: probably yes. Yet it may be more accurate to surmise that Hitchcock shrugged his shoulders to say, “Im more nonplussed from the limitations of rigor mortis, than from the sheer idiocy of this nation. After all, this is the America that wouldn’t give me one damn Oscar for movie direction, even when shooting masterpiece after masterpiece. How can I expect more?”

And after his posthumous reply, I would nod my head gravely in accordance…