Celebrating “Hitchcocktober” as a Watch Enthusiast

Costumes, trick-or-treating, jack-o-lanterns, scary movies; October brings a whole host of traditions. And nobody did the latter better—or lent his name to a seasonal pun more easily—than Alfred Hitchcock, whom cinephiles everywhere venerate this month with “Hitchcocktober” marathons of the great director’s oeuvre. Movie buffs look for Alfred Hitchcock’s requisite cameo in his films, but there are rarer cameos for watch fans to keep an eye out for as well. Hitchcock’s films are timeless and, unexpectedly, mostly timepiece-less.

Hitchcock earned his reputation as the Master of Suspense over a 54-year directorial career that saw Hitchcock create classics like Rebecca (1940), Vertigo (1958), Psycho (1960), and The Birds (1963). His films are rife with plot twists and mistaken identity, playful avoidance of censors, and some of the most creative, and unnerving, visuals ever put to film. Hitchcock was the man who thought up a crop duster chase scene and a shower stabbing and a dozen other iconic scenes that have become among the most famous in film history.

The British director was workmanlike in bringing his vision to life on screen. Hitchcock once remarked that he believed “actors should be treated like cattle.” Watches get similar treatment in his film—when they do appear they are never window dressing, they’re predominantly used to, well, tell time. Take, for example, Murder! (1930), in which a watch shot lets us know that Handel Fane is about to walk into Sir John Mernier’s trap. In Rear Window (1954), shots of the Tissot worn by L.B. Jefferies (Jimmy Stewart) are used to clue us in to the passing of time as he spies on a neighbor Jefferies suspects has just killed his wife.

Hitchcock employs the same visual shorthand to inform viewers of the time in Dial M for Murder (1954) and Strangers on a Train (1951). Murder, it seems, has to keep to a strict timetable.

This visually explicit time-telling adds to the sense of tension that Hitchcock is so renowned for. In Dial M for Murder, it’s a look at the watch of the would-be murderer that lets us know the hour of his planned killing is at hand. A succeeding shot of his co-conspirator’s watch showing that it’s a full 15 minutes behind is the first sign of trouble in the plan. The following moments are filled with stressful waiting and the back-and-forth of hope that Grace Kelly’s character, Margot may, by pure chance, escape the plot and certainty that she is about to die.

Hitchcock’s handling of watches speaks volumes about how horology has changed over the last few decades. Recent trends in cinema have seen the use of time-piece accessories to help define characters and their tastes or as part of marketing agreements. Think of Indiana Jones wearing a Hamilton that was released alongside his latest film this summer, the Chopards featured in 6 Underground, Gal Gadot’s prominent Hublot in Heart of Stone, or any number of the special edition James Bond Omegas. But in Hitchcock films, watches are tools and pure devices. They serve to advance the plot, mostly through telling time, and they don’t merit glamor shots or dialogue. With the exception of Rear Window Hitchcock almost seems to have gone out of his way to make watches difficult to identify in his films.

Cary Grant is said to have worn his personal Cartier Tank in North by Northwest (1959), though you wouldn’t know watching the film. (Ironically, Rolex features in a scene from the film of Grant wearing his Tank in their advertisement Rolex and Cinema.) Glimpses can be had here and there but nothing clear enough to identify the piece as Cartier versus the many other Tank-style watches out there.

Hitchcock went even further in some of his films and removed brand signatures from dials—no such thing as free clout, I guess. Dial M for Murder features two prominent watch shots of pieces with erased or covered logos. The distinctiveness of the Rego Sport chronograph dial in Strangers on a Train (1951) made it easier for watch forums to identify, but stripped of “Rego” it would have been next to impossible for the original audiences to figure out what the watch was.

There is perhaps no better example of Hitchcock’s utter disinterest in watches as luxury items than in what is arguably his most luxurious film: To Catch a Thief (1955). In it, John Robie (Cary Grant) and Frances Stevens (Grace Kelly) roam the French Riviera, changing in and out of beautifully tailored tuxedos and dresses, ascots and neck scarves as they try to solve the mystery of who is stealing jewelry from the Riviera’s upper class visitors and framing Robie. Opulence oozes from every scene and expensive jewelry is at the center of the film. But no watches.

“I haven’t got a decent watch,” Robie tells Stevens at one point during an infamous scene of the pair exchanging innuendo to sneak their sexual chemistry past the censors.

“Steal one,” she replies, advice modern-day thieves along the Riviera seem to have taken to heart.

So, what is the quintessential Hitchcock timepiece? Nondescript, if it exists at all. Peeking out from shirt sleeves, altered to make it unidentifiable if you’re able to catch a look. But with a director like Hitchcock behind the camera, you’ll have too much else to look at anyways. It’s hard to focus much on Cary Grant’s Cartier Tank when he’s hanging off of Mt. Rushmore.