A welcome second volume of classics from the Master of Suspense, this seven-disc Hitchcock Collection box-set consists of the following: The Birds: Based on a Daphne Du Maurier short story, The Birds (1963) is Hitchcock at his most terrifying, as the residents of a small town are attacked by thousands of apparently homicidal birds. Marnie: Tippi Hedren and newly Bonded Sean Connery star in this excellent 1964 thriller, which finds a calculating thief who robs her employers pursued by a her new boss, who is desperate to unlock her secrets Torn Curtain: This 1966 spy thriller, pairing Paul Newman and Julie Andrews, finds Newman as a world-famous physicist intent on defecting to East Berlin in order to obtain funding for his latest project. Topaz: Based on the Leon Uris novel, Hitch's 51st film, made in 1969, concerns a CIA agent who learns of Russian missiles in Cuba. With the aid of a French agent, they negotiate a plethora of corruption and murder. Frenzy: This critically acclaimed 1972 film was Hitch's first British-made film for more than 20 years. A classic Hitch story of an innocent man accused of being the "necktie murderer"-a vicious sex criminal terrorising London-he eludes the authorities and seeks the real killer. Family Plot: Hitchcock's final film, made in 1976, is a blackly funny mix of murder, theft and kidnapping as a cab-driver and a psychic team up to find a dead man-not actually dead-in exchange for a $10,000 reward. Bonus Disc-Vertigo: An irreducible masterpiece, this 1958 double-identity thriller finds Hitch serving aces, as Jimmy Stewart's detective is drawn in to a complex plot when the girl he loves apparently falls to her death. On the DVD: Like the first volume, this is an equally impressive package that will satisfy the rotund fright-master's fans. Along with the standard selection of trailers, production notes and picture galleries, each disc houses an impressive "making of" documentary, each expertly detailing Hitch's meticulous work. [+]

Among Alfred Hitchcock's pre-Hollywood movies, 1938's Young and Innocent is a most unfairly overlooked classic. It's full of themes and stylistic touches that became permanent fixtures in his career. Based on Josephine Tey's novel A Shilling for Candles, the film title refers to the characters' outlook. However Hitchcock characteristically chips away at that innocence with flourishes of macabre humour, such as scenes of a dead rat at the lunch table and a hopeless conference with a defence lawyer, while suspense is heightened in a game of blindman's buff at a children 's party. The story concerns a typically Hitchcockian innocent man (Derrick de Marney) on the run, with a trivial object to find (a raincoat) that will prove his innocence. He's helped by a fiery young girl (Nova Pilbeam) who's unfortunately the daughter of the chief constable, but has some handy first aid skills. There's also an oppressive mother figure in the shape of an overbearing aunt (Mary Clare). Aside from these thematic traits, what remains impressive for viewers new or old is Hitchcock's technical set-pieces: a car sinks into a mineshaft, a railway station is recreated in miniature, and the twitchy-eyed murderer is finally located via an extended aerial tracking shot across a ballroom (pre-empting many similar shots, eg: Notorious). This sequence took two days to accomplish, and demonstrates the director was more than ready to move to the older and less innocent American industry. -Paul Tonks.

Alfred Hitchcock himself called this 1934 British edition of his famous kidnapping story "the work of a talented amateur", while his 1956 Hollywood remake was the consummate act of a professional director. Be that as it may, this earlier movie still has its intense admirers who prefer it over the Jimmy Stewart-Doris Day version, and for some sound reasons. Tighter, wittier, more visually outrageous (back-screen projections of Swiss mountains, a whirly-facsimile of a fainting spell), the film even has a female protagonist (Edna Best in the mom part) unafraid to go after the bad guys herself with a gun. (Did Doris Day do that that? Uh-uh. ) While the 1956 film has an intriguing undercurrent of unspoken tensions in nuclear family politics, the 1934 original has a crisp air of British optimism glummed up a bit when a married couple (Best and Leslie Banks) witness the murder of a spy and discover their daughter stolen away by the culprits. The chase leads to London and ultimately to the site of one of Hitch's most extraordinary pieces of suspense (though on this count, it must be said, the later version is superior). Take away distracting comparisons to the remake, and this Man Who Knew Too Much is a milestone in Hitchcock's early career. Peter Lorre makes his British debut as a scarred, scary villain. -Tom Keogh.

Repeated viewings can't dispel the shock of the final scene of Suspicion, Hitchcock's classic 1941 romantic mystery-a brief but disorientating confrontation that suddenly inverts the heroine's mounting conviction that she's married a murderer, forcing us to reconsider virtually every scene and line of dialogue that's preceded it. It's a masterful coup de grâce for the director, who has built a puzzle around the corrosive power of suspicion, threaded with deft ambiguities that toy with dramatic conventions and character archetypes in nearly every frame. As embodied by Joan Fontaine, who nabbed an Oscar in this second outing with the director, Lina McLaidlaw is a buttoned-up, bookish heiress whose prim exterior conceals longings for a more engaged emotional life. Her solution materialises in the darkly handsome Johnnie Aysgarth, a gambler, womaniser and spendthrift who flirts, then pursues, and soon marries her. As Aysgarth, Cary Grant is both irresistible and sinister, capable of deceit and petty theft, as well as grander designs on his bride's impending fortune. Lina's passion for Johnnie is clouded by each new revelation about his apparent dishonesty, from clandestine gambling to real-estate development schemes; more troubling are clues implicating him in the death of his best friend, and the prospect that Johnnie may be slowly poisoning Lina herself. By the time we see him ascending a darkened staircase with a suspicious glass of milk, an image made all the more indelible through the spectral glow the director captures in the glass, the evidence seems damning indeed. In fact, even as Hitchcock stacks the deck against Johnnie, and takes full advantage of Grant's skill at conveying such menace, the director also dots his landscape with visual clues to Lina's own neurotic (and erotic) obsessions. The final scene forces us to re-evaluate her behaviour while leaving enough of a cloud over Johnnie to rob him, and us, of a complete exoneration. It's a wicked, unsettling payoff to a brilliantly executed thriller. [+]

At first glance The Lady Vanishes appears to be a frothy, lightweight treat, a testament to Alfred Hitchcock's nimble touch. This snappy, sophisticated romantic thriller begins innocently enough, as a contingent of eccentric tourists spend the night in a picture-postcard village inn nestled in the Swiss Alps before setting off on the train the next morning. In a wonderfully Hitchcockian twist on "meeting cute" attractive young Iris (Margaret Lockwood) clashes with brash music student Gilbert (Michael Redgrave) when his nocturnal concerts give her no peace. She gets him kicked out of his room, so he barges in on hers: true love is inevitable, but not before they are both plunged into an international conspiracy. The next day on the train, kindly old Mrs Froy (Dame May Whitty) vanishes from her train car without a trace and the once quarrelsome couple unite to search the train and uncover a dastardly plot. No one is as he or she seems, but sorting out the villains from the merely mysterious is a challenge in itself, as our innocents abroad face resistance from the entire passenger list. Hitchcock effortlessly navigates this vivid thriller from light comedy to high tension and back again, creating one of his most enchanting and entertaining mysteries. Though this wasn't his final British film before departing for Hollywood (that honour goes to Jamaica Inn), many critics prefer to think of this as his fond farewell to the British Film Industry. -Sean Axmaker.

One of Alfred Hitchcock's classics, this romantic thriller features a cast to die for: Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant and Claude Rains. Bergman plays the daughter of a disgraced father who is recruited by American agents to infiltrate a post-World War II spy ring in Brazil. Her control agent is Grant, who treats her with disdain while developing a deep romantic bond with her. Her assignment: to marry the suspected head of the ring (Rains) and get the goods on everyone involved. Danger, deceit, betrayal-and, yes, romance-all come together in a nearly perfect blend as the film builds to a terrific (and surprising) climax. Grant and Bergman rarely have been better. -Marshall Fine.

From its cleverly choreographed opening sequence to its heart-stopping climax on a rampant carousel, this 1951 Hitchcock classic readily earns its reputation as one of the director's finest examples of timeless cinematic suspense. It's not just a ripping-good thriller but a film student's delight and a perversely enjoyable battle of wits between tennis pro Guy (Farley Granger) and his mysterious, sycophantic admirer, Bruno (Robert Walker), who proposes a "criss-cross" scheme of traded murders. Bruno agrees to kill Guy's unfaithful wife, in return for which Guy will (or so it seems) kill Bruno's spiteful father. With an emphasis on narrative and visual strategy, Hitchcock controls the escalating tension with a master's flair for cinematic design, and the plot (coscripted by Raymond Chandler) is so tightly constructed that you'll be white-knuckled even after multiple viewings. Strangers on a Train remains one of Hitchcock's crowning achievements and a suspenseful classic that never loses its capacity to thrill and delight. -Jeff Shannon.

Alfred Hitchcock's 1956 remake of his own 1934 spy thriller is an exciting event in its own right, with several justifiably famous sequences. James Stewart and Doris Day play American tourists who discover more than they wanted to know about an assassination plot. When their son is kidnapped to keep them quiet, they are caught between concern for him and the terrible secret they hold. When asked about the difference between this version of the story and the one he made 22 years earlier, Hitchcock always said the first was the work of a talented amateur while the second was the act of a seasoned professional. Indeed, several extraordinary moments in this update represent consummate filmmaking, particularly a relentlessly exciting Albert Hall scene, with a blaring symphony, an assassin's gun, and Doris Day's scream. Along with Hitchcock's other films from the mid-1950s to 1960 (including Vertigo, Rear Window, and Psycho), The Man Who Knew Too Much is the work of a master in his prime. -Tom Keogh.

One of Alfred Hitchcock's finest pre-Hollywood films, the 1936 Secret Agent stars a young John Gielgud as a British spy whose death is faked by his intelligence superiors. Reinvented with another identity and outfitted with a wife (Madeleine Carroll), Gielgud's character is sent on assignment with a cold-blooded accomplice (Peter Lorre) to assassinate a German agent. En route, the counterfeit couple keeps company with an affable American (Robert Young), who turns out to be more than he seems after the wrong man is murdered by Gielgud and Lorre. Dense with interwoven ideas about false names and real identities, about appearances as lies and the brutality of the hidden, and about the complicity of those who watch the anarchy that others do, Secret Agent declared that Alfred Hitchcock was well along the road to mastery as a filmmaker and, more importantly, knew what it was he wanted to say for the rest of his career. -Tom Keogh One of Alfred Hitchcock's finest pre-Hollywood films, the 1936 Secret Agent stars a young John Gielgud as a British spy whose death is faked by his intelligence superiors. Reinvented with a new identity and outfitted with a wife (Madeleine Carroll), Gielgud's character is sent on assignment with a cold-blooded accomplice (Peter Lorre) to assassinate a German agent. En route, the counterfeit couple keeps company with an affable American (Robert Young), who turns out to be more than he seems after the wrong man is murdered by Gielgud and Lorre. Dense with interwoven ideas about false names and real identities, about appearances as lies and the brutality of the hidden, and about the complicity of those who watch the anarchy that others do, Secret Agent declared that Alfred Hitchcock was well along the road to mastery as a filmmaker and, more importantly, knew what it was he wanted to say for the rest of his career. -Tom Keogh.

This classic among Hitchcock's British movies of the 30s draws, unusually for him, on the work of a major writer for its source-Joseph Conrad's tale of seedy London-based espionage, The Secret Agent. Not that Hitch and his screenwriter, Charles Bennett, kept much of Conrad's novel beyond the bare bones of the plot. Verloc, an anarchist (played with appealing melancholy by Oscar Homolka), runs a South London fleapit cinema as a cover for his political activities. (In the original it's a porno bookstore-Hitch clearly thought the cinema was the nearest the censor would pass. ) His young wife (the sad-eyed Sylvia Sidney) knows nothing of his undercover assignments. She's devoted to her naïve younger brother, and when Verloc involves the lad in his schemes the results are catastrophic. The cast also features a young hero, a police detective woodenly played by John Loder, but Homolka and Sidney, as the sadly mismatched couple held together only by need, are unfailingly watchable as the brooding domestic atmosphere darkens towards tragedy. The trademark Hitchcock tension is well in evidence, though Hitch later reckoned he committed a "grave error" in letting one nail-biting scene end with the death of a sympathetic character (and a cute puppy). Though the film was shot almost entirely on studio sets, the director drew on his own Cockney childhood to create a wonderfully shabby, down-at-heel milieu of grubby London backstreets where the reek of gas lamps and rotting vegetables on the cobbles is all but palpable. -Philip Kemp.

The Alfred Hitchcock thriller Marnie was savaged by critics on its original release in 1964, but has since established a cult reputation. It should be pointed out, however, that its current fans are mostly university teachers who spin convoluted theories (often derived from Freudian psychoanalysis) in order to lend authority to a rather simple tale. Watch the movie and judge for yourself whether it's a profound experience or just Hitchcock scraping the bottom of the barrel. Tippi Hedren stars as the title character, a compulsive thief whose modus operandi is to land a secretarial job, bilk her employer of thousands, then change identity (and hair tone) before proceeding to the next scam. Sean Connery plays Mark Rutland, a wealthy businessman who finds Marnie's larcenous habits strangely erotic. He marries her and gradually sniffs out a repressed childhood trauma or two. Reviewers lambasted the film for its technical shoddiness-and indeed, it's hard to ignore the ugly painted backdrop in one street scene or the crudely obvious rear-projection when Marnie goes horseback riding. Latter-day apologists have argued these effects are deliberately phoney and unrealistic, meant to portray the heroine's subconscious fantasies. While you might have a tough time swallowing that one, there is no denying that Marnie supplies plenty of ammunition for armchair shrinks. Go and figure why our light-fingered lassie flips out each time she spies the colour red or what lies behind her sexual frigidity. [+]