From 3AM Magazine, philosopher Nickolas Pappas writes about Hitchcock's Vertigo:
In the case of film the issue is a different kind of practical consideration. I usually don’t think that my admiration for the best films needs to be added to the discussion that philosophers are engaged in. By comparison I don’t know of any philosophers writing about country music.
Anyway, Vertigo was different. From the first time I saw it there was something in its pawing over San Francisco that stayed with me. Why this fallen redwood, the horse in the stable, the fetishized painting? Then too I noticed more than one commentator on this film invoking Orpheus, but I couldn’t see Orpheus in James Stewart’s character Scotty Ferguson. If you’re going to make him your Orpheus, would you have him be insensitive to music? And Orpheus travels to the underworld, but Ferguson sends other people to the underworld in his place. You see that in the preface to the film, with the policeman who falls and dies.
Vertigo’s attention to the physical elements in San Francisco felt like myth-making work, and it’s very likely that the commentators who looked to Orpheus were inspired by that mythopoeic activity in the film; but they weren’t finding the right mythic connection.
Then I saw that Ferguson was like the one character from Greek tragedy who is on record as wishing he were Orpheus. And then the movie started to come together for me. In the Alcestis of Euripides, Admetus makes a strange remark that only Jean-Pierre Vernant helped me understand, about wanting to make a statue of his wife after her death and take it to bed with him. I know, there’s a long tradition of sexual relations between Greeks and sculptures. But Vernant shows how this pathological-sounding wish really reflects on an archaic tradition of using effigies for the purpose of mourning, and to seek connection with the land of the dead by means of such effigies. Then I saw that the objects being handled, sighed over, and lamented to in Vertigo were all effigies or doubles, and ways of communicating with an invisible realm. James Stewart was trying to turn Kim Novak into another such effigy.
Hitchcock brings us to the end of the Alcestis and then continues the story. In Euripides the ending is ambiguous. What is Alcestis likely to say to Admetus after Heracles brings her back from the dead and she regains her voice? Can Admetus really imagine that they will return to married life? If I’m reading Vertigo correctly, it follows out the thought that Euripides leaves dangling, that the putatively happy ending will not itself end happily.
Well, a lot has been written about this beautiful movie, but I didn’t see anything like that being written. So I thought there would be a point to my joining the discussion.
The fact that I went into ancient thought and ritual to talk about Vertigo also bespeaks my broadening involvement in ancient Greek studies. Now that I know more about Greek antiquity, and I’ve found a growing number of teachers who helped me see productive approaches to antiquity, I no longer think of the “ancient philosophy” work I do as a part of my research. It’s more like all philosophy to me now, which is to say it’s like a language in which I can do all the philosophizing I do.