Despite its claims of “finally putting the actresses of Hitchcock’s movies at the center of the story,” this book is hardly about these women. Leamer seems to see these actresses’ experiences with Hitchcock as the only interesting thing about them. Throughout the book, he relies heavily on amateur Freudian psychology, painting a very bland picture of the director and all but dismissing his actual subjects. The limited biographical information in each chapter often reads like a Wikipedia page and entire pages are devoted to point-by-point film summaries. The chapters themselves vary wildly in length: June Howard-Tripp and Madeleine Carroll get barely 20 pages between them, while Grace Kelly’s surpasses 50. Disappointingly, the most compelling details of these actresses’ stories, their backgrounds, hardships, and successes, are skimmed over in favor of making the same trite conclusions about Hitchcock’s perversions again and again.
Worse yet is Leamer’s own obvious disdain for these women, and his relentless fixation on their sex lives—particularly Ingrid Bergman’s and Grace Kelly’s, whose 40+ page chapters read more like a chronology of their affairs than anything else. Leamer apparently gets off on fetishizing “Hitchcock’s blondes” as much as Hitchcock himself did. The writing is juvenile at best throughout the book, but the passages in which he describes their sex lives are particularly off-putting:
“They [boys] knew just how far the girls at Stevens School would go, and few went as far and as often as Grace [Kelly], who enjoyed it as much as the boys. She flitted from one relationship to the next as quickly as a soap opera heroine, and as she moved from youth to youth, she took her pleasures in the back seat of more than one car, always stopping before giving out her ultimate treasure.”
What a weird, predatory way to describe a high school girl. The women are described at all ages as irresistible “creatures,” amoral seductresses, and brainless pretty faces. According to Leamer, all of them have daddy issues. He speculates on the credibility of the womens’ accounts of sexual harassment, continuously downplays Hitchcock’s behavior, and insinuates they should be grateful to him for their success. Invasive, mean-spirited, gossipy details like this are constant—they appear, no exaggeration, on nearly every page (with the odd exception of Eva Marie Saint’s chapter)—and have no place in any fair, nuanced portrait of some of Hollywood’s greatest actresses.
Overall, this book is repetitious, disorganized, and full of gross generalizations and speculation. Although it serves as a decent introduction to Hitchcock’s work and the Golden Age of Hollywood, it overwhelmingly fails to deliver—and actively works against—its promise of centering the lives and stories of these eight women. I love reading about old Hollywood so much that I almost hesitated to give this such a low rating—but anything higher would be too generous.