Disclaimer: It seems I’m going to have to eat some of my words as regards the blasted male gaze. Not all of them, but quite a few nonetheless. It happens to the best of us.

By Emad Aysha
I watched an interesting YouTube video about Alfred Hitchcock and his obsession with screen blondes, as opposed to brunettes. A biased dude when it came to northern European women compared to Mediterranean girls as well.

Hitchcock also preferred classy, sassy, tempestuous blondes, seeing them as ‘uninhibited’. This preference came out in his movies and obsessions with certain actresses, most notably Tippi Hedren in his classics The Birds (1963) and Marnie (1964).

She says he ruined her career because of her exclusive contract with him. And he was the one who discovered her, in a TV commercial, of all places. By contrast, his brunettes played support roles, often in a sisterly relationship with the male protagonist.

That explains why poor Suzanne Pleshette got killed in The Birds; she compromised and settled in small-town America. (Well, I always liked her more. She was homely but had a husky, cultured accent compared to Tippi Hedren's fur coat and scratchy voice.)

BIRDS OF A FEATHER: Tippi Hedren and Suzanne Pleshette in a horror classic that is ironically about freedom and the family. How could you ever be free in 'that' overcoat, blonde or otherwise?

Don’t get me wrong, Tippi Hedren was a very talented actress and a classy and good-looking woman, but she’s still no Kim Novak or Grace Kelly. So, I think in her case it’s more the Pygmalion obsession, of being a starmaker and thinking she owes you everything and you can treat her like a statue, his God-like creation.

That means she can’t be allowed to go to another man, however figuratively. This helps me understand a scene I’ve always wondered about in Rear Window (1954), where you hear the radio commenting about how you must feel old and useless in middle age.

That scene is ‘supposed’ to be about Jimmy Stewart, but I think it’s really about Alfred Hitchcock. You can see this in Jimmy Stewart’s camerawork in the movie, which is not voyeuristic. (Girls love the film, see Popcorn in Bed). I’d also exonerate the scriptwriter.

Although men dominate culture, the male gaze is more of an individual obsession than a universal cultural phenomenon. Men depend on their eyes, part of their evolutionary history as hunters who transformed into information-gatherers à la Marshall McLuhan.

Getting the girl is the new prize, a replacement for downing a woolly mammoth. But more to the point, this disturbing tendency in men is not universal.

ONE OF A KIND: Grace Kelly is no damsel in distress in 'Rear Window', which goes to show that symbols subert themselves whatever the director thinks.

There’s even the opposite instinct, sheltering paternalism, that you find in directors like Ridley Scott. For instance, the infamous underwear scene in Alien (1979) was Sigourney Weaver’s idea, and the director toned it down.

Ripley was supposed to be topless in this very phallic scene with the xenomorph. Nonetheless, you can ‘tell’ the director was in love with her and wanted to protect her 'reputation'. The same is true for the Deckard-Rachel sex scene that was never in Blade Runner (1982).

Thanks to Harrison Ford's intrasigance, they substituted with the slapping around stuff (no chemistry between them). And, wouldn’t you know it, when Ridley Scott picked Sean Young, he thought of Grace Kelly the whole time.

Sean Young is a brunette, incidentally, with Elfin features. Sassy but whimsical and with deeply brown, thoughtful eyes.

So there is a male gaze, but it’s not uniform across men, and visual-cultural traditions can vary and vary radically. Recollect that men often suffer from the very dualistic Madonna-whore complex.

Hitchcock even gave an interview in which he said an English blonde can look like a schoolteacher but do unspeakable things to you. And, you won’t believe it, he almost hired Egyptian actress/screen temptress Hind Rustom to play his mom!

Hence, polarised portrayals of women and composites. Oh, and with all respect, Hitchcock was wrong. Mediterranean women are much more womanly.

They may not attain the same physical perfection in height and proportions, but they are more sassy, and their blondes are better than those up north. Rossana Podestà, a brunette, captivated audiences as the very blonde Helen of Troy (1956).

SKELATAL MATCH: Rossana Podestà in fact and fiction, winning over the hearts of men in the present as well as the very distant past indeed. And not always with 'nice' consequences.

It’s all in her bone structure and eyes. She’s small physically, so she looks vulnerable. She has a cute nose and very delicate and deep eyes.

But, at the exact same time, she has large brown eyes, strong ridges above them, a strong bridge to her nose and a strong forehead, and she’s broad-shouldered despite her delicate frame with maternal but girlish hips. She’s Helen in every sense of the word.

A woman of noble breeding who needs a man’s protection and tenderness, and at the same time makes up her mind about who she gives her love to. Blonde is a delicate colour, so it does portend to femininity, as BKR argues.

Alas, in the wrong hands, it slips into being too weepy and weak. Hence, Diane Kruger’s performance as Helen; with complete respect. Contrast that to an Italian-style blonde like Ursula Andress in Dr. No (1962) and The 10th Victim (1965).

GENRE BENDING: Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley, one of the first roles that challenged the male gaze. Another plus point for science fiction.

As for brunettes, who could possibly equal Claudia Cardinale in sassy sophistication coupled with childlike innocence. Watch her in Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), with the camera glued to her face. You swear you can almost feel her lips on yours.

That is probably the whole intention of the legendary director, Sergio Leone. (Sophia Loren goes without saying, the perfect wife and mistress).

Oh God, now I’m guilty of the male gaze myself. (I was into platinum blondes as a kid, but now I’m safely in the Mediterranean bracket; just ‘north’ Mediterranean. An Arab girl is like your sister!)

So I belong to the wholesomely exotic sun-drenched variety, where you love a woman with the intention of marrying her to put a roof over her head and protect her… from the wrong kind of Northern European director!!