Couldn't you like me, just me the way I am? - Vertigo (1958) - Alfred Hitchcock - Numbered Poster Print

Couldn't you like me, just me the way I am? - Vertigo (1958) - Alfred Hitchcock - Numbered Poster Print

$10 at View Obscura

This is an original poster graphic print featuring an image from Vertigo (1959). The print looks amazing matted to 8 x 10 to 24 x 36 and framed and will make a great addition to your movie memorabilia collection. A must for all Alfred Hitchcock fans!

This image was created by renowned California photographer Ken Hulsey.

Each image is a limited edition that is signed by the artist and numbered (1-50).

The image is printed on professional studio grade glossy paper by a professional photography studio not a home printer.

The item will be shipped in an acid free bag with a protective board to prevent folding or creasing.

Larger items will be shipped rolled in a protective tube.

Limited Edition: 50 numbered pieces

Kim Novak Talks About Vertigo

"The script was always the most important thing to me and I loved the script. For one thing, I’ve always admired trees. I just worship them. Think what trees have witnessed, what history, such as living through the Civil War, yet they still survive. I’ve always felt that part of why they survive is because they don’t try to intercede, to advise ‘No, that’s the wrong way,’ or to try and wipe out an army. They stood and observed. When I read that part of the Hitchcock script where Madeleine and Scottie are among the redwoods, she touches the tree rings and says, “Here I was born and here I died. It was only a moment. You took no notice,’ I got goose-bumps. When it came to shoot that scene, I had goose-bumps. Just touching that old tree was truly moving to me because when you touch these trees, you have such a sense of the passage of time, of history. It’s like you’re touching the essence, the very substance of life. I remember taking my father to see the redwood forest once. He wept and so did I. He ‘got’ it in the same way as I do. We never talked about it. That scene in Vertigo I felt more than any other, except the one in which Judy says to Jimmy’s character that if she lets him change her, will he love her? And she says she’ll do it, she doesn’t care any more about herself. That scene was so important to me. I was so naked there, so willing to be anything he wanted, just to be loved."

(On Hitchcock)

"Technical points were his main thing. He’d always look through the lens to watch your performance, unlike directors who sit off to the side. You’d never have a sense looking at his face how he thought it was going. He was the camera and I always felt comfortable with the camera. It was always difficult to have a director off to the side. Why I loved working with Hitchcock was that he allowed me that creativity and input. I always painted when I’d go home from a day on the sets of my movies. I love to paint but, back then, I was largely painting out of frustration. I don’t think I painted at all while I worked on Vertigo. I didn’t have the need to. I was so into doing what I was doing and I felt good about what I was doing. No one was telling me, ‘Do it this way.’ Hitchcock wouldn’t tell me how to think. Bad directors love to tell you how to think. I mean, why do they hire you? Today, they could just computerize you."

"I was always opinionated. Once we were making Vertigo, Hitchcock never questioned anything about what I was doing character-wise. Before shooting started, he sent me over to Edith Head, who showed me a set of drawings. When I saw them, the very first thing I said was, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t wear black shoes.’ When she said, ‘Alfred Hitchcock wants you to wear these shoes,’ I said, ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mind.’ I didn’t think it would matter to him what kind of shoes I wore. I had never had a director who was particular about the costumes, the way they were designed, the specific colors. The two things he wanted the most were those shoes and that gray suit. When Edith Head showed me that gray suit, I said, “Oh, my god, that looks like it would be very hard to act in. It’s very confining.’ Then, when we had the first fitting of the dress, it was even worse and I said, ‘This is so restrictive.’ She said, ‘Well, maybe you’d better talk to Alfred Hitchcock about this.’"

"I went in and he said, ‘I understand you don’t like these black shoes.’ He asked me why and I said, ‘I tell you, black shoes always sort of make me feel I’m pulled down. I’ve always felt that your feet should be the same as the top of your head, so that you’re connected. Wearing the black shoes would make me feel as if I were disconnected.’ He heard me out. And then he said, ‘Fine. When you play the role of Judy, you will not have to wear black shoes. When you are playing Madeleine, you will wear them.’ When he put it like that -- after all, he’s the director – I said, ‘OK.’"

"I really wanted the chance to express myself and he allowed me that chance. It felt OK because he had heard me out. He felt my reasons weren’t good enough, they weren’t right. I just wanted to be heard as far as what I felt. So, I thought, ‘I’ll live with the grey suit.’ I also thought, ‘I’m going to use this. I can make this work for me. Because it bothers me, I’ll use it and it can help me feel like I’m having to be Madeleine, that I’m being forced to be her. I’ll have it as my energy to play against.’ It worked. That suit and those shoes were a blessing. I was constantly reminded that I was not being myself, which made it right for Madeleine. When I went out of Alfred Hitchcock’s office, I remember his wonderful smile when he said, ‘I’m so glad we had this talk.’ I think he saw that this was going to be good. He didn’t say to me, ‘Now use that,’ he allowed me to arrive at that myself."

(On Going Commando)

"That’s right, when I played Judy, I never wore a bra. It killed me having to wear a bra as Madeleine but you had to because they had built the suit so that you had to stand very erect or you suddenly were not ‘in position.’ They made that suit very stiff. You constantly had to hold your shoulders back and stand erect. But, oh that was so perfect. That suit helped me find the tools for playing the role. It was wonderful for Judy because then I got to be without a bra and felt so good again. I just felt natural. I had on my own beige shoes and that felt good. Hitchcock said, ‘Does that feel better?’ I said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you so much.’ But then, I had to play ‘Madeleine’ again when Judy had to be made over again by Scottie into what she didn’t want to be. I could use that, again, totally for me, not just being made over into Madeleine but into Madeleine who wore that ghastly gray suit. The clothes alone were so perfect, they were everything I could want as an actress."

(On working with James Stewart on Vertigo and Bell, Book and Candle)

"It seems to me that when Jimmy and I were making that movie (Bell, Book and Candle), Vertigo hadn’t been released yet. I don’t remember talking with Jimmy about Vertigo. We were just on to the next movie. We had such a wonderful time making Bell, Book and Candle and just got closer as people. We had a wonderful friendship. The director would yell ‘Cut,’ the scene would be over, they’d throw on the lights and we’d still be sitting there. We wouldn’t even say anything to each other. We’d just be there with our feet resting on an end table and communicating silently, comfortable in each other’s presence without feeling we were in the midst of Hollywood. I always felt Jimmy was trapped in Hollywood. He felt it himself. He loved aviation so much and he wanted to be able to do more of that. He somehow just got stuck here. I’ve never met two people who were less ‘Hollywood’ than Jimmy Stewart and Fred Astaire, with whom I made The Notorious Landlady (1962). They didn’t belong here but their lives were here. They couldn’t break away from it, for some reason. I just had to break away."

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