I had the scissors at the ready to fend any such murderers off, should they come after me in my helplessness, but in that I was probably getting mixed up with Dial M for Murder. Easy enough to do—both were Hitchcock movies, both based on those sorts of plays that entirely take place in one room, but I think all that was lost on me at the time—the confusion probably arose because Grace Kelly was in both films.
    Dial M for Murder was strangely made in 3D for no sensible reason that anyone could think of. The only scene in the whole film where the technique is utilised is when Grace Kelly’s hand gropes after the scissors as she is being strangled. The film is very obviously based on a play, one of those standard East End thrillers which all hangs around a simple device, in this case the placement of a latch key.
    Ray Milland was at his smarmiest as the villain, Grace Kelly fine, Bob Cummings hopeless as ever but really the whole business comes to life when the police inspector played by John Williams ambles onto the set and solves the whole messy business with a neat trap.
    Technically these films belong to some time later but I place them here because Alfred Hitchcock was very much a man of his time, in just exactly the same way that he was timeless.

But alas, no murders took place that I saw. In fact, nothing much happened at all. We were the last house in a dead end street beyond which there were only open paddocks with tall yellow grass and apart from the occasional bewildered rabbit popping out, realising it had arrived at civilisation and so popping right back in again, there was little activity. Real life was so disappointing compared to fiction, to the point where I had to wonder why anybody bothered with it.