Alfred Hitchcock, Part 2: Building a Golden Age — Grace Kelly, Vertigo, and the Road to Psycho

Before he became the Master of Suspense, Alfred Hitchcock had to start somewhere. He started in a British film industry struggling to survive — and in a fight for control that would carry him all the way to Hollywood.

The first in our October Halloween series: four weeks of classic Hollywood's darker, stranger, and more monstrous stories.

Edward G. Robinson helped invent the modern movie gangster. As Rico Bandello in Little Caesar, he made the short, sharp-eyed criminal not only the centre of a Hollywood picture, but a defining figure in American pop culture. And in doing so, he became a star almost overnight. This episode follows Robinson from his early years as Emanuel Goldenberg, a Romanian Jewish immigrant and serious Broadway actor, through Little Caesar, the Warner Bros. gangster cycle, and his long fight to prove he could be more than Rico. Along the way came The Whole Town's Talking, Confessions of a Nazi Spy, Double Indemnity, The Woman in the Window, Scarlet Street, and Key Largo. Also along the way came the House Un-American Activities Committee — HUAC — and the threat of the Hollywood blacklist. Robinson was never a Communist, but his public support for liberal and anti-fascist causes made him a target. He was not formally blacklisted, but "graylisted" — pushed from major pictures into smaller films and television. What began as a fight to be seen as more than the gangster became a fight to remain in Hollywood at all. This is the story of Edward G. Robinson — one of Hollywood's greatest screen actors, far more than the role that made him famous — and of his fight not only to build a career beyond the gangster, but eventually to save it when Hollywood decided he was through. —

By 1950, MGM was done with Judy Garland — and so, it seemed, was Hollywood. A Star Is Born was the film that was supposed to change all of that.

Veronica Lake was one of the most unforgettable faces of 1940s Hollywood: blonde, beautiful, elusive, with a curtain of hair falling across one eye. Paramount turned that image into a sensation. But behind the "Peek-a-Boo Girl" was Constance Ockelman — a young actress whose life was far more complicated than either the glamour or the later downfall headlines allowed. From Brooklyn, Saranac Lake, Miami, and, finally, Beverly Hills, Lake arrived in Hollywood as a teenager and drifted through a handful of small parts before Paramount saw something different in her. For I Wanted Wings, the studio gave Constance Keane a new name, a new look, and a nightclub role that made audiences take notice. Veronica Lake was born. This episode follows Lake through her remarkable early rise: Sullivan's Travels with Preston Sturges and Joel McCrea; the creation of the Peek-a-Boo Girl phenomenon; and the dark, charged crime pictures that paired her with Alan Ladd, including This Gun for Hire, The Glass Key, and The Blue Dahlia. It explores how Lake became one of the defining women of the emerging film-noir cycle — cool, funny, watchful, and never quite as easy to read as Paramount's publicity suggested. It also looks behind the image: a difficult first marriage, the loss of her infant son, her growing reputation as a difficult star, wartime stardom, and the series of professional and personal blows that slowly changed Lake's place at Paramount. By the end of the 1940s, the studio that had built her into a star had chosen not to renew her contract. What followed was not one simple collapse, however much the newspapers later preferred that version. Lake kept working — in live television, regional theatre, touring productions, and low-budget films — while navigating financial hardship, troubled marriages, alcoholism, and long periods of uncertainty. Then, in 1962, an Associated Press reporter recognized Veronica Lake working as a cocktail waitress at Manhattan's Martha Washington Hotel. The resulting headlines turned her into a national fallen-star spectacle. Lake herself saw it differently. This is the story of the actress behind one of Hollywood's most enduring images: the woman Paramount made famous, the performer audiences too often underestimated, and the person who kept finding a way forward long after the cameras had moved on.