Even a die-hard fan of Cary Grant will find him hard to admire here. I blame the screenwriters. The novel on which “Suspicion” was based is psychologically complex, and quite dark. The heroine of the book (played by Joan Fontaine in the picture) strongly suspects that her husband Johnny (Grant) is trying to kill her, but she’s so in love with him that she drinks the glass of milk he gives her, believing that it is poisoned.

This scene occurs in the film, but Fontaine’s character leaves the milk untouched on her bedside table. You see her face as she contemplates drinking it; Fontaine does love Grant. Who wouldn’t, right?

Well, actually, he is not his usual lovable self in this vehicle. You get flashes of the charming rogue here and there. In one scene, as they drive away from a party and Grant’s character tries to steal a kiss, Fontaine asks him how many women he’s had. Far too many, it turns out. “Once, when I couldn’t go to sleep, I started counting them,” he tells her, “just like sheep jumping over a hedge, and I fell asleep at number 73.”

At moments, you believe that Johnny is truly as bad as Fontaine’s character fears. He seems to have no conscience, is quite manipulative, a pathological liar intent on his own pleasures. He takes advantage of his friend “Beaky” (played by the wonderful Nigel Bruce—imagine a slightly dissolute Watson, still thick but endearing as ever), embezzles from his cousin, threatens Fontaine more than once.

But the evil you begin to perceive is always deflected and in the end you are supposed to think that Johnny is hopeless at managing his finances but at heart a decent sort who can be saved by the love of a good woman. Too bad, because watching Grant abandon his leading-man goodness and embrace a truly immoral role would have been interesting.

The Lady Vanishes

God bless the English! They may be insular, bringing their prejudices with them when traveling in foreign lands. They may be rigid when it comes to the venerable ritual of tea. They may be batty, like the dear old governess Miss Froy, last seen in the train compartment she shares with the heroine (before she vanishes), applying herself diligently to “a most intriguing acrostic in The Needlewoman.”

But, by George, you can count on them in a pinch! Balkan villains are no match for the sharp-witted young couple played by Margaret Lockwood and Michael Redgrave. As for slippery Italian escape artists and haughty Middle-European aristocrats, not to worry. When times get tough, even the cricket-obsessed pair, Charters and Caldicott, prove themselves handy with a pistol.

“The Lady Vanishes” is a film to watch when you’re snowed in, or recovering from the flu. Settle down with a nice cup of tea and enjoy the leisurely pace of Hitchcock’s picture —the very last he would make in England. It’s almost as if he knew that the world he was depicting on the very eve of World War II would vanish, like dear Miss Froy. This would be his last chance to celebrate it, and perhaps also to prod his countrymen out of their complacency.

England and all she stood for was threatened. Danger lurked behind the most innocuous facades; nothing was as innocent as it seemed. She would soon demand sacrifices of her citizens, but like Charters and Caldicott, they would rise to the challenge.

Rule, Britannia!