Photo by Mike Quinn, via Wikimedia Commons.
by Tatum Wagner
Had Charles Baudelaire foreseen that the very photography he so vehemently criticized would evolve into Hollywood’s “dream factory,” defined by formulaic, assembly-line production, he likely would have dropped dead (Powdermaker, 39). In his critique in “The Salon of 1859” Baudelaire warns that the “photographic industry” threatens to “impinge on the sphere of the intangible and the imaginary” (297), reducing art to mechanical imitation–a reality seemingly reflected within the profit-minded studio system. On the surface, Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), produced in the later years of that very same industrial system, seems unlikely to have been an exception to Baudelaire’s scathing criticisms of photography. Yet Hitchcock’s formal control over cinematic technique complicates this assumption. Where Baudelaire fears photography would replace art, Hitchcock demonstrates how photography could become art in a manner that paradoxically aligns with the former’s own understanding of “true art.” In Vertigo, Hitchcock constructs a subjective “dream” through formalist film techniques that intentionally evoke emotions and convey ideas in the viewer rather than merely reflect reality, providing the means by which Baudelaire’s vision of ideal art can manifest itself. Examining the film techniques utilized within Vertigo’s remarkable nightmare sequence and their formal impact on the objective world’s transformation into subjective vision ultimately reveals how Vertigo’s nightmare sequence functions as a response to Baudelaire’s call for the medium of photography to transcend mere documentation and capture the internal realities of its subjects.
Perspectives on Film Formalism
Contemporary scholarship on film formalism relies heavily on the work of one of the first film formalists, Sergei Eisenstein, and builds upon his ideas, not merely as methods of editing, but as a theory of affect and embodied perception that actively shapes how viewers think and feel rather than simply recording action. Notably, Eisenstein acted as the primary developer of Soviet montage theory–a movement proposing that a film’s meaning is derived from how the shots are edited together, rather than the content itself–considered by film theory scholar Julia Vassilieva to “facilitate opening up an indeterminate range of potential readings” (Beyond the Essay Film 173). In Vassilieva’s reading, film formalist technique and montage transform objective documentation into a subjective experience the viewer encounters according to their own lived experience and interpretation. This viewpoint is critical to this essay as it allows Hitchcock’s nightmare sequence in Vertigo to be placed within a contemporary understanding of Eisensteinian formalism, where montage is not just visual assembly but an instrument for producing psychological/emotional truths within its observer. This logic directly connects to Baudelaire’s idea of “true art,” as both Baudelaire and Eisenstein value a picture that extends beyond an absolute reflection of objective reality through organized sensation and interpretation. Contemporary Eisensteinian scholarship thus serves as a framework for how the film makes subjective experience visible, while Baudelaire helps explain why that matters in a broader context.
Baudelaire’s art critique ultimately calls for a formalist approach to photography in which the medium serves as an active translation of the artist’s subjective “dream” into an experience for the viewer rather than as an objective, passively-observed reflection of reality (304). Rather than merely reproducing the external world, photography should evoke emotion through deliberate manipulation, compelling the viewer to feel and interpret a constructed reality for themself. Hitchcock’s Vertigo fulfills this demand on a fundamental level as its nightmare sequence already operates as a self-contained “world” shaped entirely by imaginative control. Baudelaire insists that “a good picture, faithful and worthy of the dreams that gave it birth, must be created like a world” and that imagination must both create and govern it, producing “the sensation of something new” (299, 305). This emphasis on sensation is crucial to both Baudelaire’s and Hitchcock’s relationship with formalism: the value of the image doesn’t lie in its realistic accuracy, but in its ability to generate a new perceptual and emotional experience. Vertigo’s nightmare sequence exemplifies this principle by immersing the viewer in a reality governed by Hitchcock’s vision rather than natural laws. The impossibly-distorting imagery does not attempt to mimic what Scottie (Jimmy Stewart) “actually” sees; instead, it constructs a subjective environment that the viewer must navigate and feel. In doing so, the sequence produces the very sensation Baudelaire describes: a destabilizing, dreamlike experience (or metaphorical vertigo) that feels new precisely because it departs from objective reality. Vassilieva’s translation of Eisenstein’s “Magic of Art” allows us to complicate this further, as Eisenstein writes,
Art has never been […] a way of creating something that would not resemble the world [for me].
And yet it has never had the aim of ‘reflecting’ the existing world, either.
I have always taken on the task of deploying of influence to impact upon feelings and thoughts…
While Eisenstein’s formalism differs from Baudelaire’s idea of a good picture as a self-contained world, it still agrees that art should transform objective reality rather than merely copy it. Hitchcock builds on this logic in the nightmare sequence, but pushes it closer to Baudelaire’s position by using formal techniques to turn documentation into subjective truth through the very same psychological and emotional influence upon the viewer Eisenstein describes. Hitchcock himself reinforced this priority, noting in an interview with François Truffaut that “the story [is] of less importance to me than the overall visual impact on the screen, once the picture is completed” (248). The nightmare’s power, then, lies more in its ability to impose a self-contained, imaginative reality onto the viewer rather than to convey an objective, clear narrative, transforming film into the kind of “good picture” Baudelaire envisions: one that does not depict a dream, but places the audience within one.
Superimposition
Vertigo’s nightmare sequence embodies Baudelaire’s concept of superimposition both literally and metaphorically. Baudelaire writes: “Just as the creation we see is the result of several creations, the earlier ones always being completed by the later, so a harmonically fashioned picture consists of a series of superimposed pictures, each fresh surface giving added reality to the dream, and raising it by one degree towards perfection” (Baudelaire, 305). This passage evokes a sense of intentionality about every individual aspect of the picture that ultimately contributes to the photographer’s final goal of transforming material reality into a deeply felt emotional truth through imagination (299). This end result is supported by Hitchcock’s own understanding of the primary function of a director: to “create an emotion” and to “sustain that emotion” (Truffaut 111). Superimposition is then defined first and foremost as a process of conscious construction in which the artist actively improves upon their initial vision. In this way, photography/film can become “good” when it is fully thought out and builds upon itself–just as the stages of the painting process do–producing the sensation of a new reality.
The nightmare sequence does this by transitioning from a purely psychological, hazy dream state to a highly stylized, technically sophisticated montage that actively synthesizes the film’s thematic and visual motifs. Hitchcock uses this sequence to meticulously assemble the narrative clues and references to psychological decay he had already planted, improving upon his original vision. As Hitchcock himself wrote in reference to continuous revision and improvement, “How long can a filmmaker go on painting the same picture?” (Truffaut 319). The question suggests that, to Hitchcock, repetition is refinement; each revision pushes the work closer to artistic “perfection.” In this sense, the nightmare sequence functions as Baudelaire’s ideal picture should: it turns superimposition into conceptual harmony, and harmony into a new reality for the viewer.
On a literal level, Hitchcock’s technical employment of hand-drawn animation and brief double-exposed images throughout Vertigo’s nightmare sequence also embodies the concept of superimposition. The physical superimposition of images is presented first in Scottie’s nightmare: Scottie’s horror-struck expression is briefly overlaid with a painting of the nosegay bouquet he watched Madeleine buy at the flower shop, which is in turn overlaid with a hand-drawn animation of the (now abstracted) bouquet bursting out of frame, each image blending into the next. Each layer builds upon the previous one, not to clarify reality but to intensify emotional meaning. The animated segment alone functions as an additional form of superimposition; though the individual elements of the sequence (whether Jimmy Stewart, the painting, and the animation as a whole; or the animation cels independently) can function as independent creations, they ultimately come together through superimposition to create a final, cohesive product that works in harmony to emphasize the emotional takeaway of the scene. For instance, the bouquet painting by itself recalls Madeleine (Kim Novak), a motif the film repeatedly associates with her. Yet when the painting of the bouquet is tied through superimposition with the shot of Scottie’s mournful expression and the animation of the bouquet’s destruction, each element works together to bring forward the themes of Scottie’s guilt and Madeleine’s death–cels layering into cohesive nightmare–fulfilling Baudelaire’s idea of “each fresh surface giving added reality to the dream” (305). This technique operates similarly to the Kuleshov effect, the film editing principle in which viewers create more subjective meaning from the relationship between juxtaposing adjacent shots rather than from any single shot taken in isolation. Hitchcock’s own example of the effect–where the same neutral expression of a man can suggest kindness or perversity depending on if the accompanying image is of a woman with a baby or a woman wearing a bikini–illustrates how cinema constructs subjective reality (Truffaut 214). Notably, the effect is a form of Soviet montage theory. Eisenstein described his use of the Kuleshov effect as influencing the viewer’s psyche in order to guide their interpretation and the emotional impact in the appropriate direction according to the needs of the narrative (“Eisenstein’s ‘Magic of Art’”); building on this, Vassilieva emphasized the effect’s nature as a double-edged sword: “The polysemous nature of montage juxtaposed with its didactic intention to convey a specific message can be thought of both as the greatest aporia and the greatest potential of montage” (Beyond the Essay Film 173). Her perspective aptly applies to Vertigo’s nightmare sequence–its formal techniques (here, superimposition) assure a general understanding of Scottie’s psychological turmoil while simultaneously opening itself to the possibility of any number of subjective interpretations. Superimposition thus becomes a formal method used by Hitchcock to “exert influence upon the psyche” in this manner, evoking emotion in the viewer in order to transform objective reality into a subjective dream and produce the “new sensation” Baudelaire associates with true artistic creation.
Colour, Atmosphere, and Narrative Leitmotifs
Hitchcock’s use of surreal colours within Scottie’s nightmare literally creates the dream-like “setting of color” Baudelaire seeks in a good picture, elevating the scene’s photography beyond mechanical imitation to the artform the latter seeks. He writes that “just as a dream is bathed in its own appropriate atmosphere, so a conception, become composition, needs to have its being in a setting of color peculiar to itself” (304). Plainly, Baudelaire here argues that art should be a complete, self-contained universe with its own specific colour palette and emotional “atmosphere” that tells the viewer how to feel, rather than just what to look at. Within Vertigo, Hitchcock responds to this claim through the utilization of unrealistic colour shifts during the nightmare sequence and a specialized colour palette tailored for the scene. In this manner, conventionally realistic colours are suddenly abandoned in order to plunge the viewers into Scottie’s rapidly deteriorating mental state. On the surface, this appears to create a stark contrast between what is defined as the “reality” of Vertigo and Scottie’s manipulated perspective. Yet with the introduction of surreal, dream-like colour choices within scenes scattered throughout the film outside of the nightmare sequence as we will see below, as well as the entire film’s use of Technicolor’s three-colour process (defined by its heavily saturated, “unrealistic” color grading), the question of what is objective vs. subjective within the film becomes a subjective question in and of itself, inviting the viewer to actively engage with the confusion of Scottie’s fragmenting mental state. Colour becomes a formal mechanism through which Hitchcock transforms perception itself, preparing for the film’s broader system of visual motifs that deepen this emotional effect.
Importantly, these colour choices function as part of a larger system of narrative leitmotifs that reinforce the effectiveness of surreal colour within the nightmare sequence. Throughout Vertigo, colour operates as a visual language tied to desire, death, and illusion. Just as Baudelaire identifies yellow and red as independently “inspir[ing] and represent[ing] ideas of joy, wealth, glory, and love” (296), Hitchcock allows certain colours to speak to their own subjective meanings. The colour red can be interpreted as symbolic of Scottie’s obsessive love for Madeleine due to his reddish-brown suit colour and the bright red of the woman’s face/eye seen before the title card, while green is identified by Hitchcock himself to often represent mystery, fantasy, and a ghost-like quality, explicitly tied to Madeleine in both her clothing and the green-tinted “fog” filter placed over her (Truffaut 245). Colour’s impact on the emotional takeaway of each scene is also supported here by additional applications of the formalist Kuleshov effect. For example, the standalone image of Scottie’s expression watching Madeleine serves as a testament to his obsession with the manufactured vision he has created of her. But when that image is juxtaposed with the ghostlike green “fog” filtered over her–a colour repeatedly associated throughout the film with death–Hitchcock himself describes how a new meaning of perceived necrophilia is constructed from the relationship between the two images, further emphasizing the unhealthy nature of Scottie’s obsession to the viewer (Truffaut 246). When these motifs reappear in the nightmare sequence in distorted and intensified forms, they produce a cumulative emotional effect. Each decision of the scene’s metaphorical “colourist” builds on and develops the others in accordance with the overarching themes and tones of the sequence, just as the “other colours will be modified logically and in given proportions by the dominant atmosphere” (Baudelaire 305). The viewer recognizes these associations, but their exaggeration creates a sense of instability and unease. As a result, the sequence generates what Baudelaire describes as a unified atmospheric “key,” where all elements work together to sustain a single emotional tone. The dream is both observed and felt as a coherent, immersive experience.
Multimedia Composition and Integration
Hitchcock additionally reconciles photography with Baudelaire’s idea of “true” art throughout the formalist technical development of the nightmare sequence with the use of multi-media. Broadly, the nightmare sequence features both hand-drawn art–the painted bouquet, subsequent animated bouquet, the geometric background framing Scottie as he “falls” into the grave, etc.–and footage of the real actors. As a result, the most basic viewing of the nightmare already features photography and “true art” in collaboration with each other. Furthermore, there’s the use of the real actor playing Carlotta (Joanne Genthon), who is previously only observed as the woman in the museum painting (Portrait of Carlotta). Not only does her in-person appearance solidify the nature of the nightmare and theme of surrealism (as Carlotta is long-dead), but it also blurs the line between photography (“objectivity”) and traditional art (“subjectivity”). Key symbols from throughout the film such as the painting, the bouquet, the staircase, the spiral, etc. are intercut together into a cohesive final product, functionally treated as artistic components to be re-edited and worked upon for a stronger narrative and emotional impact. Each symbol carries a separate emotional charge that is ultimately connected through the narrative–Carlotta’s painting, linked to identity and historical memory, returns in the nightmare as a living image; the bouquet associated with romance and mourning bursts apart; the bell tower staircase recalls Scottie’s trauma. The spiral, meanwhile, gives the sequence its most immediate formal expression of obsession and disorientation, transforming the individual images into a unified vertiginous symbol of eventual death and obsessive collapse. This emotional and symbolic truth is prioritized over a realistic depiction of what Scottie is truly experiencing. The use of multi-media additionally comes into play through the animated body used to emulate Scottie’s figure falling into the vertiginous spiral, allowing Hitchcock full control over how Scottie’s vertigo is represented and directly conveyed to the viewer. Multi-media composition is reconstructed in sensory terms, allowing the viewer to experience Scottie’s emotions as immediate perceptual realities rather than purely observed abstract ideas, aligning with Baudelaire’s ideal of art as a constructed, imaginative world.
The use of multi-media composition and its impact on how objective reality is transformed into a subjective “dream” is further amplified by the fact that the entire nightmare sequence was designed by John Ferren, the same artist that painted Portrait of Carlotta for the film’s use (Cunningham, 199). His contribution ensures that traditional artistic practices are not displaced by photography, but integrated into it. The result is a form of cinema that embodies what Baudelaire envisioned as photography’s proper role as a “handmaid of the arts” (297). Not only does it engage with traditional art through John Ferren, but through the involvement of Saul Bass, the creator of Vertigo’s title card and colour coordinator, and John Whitney, who animated Lissajous curves to make the spiral figures with a computer built from an anti-aircraft tracking system (Vincenzo and Giulia). In this manner, traditional art, the performing arts, computer technology, and directing are threaded together to create a unified subjective experience. Finally, the musical art Bernard Herrmann composed to evoke the image of the spiral ties every aspect together in a technique akin to Eisenstein’s “vertical montage,” where visual, emotional, and auditory elements align to produce psychological intensity within the viewer, further demonstrating how cinema can orchestrate multiple layers of meaning simultaneously (Moreira). The viewer experiences this as a unified sensation rather than a collection of separate techniques. Photography is the medium by which these art forms are connected. As a result, the photography utilized throughout the nightmare sequence both fulfills its role as a “handmaid of the arts” and transcends it, working alongside the intangible rather than “imping[ing] on it” (Baudelaire, 297). It is no longer a “refuge of all failed painters with too little talent” (296), but an outlet for artists like Ferren, Bass, Whitney, and Herrmann to continue developing their skills and advance the artform as a whole. In this way, by initially acting as a handmaid to the arts, photography becomes an art itself as it works as one part is superimposed over another, ultimately developing into a cohesive, artistic whole. Photography, colour, superimposition, multi-media, etc. work together to create film as art.
Conclusion
In reconciling Baudelaire’s critique with Hitchcock’s craft, Vertigo’s nightmare sequence emerges as the former’s ideal art realized through formalist techniques: superimposition through intentionality, hand-crafted animation, and double-exposures; a “setting of color peculiar to itself” through the surreal use of colour and narrative leitmotifs; and vital multi-media/artist-film collaboration, such as the artistic relationship between Alfred Hitchcock, John Ferren, Saul Bass, John Whitney, and Bernard Herrmann. Through these formalist techniques, the sequence abandons the passive reproduction of external reality that Baudelaire detested in favor of constructing an immersive, subjective experience that actively shapes the viewer’s perception. In accordance with Baudelaire’s definition of true art, these techniques abandon external reality rather than merely imitating it, “giving added reality to the dream” and fulfilling the intentional harmony of a world’s dream-inspired, layered creation (305). This alignment of photography and traditional art redeems cinema from the “dream factory” Baudelaire would have criticized. Where Baudelaire feared industry’s soulless replication, Hitchcock exhibits the transformation of technology into an artform compatible with Baudelaire’s perspective, providing a vision of photography that does not “impinge” on the intangible, but collaborates with it. Baudelaire’s fear of mechanical imitation is ultimately reconciled with the vision of film as a genuinely creative medium. In this way, Hitchcock responds to Baudelaire’s critique of photography by enabling it to transcend mere documentation and capture the internal realities of its subjects, insisting on evoking emotion and conveying ideas through their viewers.
Works Cited
Baudelaire, Charles. “The Salon of 1859.” Baudelaire, Selecting Writings on Art and Artists. Cambridge University Press, 1972.
Cunningham, Douglas. The San Francisco of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo: Place, Pilgrimage, and Commemoration. Scarecrow Press, 2012.
François Truffaut. Hitchcock. Faber & Faber, 2017.
Hitchcock, Alfred, director. Vertigo. Performances by Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, Universal Pictures, 1958.
Moreira, Daniel. “The Spiral of Time: the Crystal-Image in Herrmann’s Music for Hitchcock’s Vertigo.” Music Analysis, vol. 40, no. 2., 2021.
Powdermaker, Hortense. Hollywood, the Dream Factory: An Anthropologist Looks at the Movie-Makers. Little, Brown and Company, 1979.
Vassilieva, Julia and Deane Williams. Beyond the Essay Film: Subjectivity, Textuality and Technology. Project Muse, 2020.
Vassilieva, Julia. “Eisenstein’s ‘Magic of Art.’” Cultural Science, vol. 13, no. 1, 2021.
Vincenzo, Maselli, and Panadisi Giulia. “Visual Heritage and Motion Design: The Graphic-Cultural Legacy of Saul Bass’s Title Sequences.” Heritage, vol. 8, no. 8, 2025.