Released the same year as Psycho, but reviled and misunderstood at the time, Brit director Michael Powell’s exploration between cinema and voyeurism shows “how close movie making can come to madness”, according to the film’s latter-day champion, Martin Scorcese.
Karlheinz Böhm is the creepy photographer whose camera is also his weapon, and his tragic pathology, like Norman Bates’, remains complex, convincing and chilling.
Exhaustive extras cover the restoration of both film and its reputation.
Powell’s career was never the same again. Neither was cinema.
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