An exploration of life and cinema from the viral sensation
by Tippi Rathbone
Chapter Three
Rope(1948): With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies?
Some of Hitchcock’s most memorable films were adapted from the stage,Ropebeing one of the best. The entire film appears comprised of only a few expertly designed shots, showing the characters, and viewers, how quickly life can change over the course of one dinner party.
Two friends decide to murder a third for the simplest of reasons: because they can. The rest of the night is a careful dance between concealing their crime and gloating about their actions. Viewers witness the psychological torture inflicted on all the characters, one of the best scenes showcasing one murderer rapidly playing a piano, a crutch for his rising paranoia. A wise and thoughtful Jimmy Stewart is the onlycharacter able to piece together their crime, a realization that forever changes his own outlook on life and death.
Perhaps the most frightening element of this film is the malevolent intent of the friends-turned-murderers. No one wants to predict they’re capable of being harmed by someone close to them. So if you’re agreeing to have dinner with friends, make sure they aren’t the type to kill you in cold blood.
20
Before
Ava had a wayof scoring reservations at even the most elite restaurants. Oliver and I had tried having dinner at Marco’s twice, only to be turned away on account of a packed waitlist. And yet Ava, beautiful and brilliant as she is, was able to score a table for my bridesmaids only the night before.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to eat a full meal and then try on dresses,” Constance said, examining the menu.
“You’re pregnant,” Marlowe said, rolling her eyes. “Your bump will be twice as big once the wedding rolls around.”
“I’ll be a whale swathed in chiffon and satin.”
Constance had revealed the happy news shortly after the engagement party. We’d all squealed and cried and offered up baby names straightaway. When the celebration subsided, my thoughts turned to Ava; we’d all thought—hoped—she’d be the first to share baby news. I didn’t want Constance’s revelation to become a blow to her ego.
Ava remained happy as ever. Even now, she looked down at Constance’s bloated midsection and said, “You’re going to look beautiful no matter what.”
Constance’s expression softened. It’s typical for pregnant women to make self-deprecating remarks about their condition while easily forgetting the Avas of the world, women who’d gladly endure anything to be in their position.
“Are you sure you don’t want to postpone the wedding?” Constance said, smiling. “Say, when I’m at least six months postpartum?”
I chuckled. “It’s important to Oliver that we make things official before the move.”
The atmosphere of the room shifted, each woman at the table seeming to sit up straighter. Across the dining room, the chatter of nearby diners and the clanking of silverware became unbearably loud.
Ava wrapped her arms around my shoulders, playfully. “We’re going to miss you more than you know.”
“You love California,” I said. “The move gives you an excuse to visit.”
“I’ve been wanting to scope out the culinary scene,” Marlowe said, fiddling with the stem of her wineglass. “And I’m dying to see the beaches.”
“See! There are all sorts of reasons to come visit.” I slid my arm across the table to hold Constance’s hand. “And once the baby gets older, you’ll have to come, too.”
“Okay, okay. No more sad talk,” Ava said, slicing her arms through the air. “Let’s talk about the most fabulous party I ever intend on planning.” She looked directly at me. “Your wedding.”
I’d never been the type of girl to envision her wedding. This time last year, I didn’t consider myself the type to ever settle down. The moment Oliver entered my world, my life took on a completely different trajectory. He brought all the fantasy and dramatics of romance and made them a reality. I’d never imagined myself being this person, and yet, here I was.
Ava preferred my lack of vision. It allowed her to take charge, even though the ceremony itself was being thrown together in a short amount of time, and there would be fewer than thirty people in attendance. We discussed the venue—a rooftop, similar to the location where we’d first met—and decorations and dresses. She made me settle on a color—olive green—and we decided it would be chic if everyone picked their own style of dress.
“All right, ladies,” Marlowe said, snatching the bill before anyone else had the chance to pitch in. “We have a plan. Let’s go have some fun.”
As she had with the restaurant, Ava was able to secure a private suite at one of New York City’s most exclusive boutiques. Even I’d heard of the place, as I remembered reading about a prominent starlet selecting her gown there before her elopement in Tahiti. As soon as we arrived, shopping assistants wearing all black greeted us with salted peanuts, juicy strawberries, and champagne flutes. Constance sipped sparkling cider.
Marlowe and Constance journeyed to the dressing rooms at the back of the store while Ava gossiped with the clerk at the front desk. In the past year, Ava had taken on more wedding-themed events: bridal showers and engagement parties and bachelorette soirees. I assumed she couldn’t miss the opportunity to snag more clients, or at the very least, some good industry gossip.
I sat, scrolling through the local headlines on my phone, waiting for my friends to arrive in their gowns, when a familiar picture captured my attention.
