‘We’ve become a nation of Peeping Toms’
I wanted my name, L.B Jefferies, to be an American icon for breathtaking photography. For my name to stand out alongside once-in-a-lifetime shots. To be illustrious. But these courageous snaps were like life, you only get one shot.
The scorching heat radiated off the aluminium window frame, shining like a beacon. I could hear the ceiling fan rattling from one of its loose bolts, moving the stagnant air around the apartment. As I gazed through the colossal, three paned window, I saw the two young kids from outside. Thorwald’s nephews. They sprint outside with exhilaration, slamming their uncle and aunt’s door.
Mr Thorwald would sometimes sits in his dark-filled room at odd hours, with the only light coming from his cigar. His bedroom was as dark as the ocean’s depths. Unclear. It’s probably nothing. Well, that is what it looks like from up here. The two children took off their baggy t-shirts and flip-flops, and jumped in as hard as they could to produce a large splash, even spraying that old deaf woman in her sour face, giving the kids a threatening stare.
In the heart of New York’s Greenwich Village, where all sky rise apartments are as crowded as a beehive, the inhabitants live astoundingly close to one another, the same closeness of a perfect shot that is interrupted by the neighbours leaving the lens. The identical, brown haired boys causing grief in the vibrant blue water, as well as the newly-married couple drinking champagne under their umbrella, and the old deaf woman with her muddy gardening gloves and clay-stained kitchen apron behind the boys, constructing so-called ‘art’. This place was an adventure, and I was the voyager.
I perched onto my soft, chestnut office chair in my disorganised den to the side of the spacious opening. The crooked thermometer positioned across from me, near my negative photograph of the famous Lisa Fremont from beside the slide viewer, was slowly staggering its way to the top. The temperature was beyond hot, it was the fire, and we were the un-protected, burning victims. I place my heavy binoculars on my mahogany work desk – skimming my eyes past the oval mirror and connected the lamp to the power source. I take a squinting glimpse outside of the shiny window, with my hairy arm blocking the sun, shading my observant eyes. I was covered from the powerful rays, the type of covered you would want when unsightliness enters the camera frame. With myself still undetected by the sun, and remaining hidden like camouflage from World War II, I survey. I couldn’t help but to vicariously observe the gold skinned, blonde-haired woman from across my apartment, sun baking, relaxing in comfort.
“Ring ring, ring ring, ring!” The phone’s abrupt volume took me aback; it ripped through the air, as ripped as my own thoughts. Should I be with Lisa? Or should I be a lone journalist till’ the end of time? It muddled my focus on the girl, and it made me nervous.
I picked up the phone, untangling the messed cord. I take it and stealthily approach the window to avoid myself from being heard by the receiver. With my heart pounding, hands sweating and itching skin, I waited for a voice to appear. Anxiously looking through the clean, freshly wiped glass, I surveyed the block with an interest to kill time, patiently waiting for the voice. I did not see the gold-skinned woman outside anymore. What should I call her? I uncontrollably shifted my intrigued eyes towards the two boys, getting out of the crystal-clear pool and drying themselves off. I imagine having my own family someday. But it seems more of a nightmare than a dream, I don’t want to change unless she is willing to. Marriage is something drastic. Change? I am not sure about that.
I extract most of my thoughts out of my head. I don’t want to think about being immobile. I am a traveller. I am not like everyone else. I pick up the camera. I live in the moment.
I have not seen Lisa for weeks. She’s perfect, clever, even a magazine editor. Her blue eyes light up the flash, her bright red lips grab the focus, and she made my work better. She was a master behind the camera. She was powerful. Every time I saw her outside, the world was in slow motion. Lisa caught all eyes, even my own.
“Hello, uh, is this L.B Jeffries?” the high-pitched voice said doubtfully with the phone’s static.
“Yes. Yes sir, this is Jeffries. You are…?” I bewildered.
“I’m Andrew Sanders, just confirming that you have been selected for today’s event, congratulations!” the man exclaimed.
I clenched my fist, rocking it back and forth. Raising it in the air.
“Get out of here! I will not let you down! Promise.”
“Ahha, us Judges are just pleasantly surprised by your work, no need to worry about letting us down pal, it’s the event organisers that you need to worry about!” The man humoured.
“Well, I guess we’ll all see you at roughly 5:00 pm in the stadium’s foyer. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me, the fella in the green suit.”
My photography equipment is scattered throughout the apartment; my broken camera on my desk, my long-focus lens on my dusty, white shelf besides the luxurious cigar case I got from Shanghai, another spare camera in my pocket and several camera reels roughly placed on my bright red sofa. I didn’t mind this mess, it was what made me unique. It was me. A photojournalist on a never-ending trip of discovery. With all of this stuff, I guess you could say that I was no stranger with prying in on the lives of others.
I wildly arose out of my office chair, it was as if my behind was on fire; I rub my sweaty palms together, taking a deep breath for the photo opportunity. This could be it. The day everyone recognises L.B Jefferies.
I unzipped my smooth, cream coloured suitcase; I finally had the ability to use my pride and joy. The ‘Exakta VX’. With the sun sharply reflecting off the large lens and into my watery eyes, I could remember my first run-in with her. Lisa. It was in this very spot. She waltzed past my complex elegantly, with her silked-pink, stylish dress circling around her curvaceous figure, the reflective, bright jewellery catching the sun, in perfect frame with the lens. She was meeting with Miss Torso, I was unsure for the reason, but with accordance to what I saw from this den, I could see the two girls’ silhouettes dancing like an Aurora Borealis – Wishing I were there with them.
Frantically collecting my equipment, stuffing the apparatus into my bags, with my apartment looking pleasantly trashed, I scanned the apartment’s beige walls hoping that today’s shot will be as good as my others. Especially those images of Lisa.
The orange hued sky, with a beautiful sunset filled the stratosphere. The turquoise lamp shun onto my flushed face as I whip on my creased jacket. I gently closed my apartment’s door and slowly made my way, whilst looking at the trees, birds and billboards in the distance, to my smooth, red Plymouth Belmont Concept. Its white walls and chrome dish mirrored my blurry reflection. My left palm slipped from the chrome door handle. I quickly placed my hand back on it, and pull as fast I could. I organise all the heavy gear into the spacious backseat of the coffee stained, white chairs. I turn around, feeling a presence around me. The voice grabbed my attention. I slowly rotate my body with my hand blocking the sun. It was her, the young and astonishing blonde from across my apartment. She was beautiful.
“Jeff? That’s your name right? What’s the special occasion!?” She smiled and lightly punched my shoulder.
“To the big race,” I delighted.
As I turned away to quickly place the remaining equipment down, I notice she was no longer smiling. Instead, as serious as ever.
“Well, have fun. See you around,” She underhanded with what seemed to be binoculars perking out of her dazzling blue carry-bag. I zoomed my eyes in, noticing a sparkly gold engraving, ‘L. Fremont’.
I was startled. It seemed as if the girl knew too much. Lisa was still away on her trip. Right?
Three weeks have passed since that gruelling race, it broke my pride and joy, it broke my mobility and it broke my soul. I was out of focus. My camera was too. All I have now is those stupid binoculars and one spare, long-focus camera lens. My life remained the same, yet it had erratically flipped, just like the racecar. The lamp’s lights were out.
My once-in-a-lifetime shot was displayed on national news, so was my story. At least now, I might be an icon. Even if it is temporary.
Statement of Intention
Hitchcock’s film Rear Window, explores the influences for, and consequences of, ‘peeping’ on others whilst failing to reflect on our own lives. This is strongly illustrated from the protagonist, Jeff. The text ultimately insinuates that Jeff’s personal fears and worries regarding his relationship with Lisa, notably marriage and being together, leads him to fixate on his neighbours’ lives instead – failing to associate with reality. Although Jeff finds his hobby as quite harmless, the protagonist is quickly lectured by his nurse, (Stella) that “we’ve become a nation of peeping Toms”. Not only does this point to us that Jeff’s voyeurism is not all that uncommon, but it alludes to us viewers that some of America’s society (in the film’s context) is unacceptably prying.
In my viewing of Hitchcock’s film, I was particularly drawn to the protagonist, L.B Jeffries, and the apartment he is situated in for the film’s entirety. The amount of photojournalism displayed sparked my interest, so I was compelled to explore his previous experiences before his injury, and to delve into Jeff’s thoughts, aspirations and behaviours to identify both Jeff’s photographic endeavour, and his personality. With this as my focus point, my creative response is in the form of a prequel. I intended to shed a light on how Jeff foresees the world, through his own two eyes and through his journalistic perspective. My aim in doing this was to highlight how the character consciously thought through the lens.
I utilise a first person approach in Jeff’s perspective to explore and give a voice to the protagonist in far more detail than Hitchcock presents. In an effort to provide this voice, I included some of his feelings, thoughts, and his “ghoulish” surveying. I tried to achieve this with Jeff thinking about a nickname for the beautiful blonde-haired woman - Miss Torso, with Jeff’s reluctance to change for Lisa (marriage), and his starting point of suspicion with observing Thorwald at “odd hours.” In doing this, I attempted to get the reader thinking about how suspicion proliferated towards Lars in a hypothetical sense to relate to the main story. I also use a second person perspective twice in the text to engage with the reader, so Jeff could communicate with the audience.
My piece is introduced with the protagonist wanting to be an “icon” and to be “illustrious”. I use this as a central aspect of the piece, to effectively ‘set the tone’ of the protagonist. I done this with the intention for the reader to consider Jeff’s desire, which is to be well known to all of America for his photography, throughout the full reading. In reference to the context and setting, this piece links well with the film as it is set in Greenwich Village, New York in 1953. This period would have been before the Korean War concluded, and as I intended, before Jeff’s broken leg occurred. I set this slightly before the text because I wanted to highlight how Jeff was still quite unacceptable even before tragedy struck.
Furthermore, my implementation of language conforms to the text as my word choices reflect Jefferies’ personality and how he lived. With using frequent descriptive language, such as Jeff’s specific camera title, his car model, and other things such as noticing the deaf women’s stained apron, I aimed to give the reader an insight into how observant Jeff really was with his surroundings. My linguistic style was also used to describe the “stagnant” air, his messy “den” (apartment), and his coffee stains on his car seats. In doing this, I attempted to hint to the reader that the protagonist’s observations, thoughts and way of life was not all that ‘clean’.
My initial simile was used to depict Jefferies’ reckless (often unacceptable) behaviour and the pure nature of his confident personality. In the attempt to show to the reader that he is willing to capture the shot of a lifetime regardless of the potential dangers alongside. I constructed this in an effort to show how badly he wants recognition for his images, and how far he may go to get one.
Arising out of my piece, I use a key metaphor to demonstrate that Jeff’s apartment, neighbours and apparatus for observing, was a journey for him, and that he was the “voyager”. I used this metaphor to depict that Jefferies thoroughly enjoys his hobby of prying in on others’ lives, even though it is illegal and highly controversial. I also used another key metaphor sharing how the closeness of the apartments are the same closeness of a perfect shot that is interrupted by the neighbours leaving the lens. In an effort to establish how Jeff thought in a photojournalistic perspective, I intended to share to the reader how Jeff would take photographs and point the camera at his unaware neighbours to reinforce his peeping.
Moreover, a habitual symbol I use throughout the piece is the binoculars. I explore this most notably in regards to Jeff’s pair, but also discovered at the end, Miss Torso’s pair. I used this to represent the idea for Jeff, that with using the binoculars, his identity is taken away and he can pry in others with more detail than his camera lens offers – often for gratification. Additionally, in mentioning how Miss Torso had a pair of binoculars perking out of her bag, I tried to get the reader thinking about how she had a connection with Lisa somehow (Lisa was supposedly on a trip?), and that she possibly knew what Jeff was doing behind the glass window (maybe Lisa confessed to Miss Torso?). Another key symbol I implemented was the lamps in Jeff’s apartment. In an effort to show that when the lamp’s lights were out, Jeff’s peeping got seriously unethical, I refer to Jeff connecting his lamp to the power source, as well as turning off the lights at the end of piece. I mention this with the attempt to try to convey to the reader that turning of the lamps hide Jeff’s identity, and connecting the lamp is the starting point for this hiding.
Home
Help
Search
Login
