The Birds: Hitchcock’s Camp Classic?

On the surface, The Birds (1963) is your quintessential Hitchcock thriller: small-town San Francisco is hit by a seemingly random avian uprising. But, dig a little deeper, and you’ll uncover a world rich with queer-coded characters, lesbian subtext, and a biting deconstruction of the glamorous femininity that Hitchcock’s films are so famous for.

Enter Tippi Hedren as Melanie Daniels, the ultimate 'Hitchcock blonde'. Descending upon Bodega Bay in a whirlwind of couture, chaos, and defiance, she is decked out in an immaculately tailored sage skirt suit and a fur coat so fabulous it would make Cate Blanchett’s Carol Aird jealous.

Not to mention the perfectly sculpted updo and the gaze that cuts through the sleepy town like a hot knife through butter. Melanie is the epitome of elegance. That is, until the chaos she brings with her starts to unfold. Her arrival doesn’t just ruffle feathers (literally); it disrupts the town’s delicate social order, throwing the women of Bodega Bay into a simmering power struggle that runs much deeper than any avian attack.

The real drama of The Birds, one could argue, isn’t the horror of our murderous feathered friends, but the subtle power-war taking place between the women on screen. Melanie, an outsider with progressive ideas, stirs tension from the moment she steps onto the scene. The simmering jealousy and attraction between her and the other female characters is palpable, especially prominent in her interactions with Annie Hayworth (played by the brilliantly husky-voiced Suzanne Pleshette), who notably wears trousers - because why not add to the queerness? Melanie and Annie’s shared moments are charged with unspoken desire, including the iconic smoking scenes that have sparked entire YouTube mashups dedicated to the deliciously camp tension between them.

Then there’s Mrs. Bundy, amateur ornithologist and walking, talking, lesbian-coded subtext. Mrs. Bundy’s relationship with Melanie is an understated game of glances and distance - unacknowledged, unspoken, but definitely not unnoticed.

In Hitchcock’s world, every look, every gesture, carries weight. Averted and lingering gazes alike take on new meaning in a tangled web of jealousy, attraction, and repressed desire. The birds themselves can be read as symbols of repressed emotions, externalised anxieties, and the terror inflicted by shifting social structures. Melanie’s beauty, rather than being celebrated, becomes alienating and problematic. She’s scrutinised, distrusted, and ultimately attacked. Not just by the birds, but the town and, perhaps, the film itself.

The Birds toys with high camp at every turn. We’re talking melodramatic performances, stylised terror, and over-the-top set pieces that will have you laughing, gasping, and screaming, all at once. Much like in wider 60s-society, the film's queerness is never overtly defined, but you can see it everywhere, if you know where to look.

A story of outsiders and repressed emotions, of nature turning against the status quo, and of forbidden love that can shake the very fabric of society, The Birds is a film that, whether intentionally or not, has become an accidental camp classic. It’s best enjoyed with a knowing wink and a healthy adoration for the deliciously over-the-top.

So, grab your popcorn (and maybe a pillow to hide behind), because this is one wild, queer-tinged ride that you won’t want to miss.

Catch it at Flatpack Festival this May... and watch out for the birds.