Already jazzed that the Warner Archive Collection was formed to give obscure cinema classics a second life on DVD, movie fans had more reason to rejoice when the group moved onto Blu-rays. Lesser-known genre pictures and flicks from big-name directors now had the opportunity to be presented in high definition, with no better candidate for upgrade than Alfred Hitchcock. Although the likes of Psycho and North by Northwest are classics for a good reason, he has even more visually and thematically fascinating works that have gone largely overlooked by the mainstream moviegoing community. Warner Archive aims to change that by releasing three of Hitchcock's productions on Blu-ray, pictures that -- while hailed in their own right back in the day -- are well worth revisiting by modern audiences who may not be as familiar with them.

SUSPICION (1941). It's no wonder why the girls all flip for John Aysgarth (Cary Grant). He's handsome, well-to-do, and excessively charming -- so much so that even sheltered spinster Lina (Joan Fontaine) can't resist his moves. But soon after their whirlwind courtship leads to wedding bells, the new Mrs. Aysgarth starts noticing some peculiarities about her hubby. Old Johnnie has a knack for getting caught in both little white lies and propositions of an uncomfortably criminal variety. Eventually, signs point to Lina being potentially dragged into one of his schemes, leaving her to ponder if she has been made into more of a liability than a wife.

The prospect of Hitchcock tackling terror of a domestic kind is enticing indeed, but Suspicion's recipe for fright skips over a small few but vital steps. The plot is meant to unfold from the point of view of a bundle of nerves, yet no real evidence as to how Fontaine's harried heroine became so distraught is offered. Sure, Lina is presented as a touch reserved from the beginning, but not so much that we'd buy her indebting herself to John heart and soul after a few sweet nothings. It gives a narrative already smacking with a backwards, "Why won't the crazy lady trust her man?" sexism even less support to work with, hindering the efforts of a cast deeply committed to trying to make the material fly.

Fontaine acts her hindquarters off at times when she's left without a lot of motivation, and Grant -- as smooth an operator as he ever was -- never properly pulls off that balancing act that asks us to picture John as both victim and possible cold-hearted killer.Throw in one of those anti-climactic final scenes that Old Hollywood excelled in, and Suspicion comes out as an admirable but failed attempt at constructing a suspenseful drama on an intimate level. While certainly moody in a visual sense (especially the famous "glass of milk" shot), there are too many pieces missing for the audience to be as equally terrified on a thematic front. There isn't any mulling-over to be had here -- Suspicion just isn't that hot, for sure.

I CONFESS (1953). Absolving the sins of one's flock is a responsibility for all priests, but not many have experienced the sort of burden that's thrust upon Father Michael Logan (Montgomery Clift) one fateful night. He takes confession from the parish gardener (O.E. Hasse), who owns up to accidentally killing a lawyer. But because of the disguise worn at the scene and Logan's own checkered history, the man of the cloth himself is soon sized up as a suspect for the crime. However, even while police scrutiny increases, Logan chooses to remain silent, knowing that breaking his confidence would mean both betraying his vows and causing a scandal for an old flame (Anne Baxter).　

While the nature of its protagonist makes it seem like a no-brainer, I Confess is frequently cited as one of Hitchcock's most spiritual works. For all the cynicism he's displayed towards authority throughout his career (with this film being no exception), the master hasn't a snide word in store regarding his portrayal of Logan as a man of conviction. Not once does he look down upon his protagonist, instead laboring to help the viewer understand why he's making the decisions he is, even when they're slowly signing his possible death warrant. We're put in the precarious position of admiring Logan's resolve and basically begging for him to spill the beans, an angle Hitchcock plays marvelously without being exploitative or fleecing the characters of their humanity. Hasse's killer does miss out on some much-needed complexity, but the compelling screenplay is mostly fair to the ensemble at large, further bolstered by courageous performances from Clift, Baxter, and Karl Malden, who plays the lead cop on Logan's trail.

As gimmicky as its hook might initially appear, I Confess emerges as one of the most profound of Hitchcock's movies. It's both diabolical and enriching, terribly suspenseful yet for good cause and executed  without making a tawdry mockery of its subject matter. Here's to hoping its hi-def debut ensures that I Confess doesn't remain one of Hitchcock's little-seen gems for long.

THE WRONG MAN (1956). Manny Balestrero (Henry Fonda) was mere feet from his front door when his world was turned upside down. On his way back from work, he found himself picked up by the police, bearing a striking resemblance to a suspect in a string of robberies. Despite his pleas of innocence, Manny is pegged as the culprit by a multitude of witnesses, sending him careening like a pinball through the justice system. Testimony is stacked against him, but with his faithful wife (Vera Miles) at his side, Manny remains determined to see that right prevail and prove he isn't guilty of a single thing.　

Hitchcock conceived of many crafty gimmicks over the years, but The Wrong Man might have his cruelest one ever. There's no villain but circumstance to speak of here, only our protagonist just happening to fit a certain description that could apply to a hundred other guys. It's a stroke of genius, then, that Fonda was cast, as his everyman persona goes a long way toward placing us in Manny's shoes. The viewer comes to feel as helpless as he does, being able to do nothing as fate bounces him around from jail cell to courtroom to whatever location might have a shred of evidence to prove his innocence. This movie's view of the justice system is cold but authentic, the culmination of Hitchcock's lifelong distrust of police; only he could depict the cops as simply doing their jobs and still show them in an antagonistic light. The Wrong Man is an impeccably-told story, cut from the cloth of true events in a way that preserves the mundanity of real life but arranges the narrative so effectively that you can't believe something like this actually happened. The plot does encounter a scant few hiccups (having Miles's character slowly go mad during her husband's ordeal seemed like a waste of her talents), but it's nothing that shatters the illusion of fidelity that Hitchcock, his actors, and the writers work to maintain so well.

In the case of The Wrong Man, truth really can be just as gripping as the most elaborate fiction. There's no doubting that the actual incidents fueling its premise were exaggerated on the screen, but it still stands that Hitchcock was able to make it feel real to begin with, not to mention being able to enthrall viewers with very few ingredients overall. As harrowing as his more polished and big-budget thrillers, The Wrong Man is worth its weight in gritty cinematic gold.

(I Confess, Suspicion, and The Wrong Man are available on Blu-ray from the Warner Archive Collection: www.warnerarchive.com.)