Guy walks into a confessional . . .

I Confess

(1953)

When I was a little Catholic, way back when, we thought it was awesome that the priest couldn't tell the police anything you told him in confession. Of course, we didn't realize at the time (or, put another way, the priests and nuns didn't bother to tell us) that the same was true not only of rabbis and Protestant ministers ("non-Catholics," as they were called) but even of purely secular lawyers.

Moreover, it didn't occur to even the most warped of us (none of us being as warped as Hitchcock) that if you played your cards right, not only could you commit a heinous crime and get absolution (thus eliminating any consequences in the next life) and protection from the law (ditto this life), but you could actually pin the crime on the poor clerical sap who heard your confession. Is this a great religion or what?

Speaking of warped, given what happens to her, how sick is it that the killer's wife is called Alma, which is, of course, the name of the director's wife?