What’s more unsettling than a killer who films his crimes, forcing you to watch through his eyes? Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960) doesn’t just unsettle it grabs you by the throat and makes you complicit. This psychological thriller, once reviled, now feels like a prescient gut-punch, dissecting voyeurism in a world obsessed with screens. Let’s dive into why this film’s chilling craft and cultural echo make it a must-watch for today’s cinephiles.

Powell’s direction is a masterclass in discomfort. He wields the camera like a weapon, turning every frame into a voyeur’s confession. The opening shot a point-of-view kill through a camera lens implicates you instantly. It’s not just Mark Lewis (Carl Boehm) stalking victims; it’s you, watching, unable to look away. Powell’s audacity lies in blurring the line between observer and participant, a move that feels eerily relevant in our TikTok-scrolling, true-crime-binging era. Yet, the film stumbles when it leans too heavily on Freudian backstory, occasionally slowing its pulse to explain what the visuals already scream.

Boehm’s performance as Mark is a revelation part monster, part wounded child. His soft-spoken awkwardness and haunted eyes make him a predator you pity, a paradox that gnaws at you. He’s not a cartoonish villain but a man broken by a father’s experiments, filming his every moment. Boehm’s restraint keeps Mark human, making his crimes more horrifying. Anna Massey, as the naive Helen, balances him with warmth, though her role feels underwritten, a missed chance to deepen the film’s emotional stakes.

The cinematography, by Otto Heller, is a kaleidoscope of dread. London’s seedy underbelly glows in lurid reds and greens, each frame a fever dream that mirrors Mark’s obsession. The camera isn’t just a tool; it’s a character, its whirring sound a heartbeat of menace. This visual daring elevates Peeping Tom beyond its time, speaking to our current anxieties about surveillance and self-exposure online. If the film falters, it’s in its uneven pacing some scenes linger too long, diluting the tension.

Why watch Peeping Tom now? It’s a mirror to our digital age, where we’re all filmmakers and voyeurs, curating lives for likes. Powell’s film doesn’t just predict this it warns us. It’s a thriller that lingers, not because it’s flawless, but because it dares to ask: what’s the cost of watching? You’ll leave questioning your own lens, and that’s a shadow that doesn’t fade.