to change her clothes and dye her hair to resemble Madeleine. After Judy complies, hoping that they may finally find happiness together, he notices her wearing the necklace portrayed in Carlotta's painting. Scottie realizes the truth and insists on driving Judy back again to the Mission. There, he tells her he must re-enact the event that led to his madness, admitting he now understands that "Madeleine" and Judy are the same person, and that Judy was Gavin's mistress before being cast aside, just as Carlotta was. Scottie forces her up the bell tower and makes her admit her deceit. Scottie reaches the top, finally conquering his acrophobia. Judy confesses that Gavin paid her to impersonate a "possessed" Madeleine. Judy begs Scottie to forgive her because she loves him. He embraces Judy, but a shadowy figure — actually a nun investigating the noise — rises from the tower's trapdoor, startling her. Judy suddenly lunges backward and accidentally falls to her death. Scottie, bereaved once again but cured of his fear of heights, stands on the ledge while the nun rings the mission bell. Cast James Stewart as John "Scottie" Ferguson Kim Novak as Judy Barton / Madeleine Elster Tom Helmore as Gavin Elster Barbara Bel Geddes as Marjorie "Midge" Wood Henry Jones as the coroner Raymond Bailey as Scottie's doctor Ellen Corby as the manager of the McKittrick Hotel Konstantin Shayne as bookstore owner Pop Leibel Lee Patrick as the car owner mistaken for Madeleine Alfred Hitchcock makes his customary cameo appearance walking in the street in a gray suit and carrying a trumpet case. Themes and interpretations Charles Barr in his monograph dedicated to the study of Vertigo has stated that the central theme of the film is psychological obsession, concentrating in particular on Scottie as obsessed with the women in his life. As Barr states in his book, "This story of a man who develops a romantic obsession with the image of an enigmatic woman has commonly been seen, by his colleagues as well as by critics and biographers, as one that engaged Hitchcock in an especially profound way; and it has exerted a comparable fascination on many of its viewers. After first seeing it as a teenager in 1958, Donald Spoto had gone back for 26 more viewings by the time he wrote The Art of Alfred Hitchcock in 1976. In a 1996 magazine article, Geoffrey O'Brien cites