A farmhouse is besieged by birds in Alfred Hitchcock’s Flight of the Living Dead.

Often parroted but never bettered, this 1963 chick flick does for birds as Jaws did for sharks and Cats did for cats. But where sharks are already scary and easily avoided (unless you’re Jason Statham), the idea of our omnipresent feathered friends turning on us is more creepy and shocking. Hitchcock achieves what the Daily Star cannot, making the chirpy chappies into harbingers of the apeckalypse.

And where Jaws cuts to the chase, Hitchcock delivers a masterclass in misdirection (although the blunt title is something of a giveaway). The first half is a rom-com about a bored socialite (Tippi Hedren) who likes to hang out in pet shops and prank random strangers. After a brief flirtation with Mitch (Rod Taylor), Marian drives two hours to his mother’s house to deliver a pair of lovebirds like a crazy storker. Only halfway through does the movie flip from screwball larks to seagull horror. It is a practical joke worthy of Marian herself, a prank on us as members of both the audience and the human race.

That bait-and-switch is reminiscent of Hitch’s previous (and bird-filled) picture Psycho, as is the inclusion of Mitch’s overprotective mother (Jessica Tandy). The plot is far richer than your usual creature feature, teasing out complex relationships between characters. Marian’s mother has flown the nest, Mitch’s mum fears being abandoned herself, and the introduction of Mitch’s ex-girlfriend (Suzanne Pleshette) adds a lovebird triangle to proceedings.

Based on Daphne du Maurier‘s short story in basic premise only (angry birds attack house), the film changes its Blitz allegory to one of obsession, jealousy and abandonment. It retains the story’s ambiguity and lack of explanation, the birds a penance for Marian’s flighty wildness, a reminder of humanity’s place in the pecking order, or they just really want some chips.

As the avian action closes from coastal expanses to small-town terror, Hitchcock cranks up the tension by slowly escalating the fowl presence. What starts as an isolated incident involving a large Hedren collider becomes a black mass of beady-eyed flu carriers.

Hitchcock’s starling images (including an eyeless corpse and some crows seriously hogging the climbing frame) are pecked forever into your skull, brilliantly eschewing music for a soundtrack of unpleasant squawking to rival Florence and the Machine. Hedren is pure class as Marian, and considering Hitchcock was tormenting her for rejecting his advances, her professionalism is truly unflappable.

60 years on, The Birds remains one of the most frightening movies of all time, and a great example of how horror flicks can be such a hoot. Sure there are moments of levity, but the reason the film is fun is not in spite of its scariness, but because of it.