The principal pleasures of “Hitchcock”—which, in the end, is a film of decidedly few pleasures—comes from watching Anthony Hopkins’s transformation into the Master of Suspense. Hopkins may have worn a fat suit and prosthetics for the role, and he may not possess the disproportionately gaunt cheekbones and bulbous nose of the real Hitchcock (the star’s nose is so pointy here it almost upstages his character’s alarmingly