Great long take scenes

Glenn Ford's television address to his son's kidnappers in RANSOM!

Perhaps it's a trite choice but the opening to Touch of Evil.

I could mention Rope by Hitchcock, made in what was said long well-rehearsed takes.

Anthony Quinn's fake breakdown in Guns of Navarone.

The emerging mysterious rider (Omar Sharif) in Lawrence of Arabia.

Most scenes in Bergman's Persona and The Silence.


Many scenes in A Fish Called Wanda, Charles Chrichton according to John Cleese, hardly moved the camera at all in most scenes, so some became long with a simple movement of camera angles.
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Yes! Spiderwike (sorry if I spelled it wrong), It's like a TV theatre before TV live Theatres

In applications with a different purpose, George Cukor favored long, uninterrupted takes not to create bravura cinema, but to allow his actors continuity of concentration and performance: just plant the camera and let 'em go.

Two examples are Katherine Hepburn's jailhouse interview of Judy Holliday in Adam's Rib and Judy Garland's dressing room breakdown in A Star Is Born. In the latter, her performance of the iconic number The Man That Got Away is accomplished in one continuous take as well, with the camera moving subtly but fluidly to follow Garland as she moves among the musicians haphazardly arranged around the small stage after hours at "this little place on Sunset Blvd."


     

The long walk that Hugh Grant does in Notting Hill where you can follow the seasons and different peoples stories in the background. Among other things a pregnancy and in the end the same lady with a stroller.

The opening scene of Snake Eyes, directed by Brian DePalma, is a really long take with lots of stuff happening. Had to have been very difficult.

I offer this small correction merely to highlight Hitchcock's use of camera and pacing to both perversely toy with audiences and to provide only just enough information to elicit the desired reactions.

Frenzy presents only one graphic murder (and fairly early on), preceded by the key phrase, "You're my type of woman." In the scene to which you refer, the killer (known only to the audience) has offered the hospitality of his flat to a female character and, as he again silkily intones, "I don't know if you know it, but...you're my type of woman," the door closes in our faces as the camera then discretely executes the shot you describe, leaving viewers to imagine just as graphically as the first killing exactly what's now going on in that upstairs flat as unaware inhabitants of the street below go about their daily business.

It's an elegant distillation of devices Hitchcock had previously employed in Notorious, at the conclusion of which the hapless antagonist is summoned into the house for comeuppance by the cohorts he's betrayed...which takes place behind the now-closed door as the "End" title is displayed, and in Psycho, wherein onscreen violence is abated rather than increased with the brutality of its first display lingering in the minds of viewers. In this way, he maximizes both effect and economy.

Also from Psycho comes an example of the perverse toying to which I referred above as, with suspense at a fever pitch, we're methodically led up the hill to the house by a character determined to uncover its secrets, only to again have the door closed in our faces as she enters.

And one more small correction, if I may: it's a Louma crane. I was privileged to have personally witnessed one of its first (the first, I was told at the time) uses in a U.S. film by Steven Spielberg on the set of 1941.            

Just the same, I'll tell ya what: your memory of it speaks to the power of Hitchcock's technique and the way in which it planted images into the mind that haven't actually been seen (not unlike the many vivid recollections of viewers of the knife entering the torso during the Psycho stabbing, and even those of some of graphic blood spurts therefrom).

I note in passing that Hitchcock had rather utilized the same construction in reverse in the opening moments of Rope, wherein the camera wanders from a tranquil New York street scene to the window of an upper-floor apartment, cutting abruptly to a closeup of the strangling just being concluded therein. It's one of many examples of revisitation to a theme often referenced in his films: all manner of evil deeds taking place in the midst - and without the cognizance - of passersby going about their business, and so darkly articulated by Uncle Charlie in Shadow Of A Doubt:

"Do you know the world is a foul sty? Do you know if you ripped the fronts off houses, you'd find swine? The world's a hell."

A variation can be found in numerous examples of protagonists alone and in danger in the center of a blithely unaware crowd, as in The 39 Steps, Saboteur, both versions of The Man Who Knew Too Much and presented throughout North By Northwest.

This talk has reminded me of another extraordinary and historically significant long take shot: The one in Bound for Glory (1976), which starts from a high crane view looking down on a crowd of migrants. The crane booms down, and when it's all the way down and stops, the camera then begins to move forward at eye-level, wandering for quite awhile through the crowd, before finally stopping to catch a conversation. This was the first use of the steadicam, in which the camera operator road the crane down, then stepped off and began to walk among the people. What a great shot that was.

I'm glad you mentioned that, as it was very much in my mind as I was considering my remarks on Frenzy and 1941, and how the smaller and more lightweight cameras in use by the '70s facilitated the employment of many such innovations.