O TRULY UNDERSTAND THE IMPACT OF PSYCHO, WE MUST POSITION OURSELVES IN THE DAYS BEFORE MARION CRANE VISITED THE BATES MOTEL.
By the late 1950s, Alfred Hitchcock (1899 to 1980)
had solidified himself as one of the premiere movers in Hollywood. This was certainly true after the release of his 1959 thriller North by Northwest, which was nomi- nated for three Oscars, and was one of the top grossing hits of the year. Hitchcock clearly was the man, but in- stead of continuing down the path of mainstream block- busters, he chose a new angle for his next project – a low-budget production based on Robert Bloch’s pulp novel Psycho, published that same year and based on real-life Wisconsin grave robber, murderer and future Leatherface inspiration Ed Gein. Though he was under contract to Paramount, the studio
refused to support what they saw as a repulsive, impossi- ble-to-film B-movie. Ever the entrepreneur, the director took his Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV crew and financed the movie himself, for roughly $800,000. Hitchcock was going to prove that he could make a quality movie on the cheap. This was a project where he could have fun, both with audi- ences and at their expense. Like a master magician, he fashioned a movie based around
the manipulation of viewer expectations. To that extent, he con- sidered Psycho not only a horror film, but a black comedy. His number one trick would be that, just when audiences were getting caught up in the story about a woman on the run with $40,000, he would kill her off in the most brutal and har- rowing scene ever depicted onscreen up to that point. And she would be played by a major leading lady, Janet Leigh. The shower scene is, of course, one of the most iconic
in film history. Over 70 camera set-ups of varying lengths were used to replicate the effect of a knife re- peatedly coming down on Marion Crane (Leigh). It wasn’t just Bernard Herrmann’s screeching violins (see p.20), Leigh’s exposed body or the chocolate sauce used for blood that made the scene effective – it was the vulnerability viewers experienced while watching a random act of violence occurring during an everyday routine. Hitchcock’s next trick had our sympathies shift from
the dead Crane to her handsome young murderer, Nor- man Bates, who was dominated by his unseen “mother.” Anthony Perkins played Bates with sensitivity and a com- pletely subdued menace in what is one of the most bril- liantly seamless performances in motion picture history. The casting of the Tony-nominated Perkins was, in fact, one of the key changes made from Bloch’s novel (for more on the book, see p.28). The actor’s tenderness would further rope the audience into the movie’s game. Psycho’s subversion went beyond its visceral shocks, how-
ever. The opening scene, which featured Leigh in her brassiere, was positively scandalous, particularly since it is ob- vious she has just finished an afternoon tryst with her lover. Then there’s the oft-mentioned flushing toilet, something that had never been seen in a Hollywood film before. That’s just the overt stuff too – implied but never explicitly stated is an inces- tuous relationship between Norman and his mother! Of course, none of this would upset viewers today. No one
would see Psycho now and be surprised that Janet Leigh dies in a shower. A flushing toilet wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. And the twist – that the boy next door is really a mother-obsessed maniac – is standard mommy-issue horror film fuel. Five decades later, its many imitators have long sapped its
subversive reputation. So why does Psycho still pack a punch? The answer is Hitchcock’s di-
rection. Someone like Roger Cor- man could have turned Bloch’s novel into an entertaining schlocker, but Hitchcock created a different kind of serial killer narra- tive, and his mainstream reputation gave it a credibility
that allowed it to permeate into the public consciousness. Despite not cashing in on any of its four Academy Award nominations, it was a massive blockbuster success for Hitchcock, coming in second at the box office that year, earning $32 million. Beyond the thrill-ride quality of the movie, a more aca- demic look at Psycho reveals some serious subtext. (One
tagline described it as “Exploring the blackness of the sub- conscious man!”) There are themes of the past dominating
the present, moral corruption, voyeurism and the constant motif of being trapped. Repeated imagery of birds, mirrors, eyes and shadows have spurred further analysis. Then there’s the double-entendre-filled, often blackly humorous dialogue; it alone invites repeat viewings. (Norman: “A boy’s best friend is his mother.”) And even after decades of dissection in scores of articles
and books on the movie, it remains unbearably tense and genuinely frightening, from Marion’s run-in with the patrol- man to Mrs. Bate’s reveal. Hitchcock was known as the Mas-
ter of Suspense, and Psycho is his most nerve-racking accomplishment. Many say it’s the most important horror movie ever made because it gave birth to a new kind of monster in cinema – the human monster – and pushed the genre forward into new
territory. It’s certainly the godfather of the slasher subgenre, paving the way for everything from Black Christmas, to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, to The Silence of the Lambs. Still, some critics argue that despite its artistic merits, Psycho merely led to a demand for more violent and exploitative entertainment. To look deeper into the influence of the film, Rue Morgue assembled a panel of ex- perts: the film’s assistant director Hilton Green (who also produced the three sequels – see side- bars); author Stephen Rebello, whose book Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho is considered one of the most in-depth looks at the film ever penned, and who provided commentary for 2008’s Special Edition DVD and this year’s Blu-ray re- lease; film critic David Thom- son, who argues that Psycho led to a detrimental appetite for
violence in his book The Mo- ment of Psycho: How Alfred Hitchcock Taught America to Love Murder; and, finally, modern horror master Wes Craven, whose latest film, My Soul to Take, hits theatres this month and is the newest entry in a celebrated career shaped by a love of the Master
of Suspense. Now, let’s reopen the Bates
Motel, shall we?
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