- Each time I watch Psycho, I rediscover just how good the film's first third is. Given how a certain iconic shower scene has come to dominate the film's public image, it's easy to forget that Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) led a very interesting, if short, life. Although the film's opening shot seems to select Marion out at random, her path to the Bates Motel is anything but ordinary. It is forged, in part, by her (for-its-time provocative) relationship with Sam Loomis (John Gavin), a man whose debt and alimony payments present serious impediments to marriage. When a smarmy high-roller (Frank Albertson) saunters into Marion's office to hand her an envelope of cash, however, a solution suddenly presents itself. She hesitates only as long as it takes to pack her bag before grabbing the cash and hitting the road.
- Once she intersects her boss (Vaughn Taylor) on the way out of town, Marion's road trip transforms into a slowly building crescendo of panic. She is so nervous about getting caught that simple interactions with cops and car dealers alike quickly avalanche into discussions, real and imagined, of her suspicious behavior. As her feelings of guilt grow, the skies darken and the rain begins, growing in intensity with Bernard Herrmann's building score. Soon she is pushing ahead through a torrential downpour that obscures everything in sight. Finally emerging out of the tumult is a neon sign advertising a vacancy at The Bates Motel.
- The motel's proprietor, Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), gives the impression of a strange child grown old. His evening with Marion begins innocently enough with a sheepish offer of sandwiches and milk, staples of any youthful diet. While Marion pecks at her food "like a bird," he enthusiastically describes his taxidermy hobby, the results of which adorn the walls of his distinctly predatory parlor. Although the content of their conversation is never specifically worrisome, there is something about Norman's manner of speaking that is eerily off-putting. For instance, he sometimes stumbles over words like "bathroom" or "mother" and responds to direct questions with glib deflections. "Do you go out with friends?", Marion asks. "A boy's best friend is his mother," Norman replies. From his overheard arguments with Mrs. Bates, this is difficult to understand. A more direct clue to the source of his problems comes from his surprisingly detailed description of the inside of a mental hospital. According to Norman, both he and Marion are in "private traps" from which they can never hope to escape. Marion's trap leads her to the Bates Motel. Norman's trap leads him to Marion.
- Little has been left unsaid about Psycho's deservedly famous shower scene, but I actually find the scene that follows it to be nearly as impressive. After the startling explosion of violence that inspired countless subsequent slasher films, we are treated to more than ten minutes of quiet, methodical cleanup. Hitchcock could have cut immediately to the sinking car to move the plot along, but he instead gives the audience a chance to slowly absorb the reality of what has just happened. The film's final third, in which Marion's sister Lila (Vera Miles) teams up with Loomis and a detective named Arbogast (Martin Balsam) is only truly interesting insofar as the Bates family is involved, but the film's few remaining surprises still pack a wallop. Mrs. Bates' appearance, in particular, is impressive enough that perhaps we can forgive the film's final superfluous discussion of what we just saw.
- At a fundamental level, Psycho is an exploitation film. In his interview his Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock admits to playing his audience "like an organ," and his famous insistence on "no late admissions" was obviously designed to preserve the film's horrifying surprise. Of course, the film's first third is sufficiently suspenseful that even modern audiences who have had the surprise spoiled can still get plenty keyed up for it. That said, Psycho is no ordinary exploitation film. As discussed, the story of Marion Crane is much more compelling than that of the standard murder victim. Likewise, Norman Bates is a far more complicated and sympathetic villain than the usual murderer who leaps out of the darkness. Add in a groundbreaking (oft-imitated) musical score, exceptional black and white cinematography, and Hitchcock's typically masterful direction, and you get a miraculous unification of exploitation and art.
- I spotted Hitchcock just outside the office near the beginning.
- It's probably impossible to describe all of the references to Psycho in popular culture. Definitely Hitchcock's most culturally pervasive film.
- Based on the novel by Robert Bloch.
