Dares You to Look Away

Rating: 10/10 (21 April 2012)

Although his filmography is studded with gems, no other Hitchcock film has lodged itself in the popular consciousness as firmly as Psycho. It provides chills as a ripped-from-the- headlines slasher flick, but its macabre surfaces conceal its deeper mordant cultural resonances. In Psycho, many of Hitchcock's major tactics fall under the wide umbrella of postmodernism. Although made within the confines of the last vestiges of the classic Hollywood studio system, Psycho distinguishes itself as a subversive postmodern cinematic text.
Hitchcock's is the dominating presence in the film. From the beginning we are privy to dastardly deeds done by less-than-savory people. Yet, even as the brutality is ratcheted up (culminating in Marion's death), the audience remains engaged and more specifically entertained. The traditionally positive and pure elements of society when viewed through Hitchcock's lens are rendered resoundingly impure. Caroline, Marion's pestering co-worker, needed tranquilizers to survive her own wedding; Tom Cassidy heartily recommends the practice of "buying off unhappiness" to turn it into something approaching happiness; police and detectives fail to provide satisfactory protection; and in the Bates family one certainly begins to doubt that mother knows best. This is contrasted to the immoralities within the film. Sam and Marion's affair, Marion's theft, and Norman's killings are, without exception, attractively presented. The affair titillates, turning Marion into an erotic symbol. By the time of the theft, Marion has won the allegiance of the audience. Even the film's most legendary element, the shower scene, can today be viewed as more giddy than gory. It plays more as symphony than tragedy. It is a feat of timing and rhythm with precise and effective choreography. Traditional horror films dare the audience to look at the screen; Psycho dares us to look away and we simply cannot.
The film itself defies convention and flaunts expectations at every turn. At the end of the first act, it abruptly transfers the mantle of protagonist from Marion Crane to Norman Bates. The transfer makes sense. After all, these are the only two characters in the film that truly matter. In the words of critic David Thomson, "they are the only two players in the film whom Hitchcock liked or was interested in". As a mainstream Hollywood director, Hitchcock's interest in these two people, one a thief, the other a psychologically fractured killer is in and of itself subversive of audience expectations. Psycho was released in mid-1960 still very much in the shadow of the outwardly wholesome, domesticated Eisenhower era. To have a film focused on such behavior in the era of Leave it to Beaver was not only bold, it was unprecedented in mainstream American cinema. Psycho's low-rent aesthetic of highway towns and motel rooms is unique in the typically more elaborate and glamorous Hitchcock oeuvre. In an era when films were bought and sold based on star power, Hitchcock bumps off poor Janet Leigh (herself only a moderate star at the time) by the close of the first act. Audiences thought they knew what they could expect from the movies, especially the ones made by "Master of Suspense" Alfred Hitchcock; but the moment that shower curtain opens to the ascending strings of Bernard Herrmann's score, all bets are off. No one and nothing is safe, not even the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
Apart from its more coy and wily elements, Psycho is also a film preoccupied with surfaces and appearances. By virtue of the funhouse construction of the film, Hitchcock cannot be bothered with traditional character development. The four major characters of the piece— Norman, Marion, Sam, and Lila— act as doubles for one another. In Lila, we find traces of Marion. Both are traditionally attractive blondes, yet the sexual vivacity of Marion that her screen time so effectively showcases is dulled and diluted within Lila, who can seem pestering and frumpy in comparison.
These parallels perhaps could be written off due to the sister relationship between the two, except that the more interesting parallels between Sam and Norman undermine any sort of quick fix. Norman and Sam share a similar facial structure and hair color. Clearly, Sam is meant to represent the more stereotypically strapping male suitor, whereas Norman is best characterized as meek and uncertain. Yet, throughout the film our impressions of the two men are colored in surprising ways. Norman, despite his compulsions, comes off as a caring and compassionate young man, shy but capable of deep and true understanding. Hitchcock, in a move of swift and delicious irony, makes Norman into the most sensitive and kind person the picture has to offer. Norman's final conversation with Marion before her death is the film's most intimate scene. Although the two start the scene as total strangers, it is clear that they have had a deep effect on one another by the scene's close. In contrast, Sam seems increasingly boorish and bullying as the picture unspools. He's certainly less interesting than Norman. Indeed, we learn precious little regarding Sam in the movie's first half. Despite her claims of love, Marion spends relatively little time considering Sam's views of her actions. His hypothetical thoughts never enter her mind on the run from Phoenix. Her deepest emotional connection in the film is with Norman, and Sam seems to share a more matrimonial relationship with Lila than he does with Marion. Yet, in their momentary connection, Marion and Norman shared something more lively and meaningful than Sam seems to be capable of imagining. This lively connection, of course, must end in death in Hitchcock's world. Hitchcock, ever the ironist.
Psycho's endurance as a piece of popular art is quite a feat. In fact, the very existence of the film is worth championing. It is a film where commercial aims exist in equal balance to artistic ambitions, where those goals are allowed to be complimentary. It holds a mirror to a polluted world in order to reveal the cracks in the surface, an impure subject made enthralling through pure cinema.