"Our private traps"

Rating: 9/10 (27 December 2010)

The horror genre has often thrived on tales of the unknown, the inexplicable and the supernatural, and this can be very effective in its own way. However there has long been another tradition of scaring people with more worldly horrors, with the genuinely unnerving touch of wholly possible events, familiar settings and the thought that this could happen to you too. And who else would be behind one of the most seminal and iconic entries in this subgenre but Master of Suspense Alfred Hitchcock, the director who specialised in bringing real-world terrors home to his audience.
Perhaps the main secret to Psycho's success is the unusual structuring of its screenplay. The adaptation by Joseph Stefano contains more or less all the actual events of the original Robert Bloch novel, except that the emphasis has changed. The novel was told largely from Norman Bates's perspective, with Marion Crane turning up on his doorstep a few chapters in. However the adaptation brings us in to the story with Marion, telling the first half of the narrative through her eyes. This not only provides one of the biggest red herrings in the history of the thriller, it is a really effective way of keying us into the story on the level of an ordinary "everywoman", albeit one who has stolen a large sum of money, but even this the script goes to lengths to rationalise, embroiling us in her growing paranoia.
But the screenplay would be worth little if it wasn't for the fact Hitchcock knows exactly how to present this material. He uses a lot of long takes in the scenes with Janet Leigh, using his roving camera to keep us with her, or at least with her thoughts, as for example when the camera pans down to the pile of money on the bed then over to the suitcase. Such manoeuvres can be very gimmicky and intrusive, so a director can only really get away with them if the picture is otherwise utterly compelling, which of course Psycho is. Hitch contrasts the long takes with a choppy editing pattern when Anthony Perkins is around, as suited to the awkward oddity of his presence. One of the director's finest constructions is the scene where Leigh and Perkins talk together in the parlour, surrounded by all those stuffed birds, a rather long scene, heavy on dialogue, and thus one that could easily become boring. However Hitch creates several modulations in tone simply by varying his angle. For example, when Bates is angered by Marion's suggestion that his mother be put someplace, Perkins is shown in profile, with that predatory owl prominent at the top of the screen, while the contrasting shots of Leigh become close-ups, looking vulnerable with her back to the wall.
And one of the biggest keys to the realism (and therefore the ability to disturb) of Psycho is the quality of the acting performances. Janet Leigh plays a very credible game of trying to balance outward calmness and inner turmoil, which is really crucial to make the picture work. If the average audience member is to empathise with her character, we have to believe that she is not some hardened criminal, and that she is racked with guilt and fear of getting caught. Martin Balsam is great too as the easygoing private investigator, making his character likable by the naturalism of his performance. Finest of all however is of course Anthony Perkins, the genius of whose performance is the simplicity and fragility with which he plays Norman Bates, and that edge of menace he suddenly brings out of nowhere. His turn here is ideally suited to the Hitchcockian mode of suspense, as it treads that line of allowing the audience to be taken in by one red herring, but is also believable in retrospect once the truth is finally revealed.
I'll finish with a quick word on the musical score for Psycho. While Bernard Hermann's "stabbing strings" have been cited and praised as much as virtually every other aspect of the picture, I'm also struck by the similarity between the main theme (the sharp, tense piece that plays over the opening credits and several other scenes) and the penultimate movement of the Russian composer Modeste Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. This latter piece refers to a macabre Slavic folk tale about a witch who kidnaps and murders children. Whether or not the link is deliberate, both pieces of music strike the same tone to suit their grisly and terrifying subject matter.