"She might have fooled me, but she didn't fool my mother."

Rating: 10/10 (16 May 2008)

June, 1960. The movie theatre is quiet; 45 minutes ago, the halls were buzzing with anticipation, but not anymore. Nobody has been allowed into the cinema since the picture began, and the audience is dead quiet. Through the walls of the theatre, one can hear the muffled whirr of running water. Silence. An indistinct shadow is seen approaching through the curtain. Accompanied by the fierce screech of violins, hundreds of voices suddenly utter a deafening chorus of horrified shock; some patrons collapse into the aisle. Bernard Hermann continues to pound the violin with extraordinary intensity, and a bloody streak carves its path towards the drainpipe. Audience members reel with a frantic mixture of stunned confusion and gripping fear. The Master of Suspense, Alfred Hitchcock, has just painted the most extraordinary masterstroke of his distinguished career. The simple act of taking a shower will never again be the same.
Though he produced many films that could justifiably be considered masterpieces, it is unlikely that Hitchcock ever directed anything more popular and influential than 'Psycho (1960).' The first of only two Hitchcock horror films, it shocked many with its unique narrative structure, and the infamous "shower scene" has become permanently imprinted in the movie-going public's collective memory. Hitchcock allegedly produced the film in order to reclaim his designation as "The Master of Suspense," as he considered Frenchman Henri-Georges Clouzot to have temporarily seized the title with 'The Wages of Fear (1953)' and especially 'Les Diaboliques (1955).' Interestingly, the latter film has a particularly alarming bathtub sequence, and perhaps 'Psycho' was the film through which Hitchcock was able to respond to (and improve upon) the achievements of his chief rival. Gone are the larger-than-life artistic flourishes of 'Vertigo (1958)' and 'North by Northwest (1959)'  this is the Master of Suspense at his leanest and meanest, a film completely stripped of its spectacle and lowered into the unfathomable depths of the disturbed human mind.
Adapted by Joseph Stefano and Samuel A. Taylor from a 1959 novel by Robert Bloch, 'Psycho' opens with the character of Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a real-estate secretary who impulsively steals $40,000 from her boss and flees in the direction of her California boyfriend. Her cross-country flight ultimately leads her to the Bates Motel, managed by the awkward and mild-mannered Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), a man who submits loyally to the wishes of his mentally-ill, domineering mother. Meanwhile, Marion's boyfriend Sam Loomis (John Gavin) and sister Lila (Vera Miles) set out in pursuit, their search ending  inevitably  at the Bates motel. The story sporadically shifts from one character to the other; after convincing audiences that Marion Crane is "the wrong man" of so many of his previous pictures, Hitchcock deftly strikes at the heart of their sympathies. In his early film 'Sabotage (1936),' the director had condemned his own decision to murder a character with whom the viewer had been asked to identify, though here he once again dared to break his own rules, and we've never forgotten it.
Paramount was so aghast at the story's graphic subject matter, labelling it "too repulsive," that Hitchcock's budget was severely restricted, and the director was forced to finance the film through his own Shamley Productions. These budget limitations proved crucial in developing the unforgettable atmosphere, and were a major factor in his decision to film is black-and-white (which he also did to avoid incurring the wrath of the censors). Though 'Psycho' received a mixed critical response upon its release, its commercial success was extraordinary, and film-goers lined entire city blocks to experience the director's latest. Conversely, fellow British director Michael Powell's thematically-similar 'Peeping Tom (1960)' had been severely trashed by critics and audiences alike just months earlier, and the career of the beloved filmmaker was, for all practical purposes, left in ruins. Furthermore, the success of 'Psycho' triggered the emergence of the "slasher" flick, and subsequent years saw a slew of inferior, gory and imaginatively-titled knock-offs, such as 'Maniac (1963),' 'Paranoic (1963)' and 'Fanatic (1965).'
Though discussions of 'Psycho' rarely stray from the film's more disturbing moments, it's interesting to consider the various crucial scenes of human interaction. Marion's supper with Norman in the parlour room, surrounded by the seemingly-passive but strangely-threatening stuffed birds, is a masterpiece of nervous tension, awkwardness, and the tiny inflections of human speech that communicate more than mere words ever could. Anthony Perkins plays the role of Norman Bates to quirky perfection, and his character {perhaps modelled from Dennis Weaver's jittery hotel night manager in 'Touch of Evil (1958)'  also starring Janet Leigh} is a man who initially demands our pity and understanding. Even after the atrocity in the shower, Hitchcock, as he also did in 'Frenzy (1972),' builds a suspense sequence around a villain's attempts to conceal the traces of his crime. Martin Balsam is rarely mentioned when discussing the film, but his characterisation of detective Milton Arbogast is letter-perfect, his shrewd but amenable tone successfully lulling Norman into a false sense of triumph, and yet the audience knows full well that the experienced investigator sees the transparency of his lies.
Despite the prevalence of cultural spoofs and references, 'Psycho' is a thriller that still holds up exceptionally well, even though most viewers are fully-aware of the first major twist. When I first watched the film several years ago, I was completely ignorant of Mother's true identity, and I gasped aloud at the revelation in the fruit cellar, the swinging lightbulb casting a shifting luminance on the rotting corpse of Norma Bates, as Bernard Herrmann's intense, imaginative and very memorable musical score screeches in the background. Few moments in cinema have succeeded in giving me the same icy chill as the image of Norman in the prison cell, consumed by the mental consciousness of his overbearing mother, and that sinister smile that fades subliminally into the decaying shadow of a human skull. Norman Bates will continue to live on in my nightmares.