Janet Leigh - Hiding In Plain Sight

Rating: 10/10 (14 May 2006)

There's very little to be said about this most analysed and rewatched of films that hasn't been said multiple times before, but I'd like to draw attention to a great performance that, I think, has been unjustly and perversely neglected. Whilst most commentators (rightly) praise Anthony Perkins for his astonishingly nuanced performance, many overlook the subtler, more measured work done by Janet Leigh.
At first, it seems paradoxical that Leigh could be overlooked in what is certainly her most famous role (one of the most famous roles in American cinema, in truth), but it is that very fame that causes people to overlook the actual quality of the work she is doing. After all, the part of Marion Crane is seen almost entirely in relation to the plot's structure - the heroine who is killed half way through the film, and leaves us and the camera somewhat stranded in the Bates Motel, where we begin to follow the story of Norman Bates. It doesn't help that her death scene is probably the most iconic film sequence yet recorded (the Odessa Steps sequence in 'Battleship Potempkin' doesn't have the pop culture cache, trust me). Who notices the actress when Hitchcock's structural and technical experimentation come together with such incendiary force? And yet Leigh is extraordinary, giving what might be the performance of her career. She'd proved herself a winning comedienne and musical star in the fifties, but often seemed to be left on the sidelines - as in the enjoyable 'Scaramouche' and the turgid, tacky 'Black Shield of Falworth' (which nevertheless shows her at her most beautiful - the improbably gorgeous black gown she wears in one scene is the epitome of 'devastating'). Of the three dark thrillers she made in the late fifties and early sixties, she would be excellent in what amounts to three scenes in 'The Manchurian Candidate', and had been perfectly cast but arguably peripheral to the story in 'Touch of Evil'. In 'Psycho', she disappears after forty minutes, but for once gets to hold the screen absolutely in the time she does have.
It's a precise performance that shows no strain. She's controlled, immaculate, yet also believably sexual. Mores were changing, and 'Psycho' was at the forefront. There's something oddly shocking about seeing Leigh in her underwear (it would have been taboo under the Hayes code only a short while before), let alone in the shower, but Leigh betrays no discomfort. It's all done so casually, it barely seems as though anything new is being done.
What's striking about 'Psycho' on repeat viewings is how melancholy it is. It may be the saddest film the Master ever made ('Vertigo' is bleak in a different way; it has the structure of Tragedy. 'The Wrong Man', meanwhile, has a forced happy ending). A large part of this is down to Leigh, who has to make us care about this woman in a short space of time. She succeeds, but she also succeeds in drawing out the kinkiness and oddness of Marion - the smile she gives when she imagines what is being said about her, for instance, before it gives way to worry and even fear (I've always thought that Leigh was rather wasted as good girls and would have made a great femme fatale - those big eyes and heart-shaped face are perfect - and as Marion she plays on a lot of the qualities that would have made her ideal).
A small word here for Vera Miles here, too. Her role is more restricted, but her brittle, guarded performance is another overlooked gem, probably because she isn't warm or sympathetic. Her character is flinty and highly competent, Marion's more respectable counterpart. Their performances resonate with each other astoundingly well given that they don't share any screen time - they really are believable sisters, despite not looking that much alike. Lila Crane is, in many ways, Hitchcock's most straightforward, unkinky heroine. She's also one of his most uncompromising, not brooking argument from Sam Loomis or the Sheriff. Only Arboghast ruffles her. She penetrates to the heart of the mystery with ruthless efficiency. And in a film well known for its ironic one liners, my favourite is Lila's 'I can handle a sick old woman', which works differently depending on whether you know the secret of the film or not (she can't handle that sick old woman - but actually, it isn't a sick old woman at all).