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A remake of a successful movie can be a tricky business at best; to remake a true classic, especially one that is veritably the definitive film of a director like Alfred Hitchcock, is something else again. And after watching this version of `Psycho,' directed by Gus Van Sant, two things come to mind immediately: What's the point, and what on earth were they thinking? Especially in light of the fact that Van Sant used the same screenplay (by Joseph Stefano, taken from the novel by Robert Bloch) that Hitchcock used. The final result here underscores some of the finer points of the art of filmmaking: First, that a `remake' should be just that; a retooling of the original, rather than a `copy' using new players; and second, that shooting in color, using more blood and being a bit more graphic does little more than detract from the impact of the film. Although this was a noble effort by Van Sant, ironically in the end it suffers from the same flaw with which Norma Bates was afflicted: The `mind' of the film was divided; half was Hitchcock, half Van Sant. And the twain, though met, shall never be bound. Van Sant, even working from the original script, would have been better off making his own film-- all the way through-- rather than attempting to duplicate exactly what Hitchcock did with certain scenes. The opening shot of the movie, for instance, and especially the `shower' scene, arguably one of the most famous scenes in the history of the cinema. Copying Hitchcock, from the shots looking directly into the shower head to the one of the drain, and using the same `skree! skree! skree!' sound effects-- even as homage to Hitchcock-- again, only distracted from the story. And, if you factor in the performance of William H. Macy (as Private Eye Arbogast), you have yet another split in the psyche of the film. Macy is a terrific actor-- one of the best character actors in the business-- and his performance here is excellent; but as good as it is, the attitude and delivery are pure David Mamet (with whom he has worked many times), and seemingly out of context with what Van Sant is doing. So the film winds up with a triple personality disorder: Hitchcock, Van Sant and Mamet. I felt like I was watching `House Of Good Will Psycho Games.'
As far as performances go, Macy's was as solid as they come, and Anne Heche (Marion Crane) did a good job of creating an original character, escaping the trap of attempting an imitation of Janet Leigh. The weak links were Viggo Mortensen (Sam), who made Marion's boyfriend so smarmy and unappealing it made you wonder why she had anything to do with him in the first place; and Vince Vaughn, who--to put it as delicately as possible-- was simply awful as Norman Bates. His whole performance was that of an actor playing a role (and not very convincingly at that); affecting effeminate mannerisms and punctuating his speech with `spontaneous' bursts of maniacal laughter made his Norman more of a caricature than a character, altogether unbelievable and pretentious. It gave the movie the feel of a reenactment of a `True Incident' you would see on a television show; it would have been entirely in keeping with the sensibility of the film to cut away from Norman sitting alone in his parlor to a shot of a sober-faced Peter Graves, intoning, `Such was the mind-set of Norman Bates on that fateful, rainy night when Marion Crane stepped out of her car and into his life--' The supporting cast includes Julianne Moore (Lila), Robert Forster (Dr. Simon), Philip Baker Hall (Sheriff Al Chambers), Anne Haney (Mrs. Chambers), Chad Everett (Tom Cassidy), Rance Howard (Mr. Lowery), Rita Wilson (Caroline), James Remar (Patrolman) and James LeGros (Charlie the Car Dealer). If nothing else, Van Sant's `Psycho' is a curiosity that goes to show that having a good director, a predominantly excellent cast and a script that is a proven commodity does not necessarily insure a success. Granted, todays era of psycho-babble, `American Psycho' and Hannibal Lecter have effectively taken the edge off of a character like Norman Bates somewhat; but there is still a singular intimacy in this particular story of the relationship between Norman, his mother and his victims that will forever remain inherently disturbing and terrifying; but Van Sant is unable to convey that sense of dread, that throat-clenching fear, with this film. If ever there was a movie made that should have been earmarked straight-to-video, this is it. Better still, had it never been born. I rate this one 2/10


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