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user\nThis is, per se, an above average film but why in the name of Bog was it made? It's impossible to treat it as a thing unto itself because it is an almost shot-for-shot remake of an Alfred Hitchcock classic of 1960. You can't watch it without the 1960 film nudging into your consciousness.
What does the word \"credit\" mean? How can we credit Van Sandt and his associates with anything except deciding to use different actors, slightly different sets, and color?
Anne Heche is attractive but lacks Janet Leigh's stolid determination to become a respectable middle-class woman. And Heche is younger than Leigh, who brought to her fruitless attempt to marry and settle down, the desperation of a woman facing forty. And Heche doesn't project anxiety the way Leigh did. The scene with the CHP officer looking in her car window illustrates the weakness in the role. In the original, the officer asks, \"Is there something wrong?\" Leigh: \"Of course not. Am I acting as if something were wrong?\" The officer hesitates before replying: \"Well, frankly, yes.\" That exchange is omitted from the remake for the simple reason that Heche isn't nervous enough.
The worst change, without a doubt, is the substitution of Vince Vaughn for Anthony Perkins. It may not be Vaughn's fault. Who could match Perkins in the role? Perkins is twitchy, bird-like, long-necked, cloaked in an externally charming exterior that masks an inner vacuum. His every move (eating candy corn, with his adam's apple bobbing) and every utterance, the faint laugh, the arid chuckle, is spot on. He just can't be improved upon. Vaughn brings to the role the presence of a short-haired beefy guy who was just discharged as a Lance Corporal from the U. S. Army. To suggest his psychosis all he can do is superimpose a maniacal giggle on top of what appears otherwise a perfectly normal Norman in speech and manner. (Unlike the original Norman, Vaughn doesn't even stumble over the word \"fallacy\" because it resembles \"phallus\".) He could be just hanging around the motel waiting to hear about his application for a football scholarship to UCLA.
The direction deserves a few comments. I don't see what it adds to the story when we see Norman masturbating while peeping in on Anne Heche. I don't OBJECT to it. I wonder why it's there, just as I wonder why the rest of the movie is there.
And, I suppose in order to impress us with how much color adds to the visual experience, Van Sant seems to have missed a bit of Hitchcock's more subtle stuff. Heche is given underwear of all different colors -- green, pink, orange, and -- mango? Is that a color? If so, what the hell color is it? Never mind. The point is that in the original, when the traveling camera first peeks through the window of the Phoenix hotel it captures Janet Leigh in bed wearing a pure white half slip and a white bra. Later, after she has stolen the money, we see her in her underwear again -- this time both her slip and bra are black. Tis a small thing, but Hitch's own.
At that, the idea of shooting in color might not have been bad except that the black-and-white shooting of the original was superb. The color and odd lighting effects in this version turn the ordinary, dull, and subliminally ominous motel into something that looks like it belongs in the seedier part of Las Vegas.
Most of all, the 1960 film was shocking in more ways than one. I can remember seeing it in a drive-in in San Diego and staring aghast at the screen when it became clear that the central character was actually DEAD -- half-way through the movie! Nothing like it had ever been done before.
That murder in the shower, in both movies, was a big improvement over Robert Bloch's original novel, by the way, in which the author writes something like, \"The murderer then entered the bathroom and cut off her head with a knife.\" I'm not making that up. Well, not entirely. Even here, Van Sant's movie gives us excess. There is more blood and more bare flesh. And where Hitchcock closed in first on the blood circling the bathtub drain and dissolved to Marian's blankly open eye, then pulled the camera back slowly to reveal her face, he rotated his camera from a slight tilt to the proper vertical, giving the viewer a sense of not just disbelief at the murder, but a dizzying disbelief. Van Sant doesn't tilt his camera a delicate 10 or 20 degrees as Hitchcock did. He practically twirls it on its axis.
It won't do to call this a bow to Hitchcock because it's not. It's a pecuniary plundering of Hitchcock's material (already ripped off in \"Psycho\" I, II, III, IV, and \"Psycho: The Beginning Years\", and \"Come Into My Parlor: Mrs. Bates' Revenge,\" and \"Hand Me That Knife, Would You?: The TRUE story of Norman Bates.\") A rehashing of and grinding away at truly original stuff, a crumenal act if not a criminal one. And that's not to mention the many homages in other films, especially the French, such as the notorious \"ocean of boredom\" scenes between Marcel Brulee and Jeanne Gateau in the much-admired \"La Mere de la Nuit.\" (Maybe I'd better add that that last sentence is a terrible attempt at a parody of academic critics. And when a chicken's guts grind corn, it's a \"crumenal\" act. I won't go on except to say these gags, shabby as they are, are more fun than the movie.)
So who was it made for? I'd have to guess. Kids who are too young to know about the original and who don't like movies in black and white? Kids who are hoping to see another ordinary slasher movie? Chimpanzees?
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