In the afternoon and early evening of Sunday, March 1, F.I.L.M. screened three movies themed around Alfred Hitchcock’s
Psycho
. The original 1960 version was shown at 12:00 p.m., while Gus Van Sant’s remake and Sasha Gervasi’s biopic were screened at 3:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m., respectively.
Despite how much
Psycho
has been analyzed over the years, Hitchcock’s suspenseful masterpiece still delivers a rollercoaster of anxiety. The infamous shower scene is only a tiny portion of the movie’s suspense: from the moment the opening credits roll, viewers are subjected to Bernard Herrmann’s frantic strings and see a screen slashed apart by stripes, courtesy of artist Saul Bass. It is an introduction that is meant to deeply unsettle the audience, foreshadowing the turbulent scenes to come.
Throughout the film, Hitchcock emphasizes duality in his characters. From her pure white clothing to her career dedication, Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) initially feels level-headed and rational. Even when she is exiting a hotel tryst with boyfriend Sam Loomis, she emphasizes to him that she wants “respectability” the next time they meet. However, the same Marion Crane later goes on a reckless drive to Sam’s town with $40,000 stolen from her company’s client, smirking with satisfaction when she thinks of the reaction the client will have. Costume designer Rita Riggs gradually darkens Marion’s wardrobe to symbolically reflect the change in her morality.
Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) also shows this duality in a more prominent way. Perkins initially gives a charming boyishness to his character, depicting him as an innocent victim under the rule of a tyrannical mother. However, Norman’s first disturbing change in morality happens when Marion suggests he put his mother in a mental ward — in a vehement rant that causes emotional whiplash, Norman condemns mental institutions and insists that his mother only needs him to survive. The other case of Norman’s duality is revealed at the end of the movie, a point so crucial to the narrative that writing it down would deprive first-time viewers of a fantastic movie-watching experience. Ultimately, both Marion and Norman’s behavior oscillate between rational and irrational. Hitchcock suggests that people have two different sides — especially those in his audience who possess a rational desire to be entertained and a morbid desire to see a frightening experience onscreen.
In Gus Van Sant’s
Psycho
, however, Hitchcock’s theme of duality is washed away in a sea of neon. The 1998 movie is a shot-for-shot remake of its predecessor, with Bernard Herrmann’s score and most lines of dialogue kept intact. What has changed from the 1960 version is the integration of nineties culture, color instead of black and white film and the portrayals of the protagonists.
Rather than presenting a complex argument of human psychology, Van Sant’s
Psycho
focuses on visceral shock. Its colors, striking and lurid, sensationalize the story’s appalling behavior and violence. The performances of both Anne Heche as Marion Crane and Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates are conniving, seen in how Marion laughs while packing her getaway suitcase and Norman masturbates while looking through the peephole behind an office painting. Even the nods to the nineties feel like tactics meant to surprise the audience. Julianne Moore’s Lila Crane is a clear nineties girl, from her Walkman to her muted brown outfit to her attitude. Moore’s Lila is more demanding and aggressive than her Hitchcock counterpart: the nineties were a more accepting time for women to openly express their frustration, so this portrayal makes sense, but because audiences are used to seeing Lila as just a worried sister, the change is simultaneously jarring. Unlike its predecessor, Van Sant’s
Psycho
prioritizes shock value and attempts to unsettle the audience with deviations from the original film.
In contrast, Sacha Gervasi’s
Hitchcock
(2012) takes an entirely different approach by focusing on Hitchcock’s personal life and the 1959 production process of
Psycho
. Anthony Hopkins and Helen Mirren, in their depictions of Alfred Hitchcock and Alma Reville, bounce humorous lines off each other like any old married couple but also have moments of intense tenderness and frustration as
Psycho
goes into production.
The movie emphasizes how Reville kept Hitchcock’s production of the film afloat as she did for decades with his previous films, a choice that reminds audience members of her influence. The movie also makes the interesting choice to juxtapose Hitchcock’s moments of crisis with scenes from the life of Ed Gein, the serial killer whose crimes acted as source material for Robert Bloch’s novel and Hitchcock’s subsequent film. Gervasi seems to suggest that Hitchcock himself was poised on the brink of madness while making
Psycho
.
However, the film is, at its heart, an homage to the director: Gervasi makes this obvious from the very first scene, which is framed like an introduction to an episode of
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
, Hitchcock’s television series that presented mini-dramas and thrillers. Gervasi decorates Hitchcock’s rooms with bird statues, has his camera gaze over polaroids of Hitchcock blondes, and even references the director’s mistreatment of actresses in a scene where Hitchcock attempts to push Janet Leigh into character by hurling vitriolic insults at her. Gervasi takes great pains to address every famous motif in Hitchcock’s work, and overall,
Hitchcock
feels like a respectful tribute to the Master of Suspense.
Though extensive, the
Psycho
F.I.L.M. event highlighted one of the most acclaimed works of Hitchcock’s career and provided important context for the movie and the man behind its camera, encouraging audiences to take a closer look and appreciate the artistic genius and complexity of
Psycho
.
