Psycho

Numerous critics had already sharpened their knives even before Gus Van Sant's shot-for-shot color "re-creation" of the 1960 black-and-white Hitchcock classic was released, chiding the Good Will Hunting director for defiling hallowed ground. This intriguing cinematic curiosity, though, is hardly as sacrilegious as critics would lead you to believe. If anything, Van Sant doesn't take enough liberties with his almost slavish devotion to the material, now updated with modern references. At times, you wish Van Sant would cut loose with a little spontaneity, a little energy, a little something. Unfortunately, when he does venture outside Hitchcock's parameters, with inserted shots of storm clouds during the murder sequences, it's to little effect. Granted, he liberally splashes color throughout the film (especially in the case of the infamous shower scene), and this is a great-looking movie, but in his obsession with adding a new physical dimension to the film, there's little insight into these characters that Hitchcock hadn't already provided. Vince Vaughn, a robotic and giggly Norman, doesn't crawl under your skin the way boy-next-door Anthony Perkins did, and Anne Heche is admirable if not very sympathetic in the Janet Leigh role. Van Sant does score a minor coup, though, in his casting of the supporting roles: Julianne Moore provides a welcome shot of energy as Heche's irritable and curious sister, William H. Macy is a perfect small-time detective, Viggo Mortensen is studly enough to make you understand why Heche would want to run away with him, and James LeGros walks away with his one brief scene as a used car salesman. And Danny Elfman's gorgeous rerecording of Bernard Herrmann's score is a potent supporting character unto itself. Students and fans of the original film will get a kick out of the modern revisions, but don't expect anything of Hitchcockian caliber; watch it for the sum of its intriguing parts, but not the whole. --Mark Englehart

Director(s): Alfred Hitchcock
Production: Paramount Pictures
  Nominated for 4 Oscars. Another 5 wins & 9 nominations.
 
IMDB:
8.5
Metacritic:
97
Rotten Tomatoes:
97%
R (Restricted)
Year:
1960
109
19,839 Views
A new — and altogether different — screen excitement!!!
No one ... BUT NO ONE ... will be admitted to the theatre after the start of each performance of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.
It is required that you see Psycho from the very beginning!
Don't give away the ending — it's the only one we have!
The screen's master of suspense moves his camera into the icy blackness of the unexplained!
The master of suspense moves his cameras into the icy blackness of the unexplored! (window card)
Exploring the blackness of the subconscious man!

Norman:
The rain didn't last long, did it? [Pause] You know what I think? I think that we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out. We scratch and we claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.

Marion:
Sometimes, we deliberately step into those traps.

Norman:
I was born in mine. I don't mind it anymore.

Marion:
Oh, but you should! You should mind it!

Norman:
Oh, I do, [laughs] but I say I don't.

Marion:
You know, if anyone ever talked to me the way I heard — the way she spoke to you...

Norman:
Sometimes — when she talks to me like that — I feel I'd like to go up there, and curse her, and-and-and leave her forever! Or at least defy her! But I know I can't. She's ill.

Marion:
She sounded strong.

Norman:
No, I mean... ill. She had to raise me all by herself after my father died. I was only five and it must have been quite a strain for her. She didn't have to go to work or anything like that. He left her a little money. Anyway, a few years ago, Mother met this man, and he talked her into building this motel. He could have talked her into anything. And when he died too, it was just too great a shock for her. And, and the way he died. I guess it's nothing to talk about while you're eating. Anyway, it was just too great a loss for her. She had nothing left.

Marion:
Except you.

Norman:
A son is a poor substitute for a lover.

Marion:
Why don't you go away?

Norman:
To a private island, like you?

Marion:
No, not like me.

Norman:
I couldn't do that. Who'd look after her? She'd be alone up there. The fire would go out. It'd be cold and damp like a grave. If you love someone, you don't do that to them - even if you hate them. You understand that I don't hate her. I hate what she's become. I hate the illness.

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