Review: Psycho
If the most cited failing of a remake is its woebegone attempt to either modernize or severely alter the original, then why not take the route Gus Van Sant did in his version of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho? Remakes almost always merit scoffs of disbelief but remakes of classic films don't just invite jeers, they tempt outright crucifixion. So whether Van Sant's Psycho succeeds or fails -- and it does both in surprisingly interesting ways -- one has to applaud the idiosyncratic director for his sheer nerve in taking on one of the most revered films of all time and, in the process, giving critics exactly what they've been griping about. Of course, the critics will continue to grouse. That's what they do.
First of all, Van Sant doesn't improve on the classic, which is the motivation behind most remakes. Besides, I don't believe that is his intention. Faithfully recreating the original's camera setups, dialogue, music, and opening sequence alone proves that. Van Sant presents Psycho as one big experiment. Remakes tend to fall flat because what worked in a more naive and believing time can't be recreated in today's hyperly aware climate. Sensibilities are the bane of remakes, sensibilities are what prompt the reworkings and modernizings. By addressing this issue -- though Van Sant's Psycho is set in 1998, it nods at its retro past especially in the costuming of the characters -- Van Sant (in)advertently shows us that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Nearly thirty years have passed since the original brought forth the story of a young woman named Marion Crane (Anne Heche), who has lunchtime rendezvous with her lover Sam Loomis (Viggo Mortensen). Compelled to steal money from her office to help Sam with his debts, she drives up to meet her lover so that they may begin their new life together. Plagued by nervousness -- does the traffic cop (James Remar) suspect her? What about the car dealer (James LeGros) from whom she bought a car? -- she's forced by a night of blinding rain to turn off into the Bates Motel. There she meets Norman Bates (Vince Vaughn), an affable but off-kilter young man weighted down by a controlling invalid of a mother who lives in the gloomy mansion next to the motel. He checks Marion in, serves her a dinner of sandwiches in the motel office parlor and, in listening to the young man's emotionally tortured life, Marion realizes she must right her own wrong before it's too late to step out of the trap she's set for herself. Unfortunately, she's stabbed in the shower by Norman's mother and Norman, ever his mother's boy, cleans up her mess and disposes of the body. The remainder of the film chronicles the attempts of Sam, Marion's sister Lila (Julianne Moore) and a private investigator named Arbogast (William H. Macy) to uncover Marion's whereabouts. Their investigation unlocks a shocking secret: Norman Bates' mother is dead. Who killed Marion?
Hitchcock was once asked why he never shot Psycho in color. He replied, ". . .because of the blood. That was the only reason. With all the blood in that bathtub, I knew very well I'd have had the whole sequence cut out -- if it had been in color." The introduction of color has been Van Sant's only significant change and, yes, it adds another layer of shock to the notorious shower scene. However, it's still the editing, Bernard Hermann's stabbing score and the sound effects that provide the power. You never see Marion getting stabbed yet your memory tricks you into believing otherwise. Interestingly, the color sterilizes the film. The black and white cinematography of Hitchcock's Psycho managed to convey a sense of rot and decay, of the repression and erosion of Norman's mind.
It is the passing of time, however, that depletes the power and shock of the last revelation. Vaughn is a big boy and it is quite silly to see him clad in a wig and dress but our collective consciousness has been immunized to such sights. Talk shows are full of transvestites and cross-dressers and they're almost always played for laughs. And for a generation with short attention spans, sitting through Psycho may be a bit of an ordeal. The shower scene forecasted the MTV-cutting style so prevalent today but one has to remember that two-thirds of Psycho was and is devoted to an almost wordless unraveling of a human psyche. Van Sant inserts quick peeks of Norman's subconscious during Arbogast's stabbing and expresses what Hitchcock could not in the scene where Norman is looking at Marion through the peephole. Yes, Norman masturbates and his limited expression of sexuality sets off Mother.
As in any revival of a play, it is the performers' interpretations that breathe new life to a well-known tale. What's intriguing is how either Van Sant cast to contrast with the original players or the actors chose to play the reverse of the original actors' characterizations. Martin Balsam's burly Arbogast is replaced with an almost innocuous-looking Macy. Moore makes for a more forceful Lila than Vera Miles. Mortensen is a little more redneck while John Gavin displayed a more debonair charm. Janet Leigh was a thoroughly modern Marion, Heche emphasizes the character's vulnerabilities without sacrificing modernity - her deliciously expressive face carries the first half of the film. Vaughn is certainly not Anthony Perkins and he shouldn't be: he is playing Norman Bates, not Anthony Perkins and it's quite a task as Bates and Perkins are indelibly linked. Critics will likely disagree with the eccentricities Vaughn contributes to the role, most notably that strange laughing gas laugh but, make no mistake, the performance is spot-on. Norman Bates has never grown up, the notion of time has been lost in his world. Like a little boy, he can be playful, indignant, defensive, and shockingly pained.
The psychological and emotional centerpiece of Psycho has always been the meeting between Marion and Norman for it is that moment when sanity falls into the dark abyss. The parlor room scene shifts from awkward conversation -- Norman chatters on about his taxidermic pursuits -- to connective before ending in a loaded tension. But the connection is what resonates. "A boy's best friend is his mother," Norman exclaims before musing, "We're all in our private trap. We scratch and claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it we never budge an inch." There's a poignancy that suffuses Vaughn's reading and the sympathy in Heche's eyes underscores it. Knowing how the film will turn out also brings an ironic melancholy when Norman acknowledges his feelings for his mother and for what both of them have become: "I hate what she's become. I hate the illness." Sometimes we do go a little mad sometimes, and Vaughn and Heche make this flawed but fascinating second go around worth watching.
Psycho
Directed by: Gus Van Sant
Written by: Joseph Stefano, adapted from Robert Bloch's novel
Starring: Vince Vaughn, Anne Heche, Julianne Moore, Viggo Mortensen, William H. Macy, Robert Forster
