(originally posted on Goodreads on August 7, 2020)
Few films have been the object of as much enduring fascination as Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960), and there's good reason for this. It's one of those rare paradigm-shifting films, like Frankenstein (1931), Citizen Kane (1941), and Bonnie and Clyde (1967). It's also become a urtext for many of the horror films which came afterward, including Roman Polanski's Repulsion (1965), Brian De Palma's Sisters (1973), and Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). In addition it's one of the most complex and interesting of all horror films, and probably represents the peak of Hitchcock's cinematic craftsmanship. I can say from personal experience that the film still retains its power despite many later films topping it in terms of shock and violence, and the fact that at this venture most viewers know its central plot twists going in. Not only that, but the film remains just as rich and compelling, as well as exciting and invigorating, across a number of repeat viewings.
As such, it's not just an appropriate but a perfect subject for a book chronicling the making of a film. Said book, Stephen Rebello's Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of 'Psycho', is one of the greatest books about the making of a film I've read. Although it's a short book, it packs quite a punch: it's as informative and well-researched as it is entertaining and engaging, a perfect match for the film it covers. It's a fascinating look at both Psycho and the man who made it, and covers the film's effect on both audiences and Hitchcock himself.
Rebello starts by recounting the real-life crimes of "Butcher of Plainfield" Ed Gein, and novelist Robert Bloch's decision to loosely base his book Psycho on him. He then chronicles Alfred Hitchcock's decision to turn Bloch's tale of a schizophrenic murderer into his next film, and some of his motivations for doing so- wanting to make a smaller, more intimate film after the big-budget likes of Vertigo (1958) and North by Northwest (1959), his desire to push the limits of sex and violence in the Hollywood cinema. One of his biggest reasons was to one-up Henri-Georges Clouzot, whose grisly shocker Diabolique (1955) had won him acclaim as the "French Hitchcock."
Rebello says Hitchcock and Psycho "seemed like an odd coupling," but this actually isn't the case. Even someone only familiar with Spellbound (1945) and Rear Window (1954) would be able to see what drew Hitchcock to Bloch's novel, and it reflects many of Hitchcock's key preoccupations (people's hidden dark sides, murder, dark plots and schemes). Although Psycho's gruesome violence was unlike anything in Hitchcock's previous films it was a perfect fit for his style and sensibility, and no other Hollywood filmmaker of the time was a better match for Bloch's novel. In fact, the pairing was a match made in heaven- or, more appropriately given the film's macabre subject matter, hell. (Certainly few American filmmakers were bold and daring enough to make a film like Psycho, and none were better-suited to the material than Hitchcock.)
Rebello offers a fascinating look at Hitchcock as a filmmaker, as well as his working methods. He meticulously preplanned his films: he said that "my films are made on paper," and there was little extra footage because he tended to only shoot what was necessary. In truth the actual production of Psycho wasn't particularly eventful, but what is interesting is Hitchcock's filmmaking style: he had a strong mental conception of the film, and was exacting about getting things right. He also wanted his films to be as plausible and believable as possible, and had a level of technical expertise unusual for most directors. (Rebello also highlights Hitchcock's devious side: when he submitted his films to censors he drew their attention with deliberately outre material so what he wanted would be left in- a tactic also used by cartoon director Bob Clampett.)
Rebello also gives an interesting look at Hitchcock as a person, and it's very much a warts-and-all portrait. He had a great deal of personal flaws: he could be vindictive, held grudges easily, had a strong elitist streak, and was unwilling to give credit to his contributors. (The famous story of Saul Bass claiming to have directed the shower scene in Psycho seems to have stemmed from resentment over Hitchcock minimizing his contributions.) He also had a bad habit of becoming obsessively infatuated with his female stars. (The one covered in this book is Vera Miles.)
Still, Hitchcock does emerge as a figure who's able to elicit sympathy. He was shy and socially awkward, took a great deal of pride in his craft and respected those who gave it their all, and deeply craved recognition and validation. (He was nominated for the Best Director Oscar five times but never won.) I think that Hitchcock's struggles with his dark side probably informed his work, and allowed him to have a degree of sympathy for characters like Bruno Anthony and Norman Bates.
The promotion of Psycho has become the stuff of cinematic legend- the way audiences weren't allowed to enter the theater once a showing had started, how the publicity discouraged audiences from spoiling the film's major plot twists, the way Hitchcock played the role of salesman/ huckster with the gusto of William Castle. (In fact, Hitchcock so thoroughly out-Castled Castle that he pivoted to making a number of Psycho-inspired shockers.) It's one thing to grow up with Psycho as an iconic cultural touchstone and know that it was the most shocking and revolutionary American horror film since Frankenstein, but before I read Rebello's book I didn't truly realize how much of a monster hit it really was or how profoundly it scared audiences.
Reading about the release of Psycho I was struck by how similar the public reaction was to that of The Exorcist (1973): audiences went berserk in theaters, there were outraged walkouts, and the film inspired a heated debate about its gruesome content. It was then that it truly hit home for me that Psycho profoundly frightened audiences in a way few horror films have, including Rosemary's Baby (1968), Night of the Living Dead (1968), and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It struck a nerve in a way few films do, and captured the same dark corners of the imagination as the Ed Gein case.
From the mid-'60's onward many directors have made their names with low-budget horror films (Roman Polanski with Repulsion, George Romero with Night of the Living Dead, Brian De Palma with Sisters), and Psycho both precedes this pattern and serves as an interesting variation on it. In this case it turned a major director, who had achieved a level of fame and success few filmmakers do, into a genuine superstar. Psycho was the film that made people start to take notice of how good Hitchcock really was, and he became the most in-vogue filmmaker of the '60's. (Only Jean-Luc Godard could seriously compete for that title.) As the legend and reputation of Psycho grew over the years Hitchcock's subsequent films- The Birds (1963), Marnie (1964), Frenzy (1972)- existed in its shadow.
Hitchcock was unsure of how audiences would react to Psycho, and the furor it generated exceeded his wildest dreams. He said that he was able to predict the audience reaction to his other films, but wasn't able to do that with Psycho. (Anthony Perkins said that one of the aspects that caught Hitchcock most off-guard was the way audiences found the film darkly funny as well as frightening.)
Psycho has struck a chord with audiences in a way few films have, and has deservedly become one of the most iconic films of all time. It continues to frighten and fascinate viewers even when they know its secrets, and Norman Bates has long since supplanted Ed Gein as a cultural boogeyman. The final line of Robert Bloch's sequel novel Psycho II aptly describes the film's enduring appeal: "Norman Bates will never die."
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