
Norman Bates remains a classic anti-hero 50 years after the release of Psycho.
When Psycho was released in 1960, it was criticized for twisting and bending the conventions of the preceding decades of cinema completely out of shape. Then bit by bit it was revealed that director Alfred Hitchcock was correct at every bend.
“We all go a little insane sometimes.” — Norman Bates.
Hitchcock’s unconventional style is clearly evident in the production values of the film: although backed by a major studio, the director chose to work with his television crew. He also made the highly controversial choice to film in black and white. In the era of lush color filmmaking, many considered this as an ill-advised and sacrosanct return to outdated techniques. The result of both these choices, however, was that the film took on a stark character that contributed immensely to its perversely disturbing brand of horror.
In Opening
The famous opening sequence of the film abandons the traditional establishing shot (which moves from the general to the specific) in favor of one almost continuous shot that pans along a city skyline and gradually moves into a window and then into a hotel room, where an adulterous encounter between the main character and her boyfriend is underway. This sequence through space, rather than being a neutral establisher of location, has the added effect of implicating the viewer as a voyeur and witness to this illicit affair from the start. This effect is heightened when we first lay eyes on Marion Crane in a bra, something quite daring for its time (though the white bra suggests she remains morally untainted).
OPENING SCENE OF PSYCHO • Click on each image for a larger view.
Stills taken from DVD of the film.
We are forced to bear witness to and become coconspirators in her eventual crime of stealing money from her boss (soon after that we see her half naked again, but now in a black bra). The viewer unwittingly becomes complicit in her plight and shares her burden of guilt. This form of identification is very important in the cinema of Hitchcock, and it is soon revealed why.
The scenes of Marion’s crime and her getaway drive through the rain to a remote hotel lead to a completely unexpected scene that takes the film in a radical new direction. Designed by Hitchcock in collaboration with ridiculously talented graphic designer Saul Bass, it is the most famous scene of the film, and probably the single most quoted sequence in film history. It is also an example of expressionistic editing and of the power of film to invoke strong emotions, in this case of extreme terror. It is, in fact, the only moment of gratuitous shock (as opposed to suspense) in Hitchcock’s entire career. (In case you haven’t seen Psycho, I’ve hidden this and other spoilers so as not to ruin your enjoyment of the film. Otherwise, click on “Show” to reveal the hidden text.)
Theory of Suspense
Alfred Hitchock is credited as the Master of Suspense because he is arguably the first director to make an effective and clear distinction between suspense and shock, which is much easier to achieve but ultimately much less effective: “There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.” In a conversation with François Truffaut, he famously gave the following example to illustrate.
We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let us suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, “Boom!” There is an explosion. Then the public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware that the bomb is going to explode at one o’clock and there is a clock in the décor.
The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions this same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: “You shouldn’t be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it’s about to explode!”
In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible, the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story.
In the surprise (a.k.a. shock) situation, the abruptness of the explosion causes a jolt that lasts a few seconds. In the suspense situation, on the other hand, the audience knows the bomb is there but the characters do not, and this dramatic irony creates a degree of tension as the audience wonders if the characters are going to notice the bomb in time to escape before it explodes.
What the MacGuffin?
Not only was Hitchcock the originator of a clear and well-defined theory of suspense in cinema, he also invented what came to be known as the MacGuffin, an object that propels the film forward and motivates its characters. The nature of the object itself, however, is arbitrary and of minimal importance. What is important is that everyone wants it. In a conversation with François Truffaut, Hitchcock explains.
It’s the device, the gimmick, if you will, or the papers the spies are after. I’ll tell you about it. Most of Kipling’s stories, as you know, were set in India, and they dealt with the fighting between the natives and the British forces on the Afghanistan border. Many of them were spy stories, and they were concerned with the efforts to steal the secret plans out of a fortress. The theft of secret documents was the original MacGuffin. So the “MacGuffin” is the term we use to cover all that sort of thing: to steal plans or documents, or discover a secret, it doesn’t matter what it is. And the logicians are wrong in trying to figure out the truth of a MacGuffin, since it’s besides the point. The only thing that really matters is that in the picture the plans, documents, or secrets must seem to be of vital importance to the characters.
To me, the narrator, they’re of no importance whatever.
It is interesting to play “spot the MacGuffin” with Hitchcock’s films, as it is not always immediately obvious what it is. The key is to look for the object/space that motivates the plot.
In Closing
Even though in Hitchcock’s films the MacGuffin is always meaningless, it is such a powerful component of the plot that when it is finally obtained, the result is the complete unwinding (what writers and filmmakers call the dénouement) of the enigmatic space of the film into a blandly lucid surface. This is taken to a literal level in the ending of Psycho.
Some filmmakers think in a manner very similar to architects, where the work is largely conceived in the filmmaker’s mind before a single frame of film is shot. Alfred Hitchcock always had such a clear idea of how he would compose his film – the positioning of his props, actors (which he infamously referred to as “cattle”), lights and camera itself – that he did not even look through the camera lens during filming. The film was already complete in his head before production even began – “I invented it in my solitude, and I now just have to go out and make it.” According to Janet Leigh, who played the ill-fated Marion Crane,
I went [to Hitchcock’s] home for tea and to be introduced to his modus operandi. It was awesome. In his mind, and sketched on the pages of his script, the film was already shot. He showed me the model sets and moved the miniature camera through the tiny furniture toward the wee dolls, exactly the way he intended to do it in “reel” life. He was meticulously thorough.
Just like an architect, one might add.
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock • Starring Anthony Perkins, Vera Miles, Janet Leigh and Martin Balsam
This story is from Meedo’s upcoming book montagespace: Cinema and the Making, Un-Making and Re-Making of Architecture. Please feel free to contact us for more details and read related stories here.