MovieChat Forums > Psycho (1960) Discussion > "Psycho" and "The Magnetic Porch"

"Psycho" and "The Magnetic Porch"


Here's a re-visit to an old topic:

One of my personal pleasures in Psycho is its choreography: how the actors move and how the camera moves, often in tandem.

And no greater visual/visceral pleasure exists than when three key characters find themselves in the grip of "the magnetic porch" at the Bates Motel.

First: Marion Crane.

Having driven up in a driving rainstorm, Marion checks out the empty motel office and finds herself drawn back out to the porch. The camera tracks with her to the edge of the porch and she looks up. POV: The Bates Mansion. Our first clear view of it in the movie(though it was "vaguely there" in the background as Marion drove up) and...its galvanic. The house's wood sides look like Reptilian skin as the rain drips down them; and then we get another shot of Marion, and then we get THE POV: Closer. Mother's brightly lit window. And Mother...moving across the window in a perfectly captured mix of the "ghostly"(she's in shadow/silouhetter) and the "corporeal"(we can make up her human detail: the flower patterns on her dress; her gray bunned hair.) Mrs. Bates moves across that window in a scary "glide." She's a bit inhuman, too.

Second: Norman Bates

After Norman has taken that fateful/fatal peep through the peephole at Naked Marion, his face clouds with anger and resolve. Hitchcock follows Norman out of the parlor, out thorugh the office...and then onto that 'magnetic porch," the camera at once following alongside Norman and pulling back slightly to "make room" for his walk. But Hitchcock never cuts back far from Norman: he "travels the close-up" and gets Norman to the edge of that porch and gets NORMAN's POV of the house. Whereupon we get a shot of Norman climbing the hill to the house.

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Third: Arbogast

Arbogast has TWO magnetic porch experiences. The first one comes the first time that he exits the Bates Motel office as Norman walks down to Cabin One with clean sheets.

Arbogast is drawn in the other direction(the "magnetic" direction) to the edge of the porch and HIS POV of the house: Crystal clear in the dusky light of early evening. And Mother's in the window, seated, not moving. (How clever: Norman is now next to Arbogast, so Mother CAN'T MOVE. But since we saw her move earlier, we assume she's a separate, living being.)

"There's someone in the window," is Arbogast's self-endangering observation to Norman and reflects how the "magnetic porch" is actually quite deadly: for if a character follows that magnetic pull...and sees the house...and sees MOTHER. Well, they are doomed (Marion and Arbogast.)

And as for Norman taking that "magnetic walk," he is doomed in a different way. For he believes that Mother is alive and she dominates him and draws him up to her house.

Note that neither Sam, nor Lila, nor the combination of Sam and Lila...are ever shown walking the magnetic porch to the edge and gazing up at the house. They are not killed. It is as if neither the house nor Mother was allowed to "possess them" and set them up for death. (I'd figured that once Norman knows that Marion and Arbogast have become aware of Mother, subconsciously, Norman knows "they gotta go.")

For her part, Lila makes HER approach to the house from another angle entirely..the hill behind the back of the house, not from the porch.


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Meanwhile, back at Arbogast:

Arbogast's SECOND magnetic porch experience is his fatal one. He returns to the motel, parks, investigates the office and the parlor and then...takes one last "magnetic porch" walk to the end of the porch. POV: the house in the moonlight, window lit...no mother in view(but she's hiding from him, waiting to kill him or...something else is happening?)

Arbogast then takes the best walk up the hill in the movie -- crystal clear and atmospheric in view whereas Norman's moves up and down the hill are always against "blurry backgrounds." And of course, Arbogast dies this time...fulfilling his "magnetic porch" doom much as Marion fulfilled hers.

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One critic in 1960 complained that Hitchocck "shows that house too much, it gets irritating." Au contraire. Hitchcock actually saves the views of the house for key moments, usually when a key character (Marion, Norman, Arbogast) looks up at it. Often Hitchcock rather entirely ignores the house -- as when Marion talks with Norman in the parlor and Arbogast talks with Norman in the office.

The house is magnificently given a "final look" in broad, merciless daylight when Sam and Lila come to call. But they will survive.

The "magnetic porch' and its fatal POV images of the Bates Mansion, are what Psycho is all about, choreography-wise, terror-wise, and death-wise.

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A belated praise for your bringing up the "magnetic porch" business, ECarle. Old posts and old threads should never die. I hope the Internet archive has all the ones from the old IMDB.

Yes, Hitchcock was masterful every step of the way. Analyzing Psycho like this can be a joy, akin to watching a great composer on PBS going over in every detail each movement of a Beethoven symphony,--for over two hours! Only here it's sometimes longer.

Similar uses of images or places occur in classic films and even on old TV series. One only has to think of the allure of Skull Island in the two Kong pictures; or of Shangri-La in Lost Horizon; while in The Wizard Of Oz there are many striking images, from the cyclone, with its eerie and, as things turn out, prescient image of Miss Gulch bicycling her way through the storm. Then there's the wondrous Lollipopland, and of course the both alluring and foribidding yellow brick road. The film is full of magnets, albeit of a different type than Psycho's porch.

Oz's Emerald city is a joy, just as, later on, the weird fortress of a castle of the wicked witch is magnetically diabolical. These images don't linger so long, yet they are magnetic, and at the time using such tropes was part of the art of making movies. Gone With The Wind is full of them, with Tara being Scarlett O'Hara's "magnet". Citizen Kane has magnets, too, especially later on, when Castle Xanadu casts its dark shadow on Kane's sad and angry later years. It's A Wonderful Life has many "magnets", one of the biggest being the old Granville house that George dreams of owning some day.

As to Mr. Hitchcock, there are other, mostly lesser Hitchcock magnets than the Bates porch. Maderley in Rebecca comes to mind. There are many others, with, for my money, Rear Window's magnificent courtyard set drawing the film's protagonist into the lives of its inhabitants, and nearly, in the end, costing him his own life. Like Arbogast, he also takes a fall; lucky for him, not fatal.

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A belated praise for your bringing up the "magnetic porch" business, ECarle. Old posts and old threads should never die. I hope the Internet archive has all the ones from the old IMDB.

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A lot of the imdb threads have been moved over here -- it was as if they were "brought back from the dead." I've bumped a few of them where I feel the topic is worthy of some new discussion.

But at times, I like to "freshen it up a bit" by returning to a discussion in a new way. That's how I feel about "the magnetic porch," and I'm happy that you took the time to find this new version of an old post and comment on it.

I like to remind people that I haven't always and exclusively posted on Psycho. About ten years ago on imdb, my specialty was looking at stars and their careers, and for some reason one OTHER movie -- Hombre -- drew a lot of discussion I participated in.

I sort of have a feeling that, as part of my "life's legacy"(meager though it may be), I'm leaving behind some of my thoughts on Psycho because I am of an age to bring a little bit more to the table on its release years than the younger crowd. Irony: I'm not talking about the 1960 release, which I don't remember though I was alive then. I'm talking about all that stuff we all know I talk about -- re-releases, CBS misfire, local showings, revival houses, VHS -- to create a sense of how that one movie "haunted three decades" and created a magnetic north for certain film buffs to launch their movie love from.

And speaking of a "magnetic north" for film making, I feel that the "magnetic porch" in Psycho is key to how it works, how the camera moves and shot compositions pull us in, how the actors rise to a certain great level simply by participating IN these shots(its THEIR POVs.) Even Herrmann's music fits. When Arbogast takes his second look at the house(before climbing the hill to his death), Herrmann's music is right there with the "three notes of madness" that = Mrs. Bates persona "in musical form."



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Those (so-called) small touches are often, when added up, what makes a movie great, raises it from the ordinary or very good to classic. Psycho is full of them, more so than most Hitchcock movies, as if the director was "bearing down" on it, determined to make it perfect even as, based on interviews, he appeared to not be trying any harder than usual, regarding Psycho as a kind of throwaway black comedy. I wonder if the movie's become such a first, box-office blowout, and a highly influential one at that; then a classic, much revered by movie buffs,--all kinds, really--bothered him at some level. He maybe feared, and I sense this watching his TV intros to the half-hour series, that he would give himself away. His public persona was a very mannered one, formal, almost kabuki-like, and one can't help but wonder if he was hiding behind it, as if it were a mask, which of course it sort of was.

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Yes, Hitchcock was masterful every step of the way. Analyzing Psycho like this can be a joy, akin to watching a great composer on PBS going over in every detail each movement of a Beethoven symphony,--for over two hours! Only here it's sometimes longer.

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I came to my fanship of Hitchcock first through his promotional showmanship -- he was a FUN movie icon to get into what with the thrillers, the TV show, the children's books --- but I stayed once I came to learn and love his techniques. How the camera moves -- and how the actors move -- in the magnetic porch scenes ARE like a symphony, one derives pleasure not from the "plot"(which is nonetheless a great one) but from the FEELINGS such movement entails.

Michael Caine was on a talk show once before he won his Oscars and said "I've never won an Oscar because I haven't gotten a movie where I look up and gaze at something." He stood from his chair and assumed that stance. "Ya see?" he told the amused interviewer. "If an actor gets to look up and gaze at something, it makes his acting seem profound." Well, that's what Leigh, Perkins, and Balsam get to do on the magnetic porch: look up and gaze at That House.

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Similar uses of images or places occur in classic films and even on old TV series.

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Nice to trigger some other examples from you, here, telegonus. Its a key aspect of the movies, isn't it? Magnetizing OUR gaze even as we watch the characters gaze.

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Similar uses of images or places occur in classic films and even on old TV series. One only has to think of the allure of Skull Island in the two Kong pictures; or of Shangri-La in Lost Horizon;

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In both cases, we are "going to a special place of awe and wonder" and the movie carefully builds up to the reveal. Psycho does that too, on a much smaller scale: we're going to the Bates Motel and the Bates House, and as Hitchcock's tour guide trailer demonstrates, this too is a "place of awe and wonder." Except its very scary as such, a labyrinthe of sudden death.


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while in The Wizard Of Oz there are many striking images, from the cyclone, with its eerie and, as things turn out, prescient image of Miss Gulch bicycling her way through the storm. Then there's the wondrous Lollipopland, and of course the both alluring and foribidding yellow brick road. The film is full of magnets, albeit of a different type than Psycho's porch.

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We American baby boomers remember how Oz got an Annual Showing on broadcast TV in the 60s and 70s, and was treated like a National Holiday -- or a visit to a National Monument. The visual dynamics of that film were embedded into our young minds and stayed there forever. I will note that the nightscape of the Witches castle on the cliffside at the climax to me rather foreshadows Mount Rushmore and Vandamm's house in NXNW 20 years later -- in both venues, there is a damsel in distress who must be rescued.

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Oz's Emerald city is a joy,

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For years as a kid, I thought the shot of Dorothy and Company advancing on Oz was filmed with a REAL CITY out there. Now I know its a painted backdrop. But WHAT a painted backdrop.

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just as, later on, the weird fortress of a castle of the wicked witch is magnetically diabolical.

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I guess I should add that even as the Cliffside castle reminds me of Vandamm's place on Rushmore, it certainly anticipates the Psycho house, too -- and folks have said that Mrs. Bates in look and voice is rather...a Wicked Witch.

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These images don't linger so long,

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Nor do Hitchcock's shots of the Psycho house -- just enough to "get a flavorful bite" and then they are taken away from us.

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yet they are magnetic, and at the time using such tropes was part of the art of making movies.

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I think so. Art directors helped directors pick out "the major sets and major landscapes" around which a movie could generate its power. A lot of them are houses: GWTW, Rebecca, Kane, Giant(sort of the Psycho house on steroids.)

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Gone With The Wind is full of them, with Tara being Scarlett O'Hara's "magnet". Citizen Kane has magnets, too, especially later on, when Castle Xanadu casts its dark shadow on Kane's sad and angry later years. It's A Wonderful Life has many "magnets", one of the biggest being the old Granville house that George dreams of owning some day.

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The high angle shot of the Granville house in the snow was used by some TV company as its "logo" at the end of episodes. Thirtysomething, maybe?

Back to Psycho: the great gimmick, there, of course, is that the house is only half of the magnetic force. The MOTEL is the other part, and its where the horrific shower murder takes place. (The film is wonderfully symmetrical: one murder at the motel, one murder in the house.) Characters on the magnetic porch are technically at the motel.

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As to Mr. Hitchcock, there are other, mostly lesser Hitchcock magnets than the Bates porch. Maderley in Rebecca comes to mind.

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"Last night, I dreamed I went back to Manderley." This house likely had all the magnetism of the Psycho house in its time, but today it looks a bit too much like the model minature that it is. Hitchcock's later house dwarfed his earlier house.

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There are many others, with, for my money, Rear Window's magnificent courtyard set drawing the film's protagonist into the lives of its inhabitants, and nearly, in the end, costing him his own life.

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That's a great one. I guess you could say that the courtyard of apartments in Rear Window is the equivalent of the motel/house area in Psycho. These are "arenas of life, death, and terror" and very special movie spaces. You never forget them once you've been there.

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Like Arbogast, he also takes a fall; lucky for him, not fatal.

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One Hitchcock skeptic-friend of mine once asked "is all James Stewart did in Hitchcock movies was to hang from high places? Its roughly the same shot at the climax of Rear Window and in the opening scene of Vertigo. To which I replied: "No, he doesn't hang in Rope or The Man Who Knew Too Much."

But at least he didn't fall(Vertigo) or survived his fall (Rear Window.)

Others were not so lucky in Foreign Correspondent, Saboteur, Vertigo(one cop, two women), NXNW(two on Rushmore, one shot dead before he falls), and Topaz (DuBois survives his fall; Jarre does not.)

But those were all free falls from high places. Arbogast takes that historic, weird-funny, "backwards walk" down the stairs in Psycho...falling only at the very end, to the floor and his follow-up death not from the fall, but from Mrs. Bates knife.

In 1966, Paul Newman fell FORWARD down the stairs in a similar effect(almost an Arbogast homage) in Torn Curtain. Newman survived.

(More replys to your other posts coming soon, telegonus. Thanks for checking in.)

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No Stewart doesn't hang or fall in Rope or The Man Who Knew Too Much but "height", architecturally, was a factor in both, implicitly in Rope, at the end, when Stewart's mentor character fires a shot out the window, more explicitly at the end of The Man Who Knew Too Much, with the cutting from the balcony to the people sitting down in the theater.

But then Hitchcock seemed fond of (or maybe fearful of) high places. His use of them goes way back, to at least The 39 Steps, in its climactic scene of the daughter on the rooftop. We've probably done this before but,--spoilers, ahoy!--there's also Edmund Gwenn's tumble in Foreign Correspondent, the scenes on the cliff in Suspicion, as well as Joan Fontaine's nightmare of a falling Beaky. The status of liberty of Saboteur and the falling scenes in Spellbound, obviously. In Strangers On A Train Bruno's near flying off the carousel feels almost like a fall...

Ah, but, with all due respect to Vertigo, Rear Window damn near takes the cake, as
Jeff's condition, with his leg in a cast, makes the mere act of standing up nearly impossible. As he's not on the first floor there's a fear of falling there, in the courtyard, as he "plays" with his camera. A perfect "stand-in" (or sit in, as the case may be) for the director, and as compared to Vertigo, a film which I believe Hitchcock bore down too hard on, making the identification with Scotty too strong (IMHO), Rear Window feels more like a real story, a ripping yarn (of sorts) without the heavy baggage of the later film, but that's me.

Poor Jeff. The whole world seems to look down on him. Even his girlfriend "descends" on him, like a beautiful bird. His friend the detective is always literally looking down on him; and this is true of his nurse (home health aide?), Thelma Ritter. He's like a little boy crying wolf for much of the film's length. Interesting that the one character he's "on the level with" is Lars Thorwald, the man across the yard!

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That Thorwald is also the villain makes a kind of symmetrical Hitchcockian sense, especially as while he's in the process of doing away with and then disposing of the body of the woman he doesn't want Jeff is in the process of trying to come to terms with the woman he does want,--yet he doesn't want to be "tied down"--even as he is himself incapable of moving around much one way or the other. Yet in the end, now "doubly crippled" (for the time being anyway), Jeff is now "infantalized" by girlfriend Lisa, for whom he had already "fallen" (in love, that is), who now watches over him, like a mother looking after her small child.

There are some strange foreshadowings of Psycho in Rear Window, with Jeff, the ambivalent protagonist, a kind of male Marion Crane, also trapped, albeit temporarily, by his broken leg; and "stuck" (in a manner of speaking) with his lover and maybe wife to be, as played by Grace Kelly, in the John Gavin part ( I'd insert an LOL emoticon but there ain't one). Wendell Corey's detective is like a cross between Arbogast and John McIntire's deputy sheriff in Psycho. Fortunately, Corey doesn't take a fall even as Stewart's Jeff does. Thorwald is a lesser Norman Bates, with, arguably, his "old wife", HIS Marion, whom he kills and meticulously disposes of, after which we see him chatting merrily with his new galpal, whom we never see. Since we can't have two Marions maybe Jeff is really Lila, looking backwards, trying to change the past. Well, this is fun anyway...

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One of the eeriest foreshadowings of Psycho in Rear Window is when we glimpse Miss Torso in the shower and then Thorwald enters the frame. At least subconsciously, Hitchcock is dwelling on the vulnerability of a young woman in the shower in close proximily to a killer as something he'd want to make a film about someday, and then about 5 years later, the novel Psycho drops in his lap.

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One of the eeriest foreshadowings of Psycho in Rear Window is when we glimpse Miss Torso in the shower and then Thorwald enters the frame.

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Wow. I'll have to look for that. "Miss Torso" was certainly as overtly sexual as Alfred "Cool Blonde" Hitchcock ever got in the fifties, you ask me. Scantily clad, bending over, all sorts of sensual gyrations. I would figure a 1954 male audience was sent into heaven just at the sight of her.

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At least subconsciously, Hitchcock is dwelling on the vulnerability of a young woman in the shower in close proximily to a killer as something he'd want to make a film about someday, and then about 5 years later, the novel Psycho drops in his lap.

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Sometimes, great ideas are just "out there in the universe," waiting for some one to commit to expressing them.

I might add that a late fifties movie called "Screaming Mimi" OPENS with a naked woman being stabbed in a shower. But she's outside, its a beach shower, and the attack is barely shown and maybe five seconds in length. Perhaps Robert Bloch saw that -- or perhaps someone else read Psycho and put the scene in the movie. In any event,it is proof positive that simply filming "a shower stabbing" could be trite and nothing . Hitchcock took it up to 11.

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The shot with Miss Torso washing her hair and Thorwald making one of his several returns in the hallway adjacent occurs early on Day 2 (RW takes place over 4 days). The joke here is that Jeffries appears to be totally focused on THorward's movements rather than imagining Miss T naked under the shower.

I imagine that unlike some of the other actors playing neighbors, Georgine Darcy must have been a bit clueless about what her role was in the film. She dances, eats, showers and fend off men, all seemingly to no purpose.

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No Stewart doesn't hang or fall in Rope or The Man Who Knew Too Much but "height", architecturally, was a factor in both, implicitly in Rope, at the end, when Stewart's mentor character fires a shot out the window, more explicitly at the end of The Man Who Knew Too Much, with the cutting from the balcony to the people sitting down in the theater.

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Well, I tell ya, I forgot about the fall of the assassin in Man Who Knew Too Much '56. (Which I sometimes call Man 2 for short.) So that's ANOTHER one.

Of interest: often Hitchcock filmed that falling person using a "matte shot trick" so that we watched from above as they fell away from us -- in Saboteur, Rear Window, Vertigo and NXNW, these are truly spectacular falls.

But sometimes Hitchcock went for a different effect. The assassin falling at the end of the concert murder attempt in Man 2 does so in a quick long shot(of a stuntman falling) that rather provides a "coda" to the concert itself. The figure in FC is a tiny dot seen from BELOW, falling a great distance in the distance.
A rather poorly filmed short distance fall later in FC(of George Sanders, I believe), was accomplished with a rather stiff and oversized human dummy that rather lowered to the ground. Weird. And Roscoe Lee Browne finished HIS non-fatal fall rather the same way, on a "Chock Full O' Nuts" awning.

Its those Saboteur/Vertigo/NXNW falls that "getcha." Still being done today with CGI.


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But then Hitchcock seemed fond of (or maybe fearful of) high places.

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Well, I've my personal share of Vertigo..er, vertigo, er acrophobia(and why wasn't Vertigo CALLED Acrophobia, more people know that) all my life..fear of heights, that dizzying in the stomach sensation. Hasn't everybody? Hitchcock seemed to revel in exploiting in in film after film.

He never quite got the sensation of vertigo "perfectly." I saw the Spider-Man reboot this summer, and a (CGI) shot straight down from the top of the Washington Monument DID make me dizzy, right in the stomach. "Like the real thing." I knew the movies would get perfect eventually. On technical.

I think the best sense of vertigo Hitchcock ever got was when the real thief dangled in Cary Grant's grip on the rooftop at the end of To Catch A Thief, actually. One felt how high up we were, how deadly the fall could be, and the process shot of the "falling area below" was perfect. But..nobody falls. They just hang.
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His use of them goes way back, to at least The 39 Steps, in its climactic scene of the daughter on the rooftop. We've probably done this before but,--spoilers, ahoy!--there's also Edmund Gwenn's tumble in Foreign Correspondent, the scenes on the cliff in Suspicion, as well as Joan Fontaine's nightmare of a falling Beaky. The status of liberty of Saboteur and the falling scenes in Spellbound, obviously. In Strangers On A Train Bruno's near flying off the carousel feels almost like a fall...

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You sure added some that I missed. Bruno's a special case. It is GUY whose legs fly out behind him from centrifugal force -- at first -- but evidently Bruno couldn't hang on. And God dropped the carousel on Bruno, and spared Guy and every child aboard. Or did he? Just kidding, either way.

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Ah, but, with all due respect to Vertigo, Rear Window damn near takes the cake, as
Jeff's condition, with his leg in a cast, makes the mere act of standing up nearly impossible. As he's not on the first floor there's a fear of falling there, in the courtyard, as he "plays" with his camera.

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At the climax, it is revealed that the drop is more than one floor -- there seems to be a "lower than street level, level." Its a fall that COULD be a killer; the cops cushioning the fall seem to be Jeff's saviors, and he doesn't fall head first (a backbreaker, neck snapper.)

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A perfect "stand-in" (or sit in, as the case may be) for the director,

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Great concept! As the years went by, I've read that Hitchcock got out of HIS chair on set less and less. And often slept in it.

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and as compared to Vertigo, a film which I believe Hitchcock bore down too hard on, making the identification with Scotty too strong (IMHO), Rear Window feels more like a real story, a ripping yarn (of sorts) without the heavy baggage of the later film, but that's me.

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I'm wondering if the French critics loving Hitchcock "infected" Hitchcock by the mid-fifties, not too long after finishing Rear Window. He FILMED in France for To Catch a Thief, and then made some arty movies to be sure -- The Trouble With Harry, The Wrong Man(with an Italian neo-realism influence to go with Marty) and Vertigo -- alternating them with surefire box office babies like Man 2 and NXNW to make sure his studios made money.

Hence..Vertigo was the work of a man CONSCIOUSLY trying to be the artist that the French had already proved him to be.

Maybe.

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Thanks, EC. If one wanted to be cruel about Hitchcock one could say that he was a good guy with gimmicks, and that's a lot of what we're talking about here. I think there's more going on in his films than this but in a way an old school industry insider would probably say just that about Hitchcock and his films: he knew a good thing when he saw one.

The guy had a genius for singling out things, picking on details, whether it's a key or a knife. I guess this is where the word McGuffin comes in. McGuffins were, to channel a turn of phrase from Kiss Me Deadly, Hitchcock's "big whatsits". Yet Hitchcock's great whatsits are more complex than most, and are often themselves puzzles; questions that can never be answered, not fully; issues exposed yet unresolved.

Psycho is itself the biggest whatsit of 'em all, as no sooner does the viewer think it's all about sex than does it become all about money. Then there's the Hitch trope of fear of the law when the money's stolen and when Marion arrives at the Bates motel one just knows,--and I think even a first time viewer would even know, even if he'd never heard about the movie--that this movie's big whatsit is hiding somewhere in that house on the hill.

Another thing about Psycho that's unique: the more information it gives out the more off kilter the first time viewer, as no sooner than is a murder committed than is one is given a ton of clues to, as one learns at the film's end, things that have little relation to what literally DROVE Norman Bates to murder, to becoming a tranny

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Thanks, EC. If one wanted to be cruel about Hitchcock one could say that he was a good guy with gimmicks, and that's a lot of what we're talking about here. I think there's more going on in his films than this but in a way an old school industry insider would probably say just that about Hitchcock and his films: he knew a good thing when he saw one.

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Well, he was a master showman and he really seemed interesting in doing "the Hitchcock version" of whatever was popular out there: Three Coins in the Fountain, Marty, The Bicycle Thief, House on Haunted Hill, Rock and Doris(The Birds); Douglas Sirk(Marnie); The Spy Who Came in From the Cold(Torn Curtain.)

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The guy had a genius for singling out things, picking on details, whether it's a key or a knife.

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I think Andrew Sarris once ran a list of "Hitchcock objects" -- not MacGuffins, but objects around which his stories turned: a shower, a phone booth. But you COULD add objects that ARE objects: cameras, butcher knives, neckties, latchkeys, tiepins...

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I guess this is where the word McGuffin comes in.

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Partially. Hitchcock seemed to mean simply "the thing the spies are looking for." But one critic called Norman's psychosis "the MacGuffin of Psycho." Huh?

Speaking of MacGuffins: the new spy thriller Atomic Blonde has as its MacGuffin one that I think I've seen 20 times in the last 20 years: a computer hard drive with the names of all American undercover spies in Europe. If the bad guys get it, they can kill them all. How many damn movies have USED that? Its as if Atomic Blonde says, "yeah, we got the usual MacGuffin here, don't mind that."

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McGuffins were, to channel a turn of phrase from Kiss Me Deadly, Hitchcock's "big whatsits".

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Big whatsit. I like that phrase. I also like Kiss Me Deadly, which rather presaged where Psycho would go -- 5 years early -- with ITS sex and violence, pretty much all offscreen but well suggested.

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Yet Hitchcock's great whatsits are more complex than most, and are often themselves puzzles; questions that can never be answered, not fully; issues exposed yet unresolved.

Well there are MacGuffins and MacGuffins. Vandamm is " a buyer and seller of government secrets," that's all we learn in NXNW. The NATURE of those secrets -- undercover agents? nuclear information -- could run the gamut of danger for the world.

And I suppose that Norman's psychosis IS the MacGuffin of Psycho. Unlike some others, I buy a lot of the psychiatrist's analysis of Norman at the end of Psycho -- it IS borne out by Norman "being" Mother in the cell. (And just as Norman created Mother as the killer, Mother creates Norman as the killer. No blame.)

But it seems that the shrink has missed the big question: how and why does a human being like Norman Bates COME TO EXIST? It isn't just "a bad childhood." It might be poor brain chemistry. It might be.. Satan(to paraphrase the Church Lady.) But ultimately, why a human being would do what Norman Bates does to Marion Crane, is a mystery that Psycho never solves.

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Good morning, EC, and somewhat in a rush: I woke up to the radio alarm this morning to what was, loud and blaring, a talk show, and the hosts asked a question of their listeners, whether male or female, married or single, just one question, one which had the hosts and many of their callers laughing near hysterically,--and I mean like jackasses--as people were "topping" one another (hmm...), and he query was this: what's the biggest turnoff a man can give a woman after sex?

The callers were, as one might imagine, largely female, and the big no-no ranged from crying to (in a casual relationship) planning to raise a family to, the right answer, bragging about one's performance. It was a local show, very wiseguy (and wisegal), and it fascinated me and also kind of turned me off, since there are so many turnoffs and turn ons out there, how can anyone choose just one? People are so different, and we all have bad days, say and do dumb things; and yet many of the women callers had one, usually very funny, thing after which "never again!", as in push the magic button and "wrong", out you go. It sounded to me like the lines were pretty darn busy for a Wednesday morning!

Apropos of Psycho, and I went on-line soon thereafter, and your response to my posts, and the question of "what made Norman the way he was?" (a killer of young women with a knife), I think part of the answer may come,--and this is off the top of my head--from that radio show: a lack of cool, of sophistication, of not knowing how, of lack of experience, poor timing,--not knowing the steps, kinda like dancing--you name it, Norman lacked it. Add it all up, and given that poor Norman likely had VERY LITTLE EXPERIENCE with women at all that wasn't just business,. Of course that's not everything, but the bitter harvest that he reaped as a teen and young man was, where the ladies are concerned, a big zero, and THAT's what triggered the hate and sudden violence. Norman was clueless.

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The callers were, as one might imagine, largely female, and the big no-no ranged from crying to (in a casual relationship) planning to raise a family to, the right answer, bragging about one's performance.

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Ouch. Ouch. OUCH.

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It was a local show, very wiseguy (and wisegal), and it fascinated me and also kind of turned me off, since there are so many turnoffs and turn ons out there, how can anyone choose just one? People are so different, and we all have bad days, say and do dumb things; and yet many of the women callers had one, usually very funny, thing after which "never again!", as in push the magic button and "wrong", out you go. It sounded to me like the lines were pretty darn busy for a Wednesday morning!

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Well, sex is generally a topic everyone has an opinion on and hopefully, experience with.
But jeez, such "kiss and tell" material -- its a real price to pay for intimacy.

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Apropos of Psycho, and I went on-line soon thereafter, and your response to my posts,

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Here's hoping my multiple posts weren't like those multliple phone calls! You see, moviechat really clamps down on words. Oh, and just take a look at "The Uncertainty Certainty of John Russell" thread on the old imdb Hombre Board, and moved here, and see what folks(not just me) used to GET to do...

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and the question of "what made Norman the way he was?" (a killer of young women with a knife),

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LOL! to the ouches. It WASN'T really fun waking up to that kind of talk. Fascinating, yes, but oh so unplugged. Truly, it's felt for some time to me that over the years the dignity of intimacy, the seriousness of the "special two", wherever it goes, whatever it ultimately means, has vanished. Well, not for everyone but in the broad context of the mass media and more or less average people.

Or maybe in this case it's local. Boston's a much more raw place when it comes to such matters than one might expect. In the old days it was the famous Watch & Ward Society, the blue haired ladies and, of course, the clergy, who made the city and the region feel so uptight, and for decades (centuries?) where so many things were concerned, with sexuality at the top of the list. With those days long gone, and in the absence of old moneyed upper and upper middle class folk to "set an example", so the speak, what we have is not the sophistication on might wish for but a kind of universal coarseness. It was funny listening to that stuff up to a point but grossness gets tiresome after a while.

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Apropos of Psycho, and I went on-line soon thereafter, and your response to my posts, and the question of "what made Norman the way he was?" (a killer of young women with a knife),

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Yes...I think that's it. We get the pretty straightforward idea from the shrink that Norman peeped and was "moved by her, aroused by her" and "that set off the jealous Mother and Mother killed the girl."

But...really? For those mechanisms to slide into place, Norman Bates had to have some very very twisted ideas about women in the first place, perhaps from his mother, perhaps not.

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I think part of the answer may come,--and this is off the top of my head--from that radio show: a lack of cool, of sophistication, of not knowing how, of lack of experience, poor timing,--not knowing the steps, kinda like dancing--you name it, Norman lacked it. Add it all up, and given that poor Norman likely had VERY LITTLE EXPERIENCE with women at all that wasn't just business,.

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Well a lotta young guys have to "learn about girls"(and women), but I suppose if Norman was in the smothering embrace of an incestuous mother and CRAZY FROM THE GET-GO("He was already dangerously disturbed," said the shrink, "had been since his father died." Oh, THAT's what did it? Then what of Anthony Perkins himself, whose REAL father died when Perkins was five) well...it all came together. And not just with Marion in the shower. Two "girls" before her...

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Yes, Psycho didn't occur to me right away,--I'm not THAT into the movie--as I thinking about my own past and of gals I've known. That kind of rough talk re boyfriends.girlfriends was uber strong in my high school, and for a brief period later on, but it faded, for me, among people I knew, in my twenties. After a while when girls talked like those I heard on the radio, in public, on coffee breaks, casually, with friends and acquaintances, it came to seem a little weird after a certain age; but then I ran with a pretty smart crowd.

On-line, looking at my e-mail notifications and such, then it hit me. That sort of talk was probably less common when Norman was growing up,--yes, we do discuss him as if he was a real person, but WTF--but the sensibility was there, between boys and girls, men and women, and indeed, those who know how to handle themselves and make good choices get the best out of life. Yet is there anyone of flesh and blood without some impairments where relationships are concerned? I doubt it.

Our affection for the parlor scene, maybe the saddest and most beautifully written and acted scene in the history of film, may come from our rising hopes,--even after the first viewing, or maybe especially afterwards--that this time Norman will rise to the occasion, grow out of his shell and have a relationship with this lovely and for a few brief shining moments empathetic woman. It's there, in the dialogue and the performances, and even in the camera angles. We can both pinpoint the moment when Norman "blows it", and with what knowledge of psychology we have we also know deep down that the kind of change of life we wish for Norman cannot happen, and yet none this can obviate the fact that in those moments, if not in the larger scheme of things, the connection between Marion and Norman was real and was going places...but only for a short while. Truth is, Norman was too far gone into madness to have "snapped out of it".


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Yes, Psycho didn't occur to me right away,--I'm not THAT into the movie--as I thinking about my own past and of gals I've known.

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Ha. Sorry, I must have made a connection I didn't intend between you and Psycho and that topic. Oops. Sorry. Unintentional.

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That kind of rough talk re boyfriends.girlfriends was uber strong in my high school, and for a brief period later on, but it faded, for me, among people I knew, in my twenties. After a while when girls talked like those I heard on the radio, in public, on coffee breaks, casually, with friends and acquaintances, it came to seem a little weird after a certain age; but then I ran with a pretty smart crowd.

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I can't speak directly to this, but you triggered a memory.

I worked for awhile in an office with more women than men. A lot more. And sometimes, I'd be the only man in an area surrounded by women. And sometimes, I just couldn't help but hear...some really graphic boyfriend gossip. The toughest reports to hear were about "dates" in which the men didn't do well in bed and well..I sure wouldn't want to be that guy.

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It's even worse when the less than sterling lover in question is also a good friend, eh?,--and it's his wife doing the talking. Now that's an ouch moment!

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On-line, looking at my e-mail notifications and such, then it hit me. That sort of talk was probably less common when Norman was growing up,--yes, we do discuss him as if he was a real person, but WTF--but the sensibility was there, between boys and girls, men and women, and indeed, those who know how to handle themselves and make good choices get the best out of life. Yet is there anyone of flesh and blood without some impairments where relationships are concerned? I doubt it.


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Here is where Hitchcock and his collaborators connected Norman so well to folks in the audience who WANTED to relate to him. It is said -- ironically -- that young women wanted to "mother" Tony Perkins(the star actor, not Norman), and here we see why. He's handsome, he's thin, with a personality change he could get lots of ladies...but he can't DO that. Meanwhile, I expect a lot of young men out there who were challenged by their own abilities to connect with women(let alone women as gorgeous as Janet Leigh) could FEEL for Norman, were rooting for him to connect, and felt great pain when he blew it.

But Hitchocck played fair. Norman didn't just fumble the conversation like any "regular guy." He went to a terrible place("A boy's best friend is his mother") and then to a MENACING place (the tirade, with such lines as "what do YOU know about caring?" and "people cluck their thick tongues and suggest oh so very delicately.")

This is NOT a "regular guy." And audiences were put on edge. Norman pushes himself back to "normal" mode at the end...but we never forget the glimpse he gave us of the real man. Or boy.

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Our affection for the parlor scene, maybe the saddest and most beautifully written and acted scene in the history of film, may come from our rising hopes,--even after the first viewing, or maybe especially afterwards--that this time Norman will rise to the occasion, grow out of his shell and have a relationship with this lovely and for a few brief shining moments empathetic woman. It's there, in the dialogue and the performances, and even in the camera angles. We can both pinpoint the moment when Norman "blows it", and with what knowledge of psychology we have we also know deep down that the kind of change of life we wish for Norman cannot happen, and yet none this can obviate the fact that in those moments, if not in the larger scheme of things, the connection between Marion and Norman was real and was going places...but only for a short while. Truth is, Norman was too far gone into madness to have "snapped out of it".

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Our affection for the parlor scene, maybe the saddest and most beautifully written and acted scene in the history of film,

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No argument from me there...and I think this scene has probably risen to second position behind the shower scene as THE great scene in the movie(though there sure are others -- I've vote the cell scene next in line.)

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may come from our rising hopes,--even after the first viewing, or maybe especially afterwards--that this time Norman will rise to the occasion, grow out of his shell and have a relationship with this lovely and for a few brief shining moments empathetic woman.

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This is what made some critics --- like Pauline Kael and David Thomson -- very mad. It was as if Hitchcock lured us in to feel we were seeing "genuine possibly loving human connection" and it was simply not there. Norman WAS too far gone...and he started that way.

Norman really only gets to be "caring" and connected for about a third of the conversation. "Best friend is his mother" triggers the downhill..though he manages some kind and caring statements after that. And then "the tirade."

His pullback is incredibly wonderful: "You don't want to stay just awhile longer -- just for talk?" Its so friendly and normal and natural. Norman has saved the day in terms of getting Marion's guard down for death.

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It's there, in the dialogue and the performances, and even in the camera angles.

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Indeed even in the camera angles. Carefully chosen to keep Marion sympathetic and Norman pathetic...with hopes of connection. Recall that Janet Leigh figured audiences thought they were seeing a love story: Will Marion pick Sam or Norman? (And since Tony Perkins is a bigger star than John Gavin..its gonna be Norman.)

But Hitchcock threw all of THAT Hollywood convention out the window...

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We can both pinpoint the moment when Norman "blows it", and with what knowledge of psychology we have we also know deep down that the kind of change of life we wish for Norman cannot happen,

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And this is why Psycho IS an important study of psychopathology: what makes a human being "so far gone" that the humanity leaves the brain, and can never be brought bacak? It happens occasionall with serial killers and it happened on a massive scale with Hitler's Nazis(some of whom followed orders as good soldiers and some of whom WERE psychos.)

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and yet none this can obviate the fact that in those moments, if not in the larger scheme of things, the connection between Marion and Norman was real and was going places...but only for a short while. Truth is, Norman was too far gone into madness to have "snapped out of it".

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Its what makes the scene so sad...and cruel..in retrospect. But Hitchcock had shown similar sad cruelties in The Wrong Man and Vertigo...he could get in that mood.

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The parlor scene p!ssed off Kael and Thomson? I must have forgotten that. Good grief, didn't they watch the movie a second time, a third? I probably didn't get the vibes in that scene for my first several viewings. Psycho wasn't even a favorite yet. They just showed it on TV a lot. Then it began to grow on me.

Those scenes, those perfectly realized scenes, just in the first hour, or maybe mostly in that first hour, what with Marion on the ropes, in love and at work; the theft, the encounter with those strange men who seemed to be onto her but weren't really. I'd say through the shower scene and after, as while Norman is clearly no longer even a potential hero, and there's clearly something wrong with him, there are still mysteries to be solved in Psycho.

When Martin Balsam's Arbogast enters, literally, it's like we're formally in Part II of the movie, with much more to go and still no clear hero, heroine or villain. Yes, Hitchcock liked to "toy" with his audience.

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The parlor scene p!ssed off Kael and Thomson? I must have forgotten that.

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Well, these were rather buried in their writings.

Thomson got more into it, and rather came from where I think you are coming from about the parlor scene: the "human connection" between Norman and Marion seemed so promising and humane that to immediately kill off Marion in the shower so horribly was a kind of betrayl of the humanity OF the parlor scene. Thomson went on to suggest a second version of the second half of Psycho -- in which Marion lives and drops Sam and befriends Norman(not as a lover; he still has Mama's corpse in the cellar and is committed under Marion's vistitation.) I don't see the movie doing too well, but Thomson meant to show that the parlor scene could feed a more humane story.

As for Kael, her beef was with the shower scene so brutally upending everything(including the parlor scene); she found Hitchcock to be "in gleeful complicity with his killer" during the shower scene. (Which I might add, is exactly how David Thomson felt about Hitchcock's relationship to Bob Rusk in Frenzy!)

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Good grief, didn't they watch the movie a second time, a third?

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Kael had an expressed rule I don't much believe: she never watched a movie a second time. In fact, I think I later found a more understandable version of that rule: she never watched a movie a second time BEFORE REVIEWING IT, so as to give her "first impression." Well, don't most critics do that?

As for Thomson, he likely viewed Psycho a few times because he wrote various articles on it over the years and then a detailed look at it called "The Moment of Psycho" for its 50th Anniversary.

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I probably didn't get the vibes in that scene for my first several viewings. Psycho wasn't even a favorite yet. They just showed it on TV a lot. Then it began to grow on me.

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I've given my report a few times(heh) on how I came to Psycho, but I think the first time I saw the film and the parlor scene...I thought it was a good scene, but I was impatient to get to the shower murder and I missed the nuance, caught only Hitchcock's camera angles and those stuffed birds.

A few more viewings over the years -- and I was IN. The parlor scene moves me; the Arbogast interrogation vastly entertains me.

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Those scenes, those perfectly realized scenes, just in the first hour, or maybe mostly in that first hour, what with Marion on the ropes, in love and at work; the theft, the encounter with those strange men who seemed to be onto her but weren't really.

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I like your phrase, "the encounter with those strange men who seemed to be onto her but weren't really." That's a perfect description of how Hitchcock perfectly captures the essence of paranoia in these scenes, and gets us to share it with Marion; first through how "strange" these men act and look, second through how they scrutinize and question Marion (This will tie into Norman's later statement about "cruel eyes studying you," which will end up HIS fate in the cell."

David Thomson's book "The Moment of Psycho" makes the case that Psycho only really matters through the swamp burial (because of the Marion scenes), and that the second half is rather pedestrian mystery stuff with only Arbogast and his scenes being of interest. And even there, writes Thomson, Arbogast is just there to "spin out the inevitable" (all that talking and investigating just to get killed) and pad the story.

Hitchcock scholar Robin Wood felt roughly the same way, though he felt the story "picks up again when Lila expores the house." Hitchcock scholar Camille Paglia felt the same way, acutely: she says she will now watch Psycho ONLY through the PARLOR SCENE and then turn it off.

Oh, well, I disagree with all three of them.

First of all, as the full-house scream experience I got in 1979 of this film at a college showing, I know: all the screams are from the shower scene on, and MORE of them are after Arbogast comes in.

But more than that, I think the second half of Psycho has just as many treasures as the first -- but they are of a different kind.

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EC: A good question for Psychophiles and students of the film might be: which "half" of Psycho is the best? The question is about whether Marion's murder is the climax/high point from which downhill the movie descends (as it were) as it moves forward toward the "obligatory" fruit cellar scene.

I think it's fair to say that our answers would be a resounding NO! The early scenes are marginally speaking more intense inasmuch as Marion is the "presumed heroine". Once she become a literal victim it's like a movie in search of its protagonist, or maybe star is the better word. A story can, I believe, have only one protagonist, but a movie can have many stars. Psycho is in fact loaded with them if one accepts all those supporting players as the stars of their scenes/sequences.

Here's why Hitchcock (and Stefano's) "toying" comes in. The second half is a different kettle of fish from the first even as "narratively speaking" it's a reasonable, even logical continuation of it. Why all the criticism here? Many classic films shift gears, so to speak, from Gone With The Wind through It's a Wonderful Life, Red River through even so popular a favorite as The Guns Of Navarone or even The Great Escape. Movies change as their stories develop; they progress. Why should Psycho be ultra-linear in this regard?

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The answer to all this is that Psycho is near experimental for a mainstream film as to its structure; and it's very modern, sophisticated and subtle in the way it tells its story. It's in this respect near the total opposite of It's A Wonderful Life, which manages to be several mini-movies in one, from several "beginnings" a long "middle" or two, and two or three "endings", which is to say climaxes, such as George's realizing that he's alive and running through the snowy streets of Bedford Falls, his return home to his loving family AND THEN the multi-climaxes of everyone in town showing up AND Sam Wainwright's telegram AND the toasting/singing in the film's final moments. Yet for all this the movie feels all of a piece as its "pieces" come together elegantly, while Psycho isn't nearly so logical.

Psycho has some very big moments after Arbogast's murder, but they follow at a slower pace, with Sam and Lila's visit to the motel, Sam's verbal bullying of Norman in the office intercut with Lila's exploration of the house, then Norman knocking Sam out briefly with the ashtray, his race up the hill, Lila's descent into the fruit cellar, the discovery of Mother's corpse (yuk!), and this quickly followed by a knife wielding Norman in drag, Sam's taking him down. That's a lot of climactic moments in a relatively short period of time. The catharsis (catharses?), over, but there's more in the police station, far more sedate, with the shrink's rather lengthy explanation of how Norman "got that way" followed by Norman in his cell, accompanied by Mother's narration. No running through the streets of Fairvale, no toasts and no singing. Instead of people coming together they seem to "fall apart", with each of the major characters isolated from the others, and in various degrees of shock.

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I value the comparison of Wonderful Life and Psycho, though I've gotta admit..one of my problems with Wonderful Life is how it seems to keep splitting off into new movies and additional endings...I swear watching that movie feels like a four-hour deal(not ORdeal)...just a deal.

Meanwhile, Psycho gives us successive characters to rally around -- Marion, Norman, Arbogast, Sam and Lila(as a unit), Lila(exploring the house), Sam(bullying Norman) and stays crystal clear in structure. And this: I've always felt that "Part Two" moves like wildfire...the story brings in new characters and starts accelerating until the climactic stuff leading up to the fruit cellar. The "decompression" of the shrink scene and the cell scene are just right in "pulling us back to reality."

And gotta bring up this connection between Wonderful Life and Psycho: Frank Albertson. He's Sam Wainright and he's Tom Cassidy. What a difference!

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EC: A good question for Psychophiles and students of the film might be: which "half" of Psycho is the best? The question is about whether Marion's murder is the climax/high point from which downhill the movie descends (as it were) as it moves forward toward the "obligatory" fruit cellar scene.

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Hey, telegonus: Well, David Thomson certainly made an attempt to get this debate going (again -- Robin Wood had raised it years early in his revised "Hitchcock's Films Revisited."

And there's always been a "reversible twist" to the argument: to those who say Psycho peaks with the shower murder/clean-up/swamp burial sequence and is "downhill from there," there are others who note that the audience "has to go through a banal and horror-free first half hour with Marion Crane before the movie REALLY begins."

Hah. And its true in ways. One reason I think that Gus Van Sant's 1998 remake of Psycho failed at the box office is that young audiences had no patience with the long dramatic stretch of "no horror." I could feel the impatience when I saw the remake first night(good crowd) -- there were walkouts. From BOREDOM. Recall that Jaws OPENS with a first killing; as does (this week) Stephen King's It.

But it is unfair to judge Psycho against today's standards of "opening with horror." Hitchcock got to do what he got to do, said Bernard Herrmann "Because he's Hitchcock...the audience knows something will happen, so they will wait."

There seems to be an "art-based" belief that the Marion Crane segment is better than what follows her BECAUSE of its banality; because of how Hitchcock rather magically conjures a sense of dread and paranoia without any shocking material on the screen. Its DIFFERENT from any other horror movie when these scenes fill the screen, and we get deep, deep, DEEP into this calm and yet panicked beautiful woman, Marion Crane.




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A story can, I believe, have only one protagonist, but a movie can have many stars. Psycho is in fact loaded with them if one accepts all those supporting players as the stars of their scenes/sequences.

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I sure do. All my movie-going life, I've really identified with the supporting players -- the sidekicks, if you will, to the handsome leads.

Imagine my pleasure at seeing Martin Balsam get to be "the star" of Psycho for about 20 minutes. He gets screen time all to himself alone, he gets close-ups, he gets his Big Murder Scene. And then Sam and Lila(both young and good looking enough to be leads, but not really stars) move into position as protagonists.

But not entirely. Because one other way to characterize the two parts of Psycho is this way:

PART ONE: Marion's story (with Norman coming in at the end.)
PART TWO: Norman's story(as he interacts with Arbogast, Sam, and Lila.)

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Why all the criticism here? Many classic films shift gears, so to speak, from Gone With The Wind through It's a Wonderful Life, Red River through even so popular a favorite as The Guns Of Navarone or even The Great Escape. Movies change as their stories develop; they progress. Why should Psycho be ultra-linear in this regard?

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I would opine this is because Psycho so clearly and completely separates into two parts...the "break" comes with the fade out on Marion's car sinking.

Another movie that does the same thing: Jaws. Part One is a Hitchcock movie; Part Two is a seafaring adventure..the "break comes" with a zoom shot through a wooden structure "out to sea" from Chief Brody's POV after the killing of the lifeguard -- "we've got to go out and kill the shark" is the unspoken challenge.

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Viewed analytically,--rather than as "just a movie"--Psycho does split pretty much after the murder of Marion. Arbogast in effect "announces" the second half of the film, and his murder, arguably, starts the final leg of the journey.

One could say that same, earlier on, after Marion drives out of Phoenix, for good. The movie changes, as it had been almost as dry as a TV show up till then, the scenes with Sam aside, and then turned slowly but surely into a kind of nightmare, getting ever darker and gloomier, with the rain, and then the arrival at the motel, with that spooky old dark house in the hill for emphasis. Then, with typical Hitchcock slyness, the mood shifts, becomes lighter, with Norman's entry, not quite Jerry Lewis clumsy but more than a bit of a nerd, he soon endears himself to Marion and the viewer, only to turn weird later on.

The Arbogast intro "suggests" that all will be solved in time, with his confident and no-nonsense manner seemingly "putting it all into perspective", and we see where that leads. Yet Arbo is dominant, pretty much alpha male, right through the Norman interrogation; and even afterward, on the phone, he comes off as in charge. Less so as he returns to the Bates property, climbs that hill, as even as we see him only from the rear he seems in danger, rightly, as things turns out.

After that, more of a split, and more mood swings, with Lila and Sam worrying about what became of Arbogast, their visit to the deputy sheriff, with some comic bits thrown in. Amazing symmetry to Psycho, when you think about it, with light turning to dark, humor to danger, the prosaic to the very offbeat and unsettling. Even the rather intense shots of Sam giving Norman a hard time down in the motel don't feel all that dangerous, as Sam looks so much stronger, tougher. Yet the sheer weight of Lila's exploration of the house, which gets creepier with every moves she makes, suggests that things are coming to a head...

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Viewed analytically,--rather than as "just a movie"--Psycho does split pretty much after the murder of Marion. Arbogast in effect "announces" the second half of the film, and his murder, arguably, starts the final leg of the journey.

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And there you raise the interesting "virtuosity" of how Psycho is structured...

If Arbogast's murder starts the final leg of the journey...well, then that final leg is..the third ACT. Indeed, the Arbogast murder thus becomes the famous "crisis at the end of the second act" often taught in screenwriting school. (In Frenzy, this would be the murder of Babs.)

But others have said that Arbogast's time on screen is so short(20 minutes) that his story isn't really a "second act" and he is subsumed into the "second part."

Fun, isn't it? I tend to go with Arbogast's part being an act, but then MORE trouble hits:

Where do the acts end?

With the shower murder?
The staircase murder?
The fruit cellar?

No, yes, no. The shower murder doesn't end Marion's story; the swamp does. The fruit cellar doesn't end Norman's story; his CELL does.

Dizzying...

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One could say that same, earlier on, after Marion drives out of Phoenix, for good. The movie changes, as it had been almost as dry as a TV show up till then,

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Hey, now -- more "structure trickery." We'll have too many acts unless we maybe call this "the prologue." Once Marion hits that briefly seen scary Arizona highway...the journey(and Psycho) truly begins.

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the scenes with Sam aside, and then turned slowly but surely into a kind of nightmare, getting ever darker and gloomier, with the rain, and then the arrival at the motel, with that spooky old dark house in the hill for emphasis.

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Various critics have spoken of Psycho as having a slow "descent into horror," one level away from normalcy at a time. Marion is driving north by northwest(word), but the whole story is heading DOWN. Even as the suspense keeps building UP.

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Then, with typical Hitchcock slyness, the mood shifts, becomes lighter, with Norman's entry, not quite Jerry Lewis clumsy but more than a bit of a nerd, he soon endears himself to Marion and the viewer, only to turn weird later on.

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Norman's appearance after all that heavy suspenseful bleakness is part of one some critics called "Hitchcock's mean trick" here: after Sam, Lowery, Cassidy, the cop, and California Charlie, here, FINALLY, is a nice, handsome, unassuming young fellow. His only real competition for Marion's regard IS Sam, and we start to like him better. At first. Also, Norman is a bit of a surprise coming out of that s spooky house on a rainy night. Oh, its just ANTHONY PERKINS.(Back in 1960 when he was a nice guy.)

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The Arbogast intro "suggests" that all will be solved in time, with his confident and no-nonsense manner seemingly "putting it all into perspective", and we see where that leads.

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Film Director Bryan Forbes interviewed Hitchcock, and reached this point about Arbogast with Hitchcock:

Forbes: I was very interested in Arbogast. I thought he was a great character and I really wanted to see him solve the crime. And then you just killed him off quickly, just like that.

Hitchcock: Well, that was the whole point.

Hitchcock, who could go on for paragraphs of detail on the Arbogast murder("I cut from the high angle to the big head, like cymbals crashing") could only offer Bryan Forbes a one-sentence summary of how and why Arbo died that way as a matter of CHARACTER. But one got HITCHCOCK'S point: Psycho WAS a comedy in some ways. Arbogast got a sudden-death punchline.

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Yet Arbo is dominant, pretty much alpha male, right through the Norman interrogation;

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Cool, relaxed alpha male, too -- he's Columbo without the bumbling act.

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and even afterward, on the phone, he comes off as in charge.

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And rather NICE. He likes Lila. Or he feels sorry for her. And he's beginning to feel the same way about Sam. ...also he imparts vital plot info "just in case" he doesn't make it(I think he knows that's a risk, but not for the right reasons.)

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Less so as he returns to the Bates property, climbs that hill, as even as we see him only from the rear he seems in danger, rightly, as things turns out.

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He's a bit uncertain, a bit unsure...just like Lila later under even worse duress(cuz Arbo's gone.) But he knows he's onto something , he HAS to speak to that Mother, and there might be a jackpot up there: Marion herself.

Wrong.

That was the whole point.

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After (Arbogast's death), more of a split, and more mood swings, with Lila and Sam worrying about what became of Arbogast, their visit to the deputy sheriff, with some comic bits thrown in. Amazing symmetry to Psycho, when you think about it, with light turning to dark, humor to danger, the prosaic to the very offbeat and unsettling.

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The shifts are rather violent...from the slaughter of Arbogast at the bottom of the stairs to the sequential night scenes with Sam and Lila and eventually the Sheriff.

But then the whole movie plays these beats. Hitchcock was adamant about allowing some jokes -- or laughs -- along the way.

Example: when Norman sinks Marion's car and it famously STOPS SINKING(analysis: we are with Norman now, we WANT it to sink)...Hitchcock plays it for quite deadpan humor. The audience at least CHUCKLES when Norman stares at the predicament, turns his head to look around(anybody seeing this?) then nibbles contentedly as the car slurp, slurp, SLURPS into the swamp. Some chuckles, there, too.

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Even the rather intense shots of Sam giving Norman a hard time down in the motel don't feel all that dangerous, as Sam looks so much stronger, tougher.

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We wonder: where is this going? Bets might be that Sam's going to run around the counter and start beating on Norman...which we don't REALLY want, even if he is the guardian of dark secrets. But Hitch keeps cutting back to Lila's utterly terrifying walkaround and Sam/Norman become punctuation...with yet MORE quiet humor("Living alone like this...would drive me crazy...its just an expression.")

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Yet the sheer weight of Lila's exploration of the house, which gets creepier with every moves she makes, suggests that things are coming to a head...

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Absolutely. This is such a great sequence because as a matter of 1960 suspense, it is TERRIFYING. The audience is closing its eyes a lot...and there is a BIG scream when Lila sees her reflection in the mirror.

This is ALSO such a great sequence because even as the suspense is relentless...the exploration is fascinating. Mother's Room. Her bed with the impression in it. The crossed-hands. The Victoria. Norman's Room. His rumpled little unmade bed. The bunny. The toys. Eroica. The untitled book -- and also a sad, sad, SAD sense of Norman's life in that house, all alone(as we are soon to find out.)

And its coming together, alright. The sheer acceleration of shots -- Sam and Norman fighting, Sam losing(surprise and -- oh no) Lila running downstairs, Norman entering the house as Lila hides under the stairs...audiences were screaming NOW, before the fruit cellar...

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Briefly, with not a whole lotta time: Good analysis of Psycho, structurally and dramatically. One more thing: it's rare for a film of its era and, especially, genre in not having a clear cut villain, which is to say someone the audience to hiss at, to despise. Maybe Lowrey and Cassidy somewhat earlier on, especially the latter.



As the movie progresses even at times menacing and/or ambiguous characters often turn out to be okay, like Charlie and the highway cop. Norman does seem to go a little mad for a time but he too lightens up. Who's to hate? I mean, in the old Hollywood sense.

What happens in the course of the movie is that two likable people, people the audience has come to if not wholly like, to respect, care for, even, in the detective's case maybe look up to a little, die horrible deaths. Then the less amiable (by which I mean easy to identify with) but still decent Lila and Sam take over, along with the droll Al Chambers, and they, fortunately don't die but they, the first two, suffer terribly; and they suffer for the truth of what happened to someone they loved.

That's a lot of loss and pain for one movie, especially one advertised as a horror, even a funny horror, by its director. The resolution was in its day terrifying, and the "clinical" ending was for many unsatisfying as drama. The final shot of the swamp dragging does offer the viewer a kind of visual closure,--but what an image!

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Jaws really is at least two movies, I agree, EC. Unlike Psycho, though, and much as I love it, the first half is inferior to the second IMHO. It's very good, well written and acted, and yet one can't help get edgy and irritated with all those scenes that build up the story if one knows it well.

Unlike Psycho, Jaws doesn't quite have the same level of the, if you'll pardon the pretense, aesthetic, as the earlier film. That Hitchcock was able to do as he pleased with Psycho is likely the deciding factor as well as his having a better screenwriter in Joseph Stefano. Fortunately, the actors really save the early part of Jaws, with Scheider and then Dreyfuss very much equal to the mostly absent Robert Shaw, who, like Bruce the shark, arrives in fully only later in the movie.

It's the last,--is if even half-hour?--part of the film, maybe longer, on the boat, when it really catches fire, as the three leads literally fight for dominance. It's like there's a subtext of "who's the real star of Jaws?", which Shaw wins easily. He's already got the upper hand in the rage department, and, of course, as skipper of the ship,--the other two are clearly on HIS vessel--and then the Indianapolis speech knocks it out of the park. It's Shaw's movie from that point on, even with so little actual time remaining, with his death one of the most agonizing in all filmdom. His ghost haunts the picture even after he's gone, as it's difficult to get his image and personality out of one's mind even as Dreyfuss and Scheider are paddling to shore.

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Jaws really is at least two movies, I agree, EC.

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Two sequential parts...and all sorts of TYPES of movie as it unfurls. Hitchcock sunny-day thriller. Horror movie. Seafaring adventure. Buddy movie. Comedy. Drama(the USS Indianapolis speech). Political analogy.

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Unlike Psycho, though, and much as I love it, the first half is inferior to the second IMHO.

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We reach here, friend Telegonus, one of our rare, polite disagreements. I like the first half as much as the second(but not more.) I think I'm flashing back to the much younger person I was when I first saw Jaws, opening day 1975, with an audience that screamed like, all the time. (Recall this is one of only three movies I"ve seen with wall-to-wall screaming: Wait Until Dark first run 1967, Jaws first run 1975, Psycho revival, 1979.

And a lot of that screaming happened with both the killings and the "near misses"(the two fishermen with the rump roast) of the first half.

I"ll give ya this: One odd thing about Jaws is that two of the three victims of that first half were pretty much amateurs, non-professionals who weren't all that good in their very brief roles (the naked young woman was a local; the lifeguard was a stunt man.) The boy was...pretty much just a boy(and how shocking to see HIM go...what is this, "It"?) Whereas Janet Leigh and Martin Balsam were familiar, skilled professional actors. In Jaws, we have to wait all the way to Shaw's end to see a truly good performer get ate.

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It's very good, well written and acted, and yet one can't help get edgy and irritated with all those scenes that build up the story if one knows it well.

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I can't say I watch Part One as much as Part Two nowadays if the show is on TV. I do think that the killings are pretty damn Hitchcockian and good -- none more Hitchocckian that that of the Kintner boy -- complete with building suspense, false alarms, the missing dog and then the bloody attack done so quickly and distantly that you're not sure what you're seeing. Scheider gets the "Vertigo zoom" to react.

And the opening attack on the nude swimmer is a homage of sorts to the shower scene, yes? -- Pretty naked woman, in water, relaxing but suddenly in danger, and exposed to horrible death not entirely "seen."

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Unlike Psycho, Jaws doesn't quite have the same level of the, if you'll pardon the pretense, aesthetic, as the earlier film

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Its weird. Personally, I consider Jaws to be the closest film to duplicating the experience of Psycho...shocking but entertaining, funny but profound. And they both share what I call a "suspense zone of danger." Go in the ocean...you die. Go in Mother's house or the Bates Motel...you die. Or you MIGHT. Once the first victim goes, the rest is terror with everybody else.

And yet, no, Jaws isn't REALLY up to the level of construction or polish of Psycho. Spielberg was too young and lacked auteuristic control over the project. Certain shots don't match. Certain lines are clunky or inexplicable. A few too many amateur actors(locals) stick out. Indeed, there is what I call a "lumpiness" to Jaws that Spielberg never really lost in later movies, whether immediately(Close Encounters, 1941) or much later (Jurassic Park, Saving Private Ryan.)

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That Hitchcock was able to do as he pleased with Psycho is likely the deciding factor as well as his having a better screenwriter in Joseph Stefano.

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Yes. Jaws is one of those movies that had several screenwriters. One was Peter Benchley, author of the novel. One was Carl Gottlieb, a comedy writer who is in the movie as the young heavyset councilman(he's in MASH the movie, too.) But unbilled others were brought in to doctor the script and the USS Indianapolis speech has been linked to several writers, including Robert Shaw himself(a playwright, Shaw probably did a final polish.) The result: a lumpy script.

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Fortunately, the actors really save the early part of Jaws, with Scheider and then Dreyfuss very much equal to the mostly absent Robert Shaw, who, like Bruce the shark, arrives in fully only later in the movie.

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It took me a lot of viewings of Jaws to realize that Shaw is kept out of much of the first half. He gets that great first speech("I'll find him for two, I'll catch and kill him for ten..fer that, ya get the fin, the tail...the whole damn thing...") and one of the great introductions in film history(fingernails on a blackboard...watch people cringe!)

And that's about it. I realized later that Spielberg just sort of stuck a shot of Quint driving his boat slowly down the channel to remind us he was in the movie! Bruce the Shark isn't the only "unseen trick" in Jaws.

But Quint takes over once the shark hunt begins -- I love the scene where a nervous Chief Brody and a rebellious but scared Hooper first meet with Quint in his shop(boiling a shark's...jawbone...right?) The three men aren't getting along HERE , and Brody asks a good question "You aren't going to be like this on the boat, are you, Mr. Quint?" Good question.

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It's the last,--is if even half-hour?--part of the film, maybe longer, on the boat, when it really catches fire,

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Its again rather like Psycho, isn't it? A certain acceleration of events. With the USS Indianpolis speech as a "long break of emotion," its AFTER that speech that the movie breaks loose -- the boys engage the shark, and a series of action set-pieces unleash.

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as the three leads literally fight for dominance. It's like there's a subtext of "who's the real star of Jaws?", which Shaw wins easily.

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Great point. The actors names appear the same on screen as in the poster...all at the same time, Scheider left, Shaw center but higher, Dreyfuss right and lower than Shaw, the same level as Scheider.

The battle's between Scheider(left) and Shaw(top) and eventually won by Shaw...though the movie opens with Scheider and uses him as our protagonist throughout.

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He's already got the upper hand in the rage department, and, of course, as skipper of the ship,--the other two are clearly on HIS vessel--and then the Indianapolis speech knocks it out of the park. It's Shaw's movie from that point on, even with so little actual time remaining, with his death one of the most agonizing in all filmdom. His ghost haunts the picture even after he's gone, as it's difficult to get his image and personality out of one's mind even as Dreyfuss and Scheider are paddling to shore.

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One of the great exchanges in film history:

Dreyfuss: Quint.
Scheider: No.

And yes, Shaw gets the horrific death in the film. The shark ate other victims unseen with the carnage little seen. But THIS IS IT...we finally watch a victim slide all the way into the beasts jaws and get chomped on and swallowed. Its rather like the shower stabbing -- who would want to die like THIS? The horror, the horror.

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I'd say through the shower scene and after, as while Norman is clearly no longer even a potential hero, and there's clearly something wrong with him, there are still mysteries to be solved in Psycho.

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There are a LOT of mysteries to be solved in Psycho, including one -- quite ironically, that we didn't know we had to solve: who the real killer is. We're assuming: Mother.

But the mysteries are really more about Norman. And his relationship to Mother. And about Mother herself --its funny how we think we "know" her, but we never see her face til the end.

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When Martin Balsam's Arbogast enters, literally, it's like we're formally in Part II of the movie, with much more to go and still no clear hero, heroine or villain. Yes, Hitchcock liked to "toy" with his audience.

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In some ways, Psycho said a movie could function without a "clear" hero, heroine, or villain. We can call Marion the heroine of the film, but she steals a lot of money and "goes on the lam." Isn't that a criminal? OK, so Lila is the heroine...but she comes in very late in the movie and Marion was played by the bigger star. Is Arbogast the hero? Somewhat, but we know he's only played by a character actor and sure enough-- dead quick. Sam is a rather strapping hero, but he's weak and non-committal and he doesn't have leading man billing.

Anthony Perkins does. Which makes him the hero. No, wait -- and even when he ISN"T known as the killer, we cannot see him as a hero...

...Hitchcock toyed with a lot of conventions on Psycho.

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Of course that's not everything, but the bitter harvest that he reaped as a teen and young man was, where the ladies are concerned, a big zero, and THAT's what triggered the hate and sudden violence. Norman was clueless.

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Mother took a boyfriend...and took him to bed. We can figure that messed with Norman, too. ("That sent him over the edge."). Funny how nothing is really told to us about that boyfriend. He's "Uncle" Joe Considine in Bloch's book; and David Thomson wrote some fan fiction that conjured the man as a Mexican-American working construction on the new highway(Thomson also conjured Norman only wanting to kill the BOYFRIEND, but Mother drank some of the man's wine..)

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where the ladies are concerned, a big zero, and THAT's what triggered the hate and sudden violence. Norman was clueless.

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That Norman is clueless all comes out in the parlor scene, in which he takes a perfectly quiet and compassionate conversation with a beautiful woman..and wrecks it, first by saying that "a boy's best friend is his mother" and then launching into an angry(but quietly controlled) tirade when Marion suggests Mom be "put someplace".

That tirade, actually, is the BIG clue that Norman doesn't have it all together, that his humanity has long deserted him, and that his cute face and boyish manner are only fronts...

...but he pulls back in time, smiles that "aw shucks smile" -- and Marion is OK with staying now.

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Psycho is itself the biggest whatsit of 'em all, as no sooner does the viewer think it's all about sex than does it become all about money.

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And then it becomes about murder (most foul) and the money doesn't matter.

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Then there's the Hitch trope of fear of the law when the money's stolen and when Marion arrives at the Bates motel one just knows,--and I think even a first time viewer would even know, even if he'd never heard about the movie--that this movie's big whatsit is hiding somewhere in that house on the hill.

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Yes. I've always figured a viewer going into Psycho "blind" would figure the thriller begins when Marion sees the house and Mother in the window. A certain mystery, dread and spookiness is established. Now the audience braces to see where this will all go. And the movie IS called "Psycho" after all. But I doubt any audience was prepared for how FAR Psycho was going to go, from the shower murder on. Hence...all that screaming. They were in terror of what more could be done to them...

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Another thing about Psycho that's unique: the more information it gives out the more off kilter the first time viewer, as no sooner than is a murder committed than is one is given a ton of clues to, as one learns at the film's end, things that have little relation to what literally DROVE Norman Bates to murder, to becoming a tranny

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That and the idea that -- if Hitchcock's tricks are working -- one spends the whole time up to (down to?) the fruit cellar thinking Mother IS the killer. Norman's role has been ambiguous up til then -- though he seems to shift from innocent to accomplice AND villainous partner to his killer mom -- and then we get the "solution" and everything reverses.

Its always been a "dark tickle" to me to consider:

We thought we saw a woman murder a woman; and a woman murder a man, but WHAT WE REALLY SAW was : a man murder a woman; and a man murder a man.

Juggling the gender roles is dizzying in Psycho.

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Poor Jeff. The whole world seems to look down on him. Even his girlfriend "descends" on him, like a beautiful bird. His friend the detective is always literally looking down on him; and this is true of his nurse (home health aide?), Thelma Ritter.

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I don't think I ever thought about how James Stewart -- among the tallest actors in Hollywood -- was deprived of his "height power" by having to sit in that chair as people hover over him. Its a bit emasculating.

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He's like a little boy crying wolf for much of the film's length.

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But this little boy is RIGHT!

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Interesting that the one character he's "on the level with" is Lars Thorwald, the man across the yard!

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Yes, on the same "plane" so to speak.

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