Showing posts with label Alfred Hitchcock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alfred Hitchcock. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Psycho (1960)

Horror films have a way of working themselves into their audiences' moviegoing lives. And despite the current laughable state of the genre, at some point in our lives, we've all shuddered during moments of terror, let out screams as a killer plots his next move against unsuspecting victims. And then there's the calling card of horror - the slasher sequence. Who among us can claim never to have hidden their eyes during such a scene? And as people who've experienced these noted side effects of the genre, we owe a debt to Alfred Hitchcock's 1960 genre-definer, Psycho.

In discussing such a film, the temptation strikes to give you its resume - the numerous accolades it's received over the years. Take a quick look at the IMDb or the American Film Institute website, and you'll find all you need - everything from its elevated ranking among the greatest films of all time to deserved recognition for Bernard Herrmann's chilling soundtrack, as much a factor to the film's invocation of fear as the fates of its characters.

Indeed, it is hard to dispute Psycho's sterling reputation in film history, especially within its genre. Admirably filmed so as not to appear dated nearly 50 years later, its depictions of sexuality and violence were nothing short of revolutionary, blurring the lines between "acceptable" and "taboo" in cinema. And then there's its villain, murderous psychopath Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) - among the most haunting characters in history. But a perfect movie? Not quite. Sorry, but this one isn't even Hitchcock's best.

Janet Leigh's performance as Marion Crane tends to get top billing in this movie, especially after her infamous shower sequence, but this is really an unfair presentation. Indeed, Crane kick-starts the story by stealing $40,000 from an employer, ultimately leading her to the ominous Bates mansion and accompanying motel. It is a testament to Hitchcock's skills as a director that the film is as thrilling as it is even before she meets its namesake. Her adventures are such that stumbling upon the empty, darkened motel comes as a great relief, to both character and audience alike.

But beyond this, and her final piercing scream, her role is non-existent. The true terror of the movie comes as we get to know Bates, which only happens once Crane's sister Lila (Vera Miles) and lover, Sam (John Gavin) become involved after her disappearance.

The further they dig, the creepier Bates becomes - his mysterious mother and bizarre responses to simple interaction with other people rendering an earlier development, his unorthodox hobby of taxidermy, seem almost normal. And through it all, Perkins handles the role with an effortless grace that makes it that much more believable and thus that much scarier.

We grow to realize that Bates is truly mentally ill, that he really is a psychopath. This makes sense; the film's title is, after all, "Psycho," not merely "Killer." In theory, such a designation could only enhance the story. The criminal's true motives can no longer be clearly identified; we now have to deal with the origins of his condition, his awareness of the crimes he's committing, and countless other factors.

And for as important a development as this is, it's a bit disappointing to see Hitchcock and Co. handle its realization on film so poorly. We get the explanation all at once, placed in such a spot of the movie so as to completely kill any momentum it'd built up throughout. As a result, we're left with a poor aftertaste in our mouth, one that returns an otherwise classic to the realms of mere mortals.

3 stars out of 4

Monday, July 14, 2008

Vertigo (1958)


What drives obsession? How do we go from being attracted to something to being completely consumed by it? People may praise Alfred Hitchcock's landmark film Vertigo for James Stewart's haunting performance as obsessive detective Scottie Ferguson, or for its stellar production value (Which makes you wonder if films set in San Francisco can possibly turn out poorly), and both deserve kudos. But the film's greatest asset is its ability to invoke those two fundamental questions in its audience. While it's not quite the "masterpiece" Hitchcock dubbed it, Vertigo was certainly good enough for him to toot his own horn.

Scottie's slow descent into madness over the course of the film is what keeps us watching, despite his never having been that normal to begin with. An early sequence reveals his development of acrophobia and, eventually, vertigo - to the level that merely standing on a stool in his friend Midge's (Barbara Bel Geddes) apartment is an ordeal. The two have combined to force him into retirement, until an old friend coaxes him out of it to investigate strange behavior in the friend's wife, Madeleine (Kim Novak.)

Madeleine's allure is mysterious, but her behavior even more so. She'll visit the Legion of Honor every day to look at the same painting, only to follow it up with visits to the grave of the woman depicted in it. Her automatic movements, along with the slightly misty quality of the film while she's on camera almost puts you in a trance - not unlike the one she appears to be in. Yet the more erratic her behavior, the deeper Scottie falls for her as his investigation transforms into infatuation. And just when you think you've got a handle on what's going on - they change it up and throw you a curveball.

Unfortunately, there are some lulls after that curveball - and once the mystery's gone, the film's not quite as immediately captivating. But from a conceptual standpoint the second half is a proverbial feast, for Scottie's haunting personality change gives way to those two foundational questions. They'll leave you pondering for days ahead, which is something to treasure coming from a film.

3.5 stars out of 4
8/10