Kieran.Stories

On my fourteenth birthday, with my birthday money, I bought a box set of Hitchcock DVDs from HMV. I worked my way through Rear Window, Vertigo, and The Birds. The box set also contained Psycho. My parents were strict about BBFC certifications, but for some reason I was allowed to watch The Birds, even though it was rated 15. I thought The Birds was rubbish. It was so long, and there was only one cool bit, when you saw that someone’s eye had been gouged out by a seagull. But the whole bird thing was silly. My parents decided that Psycho was off limits, even though I had bought it with my birthday money. The injustice of it all.

The idea of waiting until my fifteenth birthday was ridiculous. I made the case to my parents. In the end, they agreed that I could watch Psycho, but under supervision. Dad took the far end of the settee. I claimed the seat closest to the TV. This was prime real estate. I pressed play. ‘I remember when I watched it,’ my dad said, ‘and you found out he was his mum. Had no idea.’ I had no idea either. I think I said something like, ‘Are you being serious?’

But I loved it. It scared me more than any film before or since, apart from The Blair Witch Project. I dreamt about it for a long time. I wasn’t angry at Dad for giving away the twist. In a way, I already knew, or I knew that there would be some sort of twist. That sort of knowledge is primordial. Everyone knows ‘Yellow Submarine’ on leaving the womb. Everyone knows that Norman Bates keeps his mother in the fruit cellar. But then, that’s not really the twist in Psycho. Marion’s murder is what turns the film on its head (in the book, literally). Marion’s murder does not make sense. It’s not that it comes from nowhere, it’s that it stops any possible future. It leaves us empty. Or it leaves us with Norman’s future, which is equally hollow. It dissolves. I watched a video recently by Is This Just Fantasy?, linked below, on Psycho’s relationship to the uncanny which I would strongly recommend.

In 2024, for my twenty-seventh birthday we watched The Lord of the Rings in one day, starting at around nine in the morning and finishing just before midnight. We were hermetically sealed. Nothing was going to happen. Our only goal was Mordor. It was the hottest day of the year, and we were in front of the tele. Bliss.

For my twenty-eighth birthday, I suggested marathoning all the Psycho films, excluding the 1998 Gus Van Sant remake. My friend Will was coming to stay, and he was bringing his partner. So it would be the four of us watching Psycho, Psycho II, Psycho III, and Psycho IV: The Beginning. Wholesome fun for all the family. Will’s partner knew nothing about the plot of the original. I was excited to see what she made of it. Of course, she worked out what was going on early doors. That was fine, we had three other films to watch.

The difference between marathoning the Psycho sequels and The Lord of the Rings is that Rings is cohesive, and it has a sense of catharsis. It tells one story. This seems to be the way to go with a marathon. Each Psycho film is written and directed by someone new (apart from Psycho IV: The Beginning, written by original Psycho screenwriter Joseph Stefano), and the ongoing story between films is either non-existent or pointless.

One problem might be that for the vast majority of the films, there is no one to root for. Norman Bates is an iconic character, brilliantly played by Perkins, but he’s unable to grow, partly because the perceived success of the franchise hinges on him killing various people. And by the end, it does feel like a franchise, not a series of films. Psycho II is interesting in that it reverses the twist of the original, and it is only in the final scene that Norman murders anyone, but by the end, the film suggests that all the pieces are back in place; a new corpse can be seen through mother’s bedroom window, and Norman stands like a pin outside his house. It’s a bit like The Force Awakens. In that way, the sequels represent an inertia. Psycho III, directed by Anthony Perkins, is probably my favourite of the sequels. It’s the most fun to watch. It’s visually playful. It’s fairly short. But it has no story. It starts to formulate a story, but it never gets there.

After our marathon, we got the bus into town and went to the pub. We were done with Psycho, and we could get back to spending time together.

The reason I planned the above marathon was to share my love of Psycho with my friends. It was a flawed plan. Psycho is like a perfect dream. A chromatic Mobius loop that I have watched over and over. Not everyone sees that loop in the same way. If there was ever a film that takes place inside your own head, it’s Psycho. I close my eyes and I can see those fast moving clouds above that Second Empire style Victorian house. Anyway, maybe Shrek next year!