SOME SPOILERS AHEAD, BUT YOU HAVEN’T SEEN PSYCHO, YOU AND I NEED TO HAVE WORDS.
To me, one of the strangest things about Gus Van Sant’s 1998 remake of Psycho is that the cinematic community has chosen to forget it. Perhaps we’re all better off this way, but in my opinion this is a film that should be displayed before Hollywood as one of the greatest sins the movies ever committed. I say this as someone who admires just about everyone involved with the project. Heck, Van Sant’s own Milk might have been my favorite movie of 2008. (I haven’t decided for sure, because I don’t care.) Yet sometimes, even great artists make decisions that are just plain wrong. Psycho is an example of this. Alfred Hitchcock’s film remains brilliant to this day for a variety of reasons. Van Sant’s version attempts to copy it, yet at the same time it throws in a few bells and whistles to make it seem a bit more modern. Every one of Van Sant’s additions would prove to be a subtraction.
Let’s start with the most obvious: color. These days, many people may think the original Psycho was shot in black and white simply because it’s old. What they don’t know is that it was actually a conscious choice by Hitchcock rather than a necessity. Psycho was made in 1960, a time when films were in color far more often than they weren’t. In fact, Hitchcock had already made a few color movies himself. If he intended Psycho to be some grand epic, he would have undoubtedly gone out of his way to look visually dazzling. Of course, that was not his goal. Not only was Psycho shot quick and dirty, the film itself was meant to look quick and dirty. The cheapness of the whole affair only adds to the impact. The budget of his Psycho was around $800,000, which can be translated to around $6 million today. The remake’s budget was around $60 million. Personally, I’d like to know where most of it went.
Color is just one example of the remake’s large problem: it tries to improve on the original by adding more. Psycho, through all its twists and turns, is supposed to be a pretty streamlined story. It is said that Van Sant’s great criticism of the original was that the only fleshed out character in the film was Norman Bates. Well… yeah. That’s because he’s the only character that matters. The most powerful moments among the secondary characters in the original came because they were all so normal. One of the best examples of this is the scene in which Marion Crane drives down the highway with the voices of others running though her head. (Broken down terrifically by Mike D’Angelo last week here.) While Janet Leigh stared straight ahead and barely made a move, Anne Heche’s face seems to be working overtime.
Also, not to beat a dead horse, but if you take that same scene and place them side by side, you’ll notice Hitchcock’s is far more disorienting. Why? It’s in black and white, making it harder to see out the windshield. In the new version, the weather doesn’t seem all that bad. Certainly not bad enough to warrant a stop at the creepiest motel on Earth.
The problem with Vaughn is that his Norman Bates jumps right into weirdness before we get a chance to say hello. When we first meet Anthony Perkins in the original, he seems amiable enough. A bit strange, but amiable. In contrast, when Vaughn lets out a strained giggle in his first 30 seconds of screen time, it’s hard not to know that this guy’s out of his freaking mind. I wouldn’t have been too worried about staying in Perkins’ hotel for a night. After meeting Vaughn, I would have run for the hills.
Vaughn and Heche aren’t the only actors to blame. One of the strangest acting choices comes courtesy of future Aragorn Viggo Mortensen. Instead of playing Sam Loomis as an exceedingly normal human being—as he should be—he gives him a boy-howdy cowboy personality that comes off more grating than anything. Julianne Moore fairs a bit better as Marion’s worried sister, even if she has to carry that dumb Walkman around everywhere in an attempt to remind everyone that this is, in fact, the ’90s.
If there’s one actor in the remake that nails it, it’s the great William H. Macy as Detective Arbogast. Whenever he’s onscreen, suddenly the action becomes a bit more interesting. He provides a lone character to root for amidst the slog, and this is because he treats his character as simply as possible. No new accents or interpretations are added. Arbogast is a character that comes in, serves his purpose, and dies. That’s how it’s meant to be, and Macy does that well. I was sad to see him go even when I darn well knew it was coming.
A well-documented instance of the remake going too far comes immediately after the initial meeting between Bates and Marion. As she gets dressed in her room, Bates spies on her through a hole in the wall. In the original, he merely stares. In the remake, you can clearly hear the lovely sounds of masturbation. This is a strange choice by Van Sant indeed, and it’s emblematic of the film’s need to make everything more obvious and graphic. More blood! More sex! Murder scenes intercut with random pictures of god-knows-what! History has shown that the best horror movies often work because of what we aren’t allowed to see. Van Sant’s remake shows us more than we ever need.
The original Psycho is still a great horror film because its only purpose is to embed itself inside the minds of audiences and never let go. It isn’t so much about what’s happening onscreen as it is about what’s happening to those watching it. Psycho never goes deeper than the surface, and it’s all the better for it. The remake aims in a different direction entirely, and as a result it fails on every level. In theory, a “shot-for-shot” remake of Psycho is a compelling idea. Van Sant’s great mistake is that he was simultaneously too faithful to the original as well as too divergent from it. If you’re going to remake Psycho shot-for-shot, then remake it shot-for-shot. If you’re going to change a few things, then just make your own movie. The final product can’t help but feel like an insult to Hitchcock’s much-beloved film.
One more thing: as the end credits conclude, the following title appears onscreen:
Within the context of the entire film, this doesn’t feel like a tribute so much as it feels like a punchline.
Personally, I see the remake as a 'necessary sacrifice'.
ReplyDeleteBecause if Van Sant didn't make this movie, then someone like Platinum Dunes would have came along to make its own version and we would have gotten something much, much worse.
Would it have been worse? I'm not so sure. It wouldn't have been so thoroughly pointless.
ReplyDeleteBut don't get me wrong. I despise Platinum Dunes with a passion.