Mommy Issues—Anyone? Anyone? Norman?

Hitchcock's Hotel of Horrors

Janet Leigh in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960)

For those who’ve followed along with this series on the highlights of horror cinema history, you’re officially a bona fide AYSY expert on the Universal Monsters and Post-War fears surrounding science and atomic weapons. If you’re a new recruit, or just want a refresher before starting this article about Hitchcock and Psycho’s cinematic influences, I suggest reading a few of those first so you know more about the evolution. 

Now, to our regularly programmed haunting horror history. 

When someone thinks of a classic horror film today, they’ll likely think of black-and-white screams of a beautiful woman being chased by a murderous man, or they’ll think of screeching violins and shower curtain stabs. The reason for our collective recognition of that image is Hitchcock, the father of modern horror. 

Similar to the years immediately post-war, the 1960s were rife with political and social turmoil and change. A new social change or movement sparked to life nearly every week, and Civil Rights riots and anti-Vietnam War protests weren’t the only things that consumed lives, TV screens, and American pastimes. 

By the time Hitchcock released Psycho in 1960, he had already churned out horror classics for more than a decade. He released Vertigo in 1958, Rear Window and Dial M for Murder in 1954, and Rebecca in 1940, just to name a few, but he’d been a filmmaker since the 1920s. Psycho was near the tail end of his big film releases, with The Birds following it in 1963. What helped solidify his place as the father of modern horror, besides subjecting his leading ladies to real-life terror and abuse so he could get realistic reactions on film, was his role as the presenter and host of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, a TV series that told stories of terror and horror. 

Before Psycho, horror relied more on the implication of harm and fear. Rear Window (my personal favorite Hitchcock) is the perfect example. You as the viewer aren’t quite sure what will happen, or if the characters you care about will be hurt (hence the “psychological thriller” genre title).  Suspense fueled the fear he fed his audiences, and it was the most effective tool in his arsenal—until the Bates Motel, at least. Psycho is unique for many reasons, but fear is one of them. Hitchcock explains fear saying that 

Fear isn’t so difficult to understand. After all, weren’t we all frightened as children? Nothing has changed since Little Red Riding Hood faced the big bad Wolf. What frightens us today is exactly the same sort of thing that frightened us yesterday. It’s just a different wolf. This fright complex is rooted in every individual.¹

So what makes Psycho so fear-inducing? It functions as a type of Little Red Riding Hood story that Hitchcock suggests.² Marion unsuspectingly goes off on her own solo journey to go take something to someone else, and she ends up in the jaws of a wolf. You travel with her, invested in her future and her life, with no fears for her safety. What’s so scary about a nice man and a nice motel? A shower curtain call, that’s what. 

Before I explain the impact of that scene, I think it’s important to give a summary of the plot for those who may not have seen it before (spoilers, obviously). The film begins with the beautiful Marion Crane (played by Janet Leigh), who, after stealing money from her employer so she can meet up with and marry her boyfriend, stops at the Bates Motel to wait out a rainstorm that delays her drive. There, she meets the timid, meek Norman Bates, who lives in the house overlooking the hotel and works as the proprietor. He invites Marion to dinner, but after an upsetting conversation about his ailing and controlling mother, Marion leaves and returns to her room (this dinner scene is where my slight fear of taxidermy probably originated). She is then killed in the shower by a mysterious figure, and Norman finds her when he comes to check on her after dinner. After disposing of her body, belongings, and car, Norman is later questioned by a PI looking for Marion. The poor PI is then killed by the same shadowy figure (tough luck!), and his disappearance alerts Marion’s fiancé Sam, and sister Lila, who have also been looking for her. The sheriff then informs them of Mrs. Bates’ death 10 years prior in a poisoning murder-suicide. When Lila and Sam go to solve things for themselves (come on! It’s like they’ve never seen a horror movie!) they find Norman’s mummified mother in the basement and a knife-wielding Norman dressed as her (as one does). It is then revealed that Norman killed his mother and her lover, mummified mommie dearest (no wire hangers, Norman!), and developed an alternate “mother” personality that takes over and kills people he’s attracted to. 

Okay, how are we doing after all of that? 

While there have been many, many conversations about the problematic depictions of Norman’s mental illness, and dissociative disorders in general (which is a whole article on its own, but I recommend reading something like this one), there have also, obviously, been many conversations about the shower murder itself. Besides being the reason for an entire generation’s looming fear of showering, it’s also the reason for some big changes in the horror film world.

From a cinematic standpoint, the shower scene was the first of its kind. Never had there been a violent murder of the protagonist so early in the film, especially one like that. Psycho opened the doors to showing violence and brutality on screen that was once not only unthinkable but also forbidden by production codes. 

In my article about the Bride of Frankenstein, I broke down the gist of the Hays Code, a strict 1930s Hollywood film propriety rule book. By the early 1960s, it wasn’t being heavily enforced, and by 1968, it was replaced by the MPAA guidelines that we still use today. Even though the early production codes were still in place in the early ‘60s, the growing popularity of foreign films, many of which dealt with topics directly counter to the code (sex, crime, drugs, etc.), couldn’t be censored as easily as Hollywood.

Not only was there a huge influx of foreign film influence, but the world itself had also changed since the Hollywood codes were enacted 30 years prior. The '60s were the spark for the free-love, hippie movement that caught fire in the 70s, and it was also the start of the Women’s Liberation movements. Women were starting to speak up, protest, and put their foot down en masse, allowing for more social change for the rights of women. A code that strictly outlined what a woman could wear or say on screen couldn’t last long in the new world and had to be modernized. The MPAA guidelines, a voluntary classification system with ratings of G, M, R, and X, acted as the replacement for the Hays Code. 

Since the Hays Code was on its way out when Psycho was filmed and released, Hitchcock was allowed more freedom in his directing and storytelling than other creatives were allowed in previous decades. Just because the guidelines changed doesn’t mean that everyone was happy about it, though. Many religious and conservative organizations and individuals pushed against the showing of obscene, violent imagery to the American public. President Johnson, for example, created a national commission against obscenity and pornography to assess the situation after the 1967 release of the graphic Bonnie and Clyde.³ Many films then had to get the seal of approval of multiple groups, or they’d potentially face legal action. 

On the technical side of the Psycho shower scene, the editor of the film, George Tomasini, does something special to make you visually feel the horror of Marion’s murder.⁴ The scene itself has around 90 cuts in 45 seconds (that’s a lot, if you’re wondering), and uses some interesting visual psychology. He started with just a handful of shots, some of the most important ones being of Janet Leigh’s (Marion) eye and the water circling the drain. By switching between the two shots, he is able to make the viewer feel her life “draining away” in real-time. 

It was important in this scene to shock and horrify the viewer. A woman’s life ended when she was at her most vulnerable state—and it was completely unavoidable. She couldn’t have been more careful or defended herself better. Marion is the victim of a man who needs serious help, but Marion is also the proxy for the viewer watching the film—unsuspecting, trusting, and naive. 

While at dinner, before the shower snafu, Norman suggests to our unsuspecting Marion that everyone has their own “private trap” that they want to escape but can’t. Their quick interaction explains the entire film in just a few lines and quietly calls back to the Little Red Riding Hood allusion. For Norman, a person can be trapped in their state of mind with “no way to get out,” but as Marion responds, sometimes they deliberately place themselves in that trap. The viewer is unaware that Norman is hinting at his future actions, or that Marion is about to be the deliberate victim of his private trap.

It’s nearly impossible to downplay the significance of Hitchcock’s work overall, but especially a film like Psycho that was likely the catalyst for the entire slasher genre. Hitchcock and his crew’s filmmaking was able to use an initially deceptive, harmless story to shock, horrify, and frighten millions in the span of a few minutes. Maybe the larger impact, though, is that it opened the eyes of horror filmmakers worldwide to the new possibilities of what they, too, could create—and slash. 

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To quote Alfred Hitchcock Presents, “I hope you'll join us again next week, when we will present you with another story of gripping, spine-tingling suspense, and three boring commercials to take the edge off of it.” Next week is all about the slashers that started it all and why they caught on so quickly. 

Subscribe below to get more updates on horror film history leading up to Halloween, and soon I’ll tackle one subject at a time to give you the run-down on the most terrifying tales through the ages.

Are you scared yet?

1. Quoted in Charlotte Chandler, It’s Only a Movie: Alfred Hitchcock: A Personal Biography, 2005. (I found it in the Little Red Riding Hood article referenced below, so thank you to that author!)

2. A very interesting article on the similarities between Psycho and Little Red Riding Hood

3. Chapter 4 “The Waning Production Code and the Rise of the Ratings System” from an anthology series called History of the American Cinema. This volume is The Sixties by Paul Monaco

4. Chapter 6 “The Cutter’s Room” from the above anthology volume