When it comes to cinema, we all have special memories about certain films. Anyone who has ever found solace in the warm embrace of filmmaking will doubtlessly hold some strong feelings towards particular works, which normally evoke some kind of reaction from them. However, there are some films that are memorable not only for their content, but for the situations surrounding them, whether in terms of the general release, or individual experiences we had when watching them. Psycho seems to be one of those films that everyone has a unique story about seeing for the first time – whether standing in line in 1960 to see it for the first time, armed with very little information other than it was the new chilling work from Alfred Hitchcock (who insisted on theatres prohibiting late entrances), or later on down the road, we all remember where we were when Psycho first found its way into our lives. The mysterious VHS cover sitting on the shelf of the horror section of the local video store was the first time I had ever heard of this work, and the parental swatting-away of my outstretched hands only confirmed that this wasn’t a film for children of my age – so the experience of seeing it down the road for the first time, when I was finally given permission to enter into Hitchcock’s world (in a double-feature with The Birds, which may have been the moment I first fell in love with horror) was so incredible, it became almost a ritual to revisit it over the years, each subsequent viewing revealing something new, a detail that I had never noticed before and which can influence one’s entire perception of a film that has so much fascinating information lurking just below the surface, we can only discover more the further we venture inwards. If there’s anything more compelling than a film that invites you to revisit it endlessly, it’s yet to be seen. 

A film that never grows old, and actually seems to acquire more nuance as it ages, Psycho‘s status as one of the greatest films ever made is nowhere close to undeserved – and it seems like even bothering to filter this work into a set of coherent thoughts seems wildly inappropriate for something that has had every detail scrutinized over the years, with the thoughts and beliefs of a wide array of academics, critics and theoretical philosophers intermingling with the adoration Psycho has received from audiences over the past sixty decades. Last month signalled the sixtieth anniversary of this film, so there seems to be few better occasions to once again accept Hitchcock’s invitation to attend one of the most macabre autumnal vacations one can possibly hope to have. It goes without question that Psycho is a film that has benefitted from being almost a cinematic institution on its own – the very title is synonymous with so many concepts, such as being the embodiment of quality horror, the pioneering work of slasher cinema (a distinction it shares with the similarly-brilliant Peeping Tom from the same year) and one of the many defining works in the career of a filmmaker who was capable of plumbing the depths of whatever genre took his fancy at a particular moment. By 1960, the world was Hitchcock’s oyster, and he played a pivotal role in shaping cinema with decades of quality work that had captivated viewers for years – so it only stands to reason that the logical choice (when presented with certain obstacles that should have never been there for a director of Hitchcock’s stature) was to take the crew from his namesake television show and, armed with a much smaller budget than normal, venture into territory that was both on-brand for the director, and a new exercise in genre filmmaking – and in the process, influenced an entire genre in which Hitchcock himself was only starting to experiment when he decided to adapt Robert Bloch’s wildly-popular novel.

Hitchcock took a risk in defying studio traditions (and outright warnings given to him by those who held some authority in the industry), and the result was Psycho – and its in this precise approach that we can find a great entry-point into discussing what is one of the finest works of horror to ever appear in any medium, and one that continues to be resonant today. What is most striking about the film, and which really came into focus through this recent revisiting, was the fact that despite being one of the most iconic entries into the genre and a work that influenced subsequent films immensely, Psycho is an incredibly unconventional horror film, breaking more rules than it adheres to. It has become so definitive of horror filmmaking, we don’t actually realize how different this film actually was – and in both form and content, Psycho was doing something so incredibly revolutionary. Breaking it down, we can see how some of Hitchcock’s decisions were somewhat out of pocket from the perspective of those funding this excursion that was viewed as little more than a passion project – a lack of a major star (with the closest being the popular but still vastly underrated Anthony Perkins who had yet to get a role that brought him to the mainstream, and the wonderful Janet Leigh, who had a storied career, but not one normally seen as fitting for such a complex heroine – both were far-cries from the likes of James Stewart and Cary Grant, who previously worked with the director), a horrifying premise filled with sinister characters who have questionable morals, and an ambigious ending that left the viewer more frightened than entertained. Yet, Hitchcock was not someone who took risks without being willing to put in the work – and the result was a film that single-handedly revitalized a genre that was popular, but hadn’t had a blockbuster on quite this level for several years.

Simply looking at the form Psycho takes is more than enough to make for a compelling discussion. Many contemporary filmmakers can take a cue from Hitchcock (and so many have), especially in showing how horror doesn’t need to be overly complex to be effective. Everything considered, Psycho is a very minimalistic horror film – in both structure and execution, Hitchcock isn’t doing anything that could be seen as excessive with this film, quite a departure for a genre that was often about employing innovative forms of storytelling to frighten the audience and give them an unforgettable experience. Psycho works well because it never attempts to do too much with the premise that would distract from the more interesting ideas embedded within it – instead, it’s perfectly satisfied with being the epitome of restraint, each moment brimming with a subdued sense of terror that gradually unravels, reaching a grotesque climax that is horrifying without being excessive. Taking his cue from European psychological horror, which did have a head-start on Hitchcock when it came to using allusion and implication as legitimate tools to scare the audience, the director finds an incredible balance between the story and the form it takes. It’s a peculiar approach, but it massively impacts how the film functions, since without such a unique way of uncovering this story – which essentially takes the form of a series of conversations punctuated by moments of chilling, unhinged violence – we’d not have had a film that burrows into our psyche and gradually erodes our level-headed sanity, leaving us just as paranoid and frightened as these characters, with the final shot not being any comfort to those who find themselves terrified, not only by this specific plot, but the implications it has as a piece of fiction inspired heavily by real-world events.

Yet, even looking deeper, we can see how Psycho so brilliantly subverts everything we expect to come from such a horror film. The debate as to whether this can be considered the first American slasher film is still without a clear resolution, but even from this perspective, it is still fundamentally different in a number of ways. Ultimately, despite being Hitchcock’s first fully-fledged horror, there are many unmistakable traits persistent throughout. Consider the use of suspense – normally, we’d attribute this mostly to scenes such as those towards the beginning, where Marion Crane is quite literally escaping from her old life, on the run from the past. These scenes are filled with foreboding dread and despair – but it’s in the director’s method of inserting the same sense of chilling suspense into the most unexpected places that captures our attention. This can be seen in the use of repetition – the premise of Psycho is very simple, and follows a relatively straightforward plot that doesn’t have many deviations. In this regard, there are numerous scenes where Marion’s actions are repeated, almost anecdotally. This isn’t poor writing, nor is it a method of filling up the space between terrifying moments – rather, it’s an active way of creating a sense of disquieting anxiety. Each time her retreat is relayed, some details are added, others are elided – the ease with which the story emerges each time adds a layer of authenticity that contributes to the sickening feeling of having witnessed her brutal murder just moments before, something only the audience and the film’s villain(s) are witness to. Hitchcock knew how to effectively use banality as a narrative tool – and while Psycho might be best-remembered for its iconic shower scene, or the chilling reveal of Bates’ malice, its the moments in between that tend to carry the most interesting ideas, and Hitchcock’s ability to infuse something as inconsequential as a quick conversation with a disconcerting sense of dread is truly indicative of a talent that very few have ever dared to question, but which we shouldn’t dare to take for granted either.

Psycho is one of those films that has become so ingrained in our culture, it’s sometimes difficult to remember that this was a work that was quite revolutionary for its time. I’ve yet to encounter someone that didn’t have a strong opinion on this film (granted they have seen it), with the film reaching across multiple generations, and affecting us individually in numerous different ways. Hitchcock was a true master, and while it may seem overly simplistic to cite this as one of his true masterpieces (since it is perhaps his most famous film), we can’t deny the impact this film makes. Whether watching it for the first time, or revisiting it after any amount of time, Psycho is a film that leaves an incredible impression. Ultimately, nothing can be said about this film hasn’t already been articulated numerous times before – any piece of criticism, casual conversation or in-depth analysis can only hope to scratch the surface of what Hitchcock did here, and while this would normally be seen as indicative of an overly-complex work, here it simply points towards the fact that this is a film that carries so much meaning within its remarkably simple premise, it facilitates an endless amount of discussion. Whether looking at it is a piece of self-reflective true-crime commentary, a pioneering work of horror, a dark and twisted tale of the perversions of the human mind, or simply as one of the great examples of intrepid filmmaking, Psycho is a film that yearns to be seen and discussed, especially since its influence on the industry as a whole has only grown stronger in subsequent years, where this still stands as one of the few truly perfect horror films in both theory and execution, and one that will continue to be an influence on generations of filmmakers and audiences alike. This isn’t the first time I’ve spoken about Psycho, and I highly doubt it’ll be the last, since there is simply so much to say about this film.