When Psycho was released in 1960, it took audiences by storm, both because of its storyline as well as because of director Alfred Hitchcock’s masterful publicity plan. By refusing audiences entry into the picture after it had started, Hitchcock created a buzz around the film that made it much more than just a horror film. It made it an experience. Central to Psycho’s longevity is its ability to titillate and shock viewers in equal measure. From its infamous shower scene to Janet Leigh lounging provocatively in a negligee to Norman’s complicated gender performance, Psycho can be credited as a seminal moment in American film’s move away from Production Code prurient sensibilities and toward an explicitly adult form of storytelling where explorations of violence and deviant behavior weren’t just tolerated but actively encouraged. Film was ready to explore the darker side of a post WW2 America in the throes of homogeneity and Hitchcock was ready to capitalize on that desire.
Check out the original theatrical trailer for Psycho:
The film opens with Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) embezzling money from her employer and fleeing in a desperate bid to escape the authorities. She makes the ill-fated decision to stop for the night at a dilapidated hotel where she encounters Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), the hotel clerk. What follows is a taut psychological drama in which sexuality, psychosis, and identity merge together in horrific fashion. Indeed, modern criticism of the film has focused heavily on dissecting the performances of gender and sexuality within the film, as well as how recurring motifs, such as the birds which pop up repeatedly, inform those performances. But less discussed is how Hitchcock weaves a critique of capitalism throughout the film.
One of Psycho’s strengths is the way that it creatively engages with narrative breaks in order to keep the audience in a suspended state of unease. Hitchcock accomplishes this break by focusing the film on the money that Marion has stolen. For the first 45 minutes of the film, the audience expects that this is a story about whether Marion will get away with her theft of George Lowery’s money. The film is framed as a mystery with film noir elements and its narrative familiarity lulls the audience into a false state of comfort. But the moment that the money is carelessly tossed into the trunk of Marion’s car, the narrative becomes about something else entirely. Because the money itself is initially framed as a temptation that makes the normally trustworthy Marion become a criminal, the act of drowning the money, aka the root of all evil, signals to the audience that they are about to experience a new type of horror.
Marion’s “goodness” in the eyes of the audience is directly tied to her relationship with the money. As she absconds with the cash, Marion is not wholly unsympathetic. Her motive could be written off as that of a woman who, in a moment completely out of character, gives in to temptation and makes a poor decision. Moreover, the man she steals from is not only lecherous but has already informed the audience that he never carries more money than he can afford to lose. So, to the audience, Marion’s thievery is almost a victimless crime. Yet, this easy reading for viewers quickly becomes compromised. The slight smirk Marion gives while driving off with the money indicates that this is not just a woman who has made a mistake, but that this is a woman who is deriving a sense of power from the crime she has just committed. However, by the time of her murder, Marion has decided to return the money, thereby reestablishing her narrative moral goodness. She is returned to her virtuous state such that when her murder occurs, it is all the more chilling because she is no longer a character whose actions deserve punishment.
This narrative inversion is also an effective means of pushing back on the Production Code and its edict that “the sympathy of the audience shall never be thrown to the side of crime, wrong-doing, evil or sin.” Objectively speaking, Marion is a thief and the story should play out in a way that she is punished, despite her conflicted feelings about her crime. And while that happens, the audience is never positioned to feel as though justice has been served. Rather, by complicating viewer reaction to Marion and her murder, Hitchcock is breaking the narrative with regard to character development. Marion is neither saint nor sinner and Hitchcock refuses to simplify the character’s complexity to leave audience with easy answers.
Symbolically, money also functions to frame happiness within the film. When the smarmy Tom Cassidy tells Marion that due to his money his daughter has never experienced a day of unhappiness, it’s an uncomfortable moment because the audience understands both the truth underlining the claim as well as its structural unfairness. In 1960, there was a growing cacophony of voices pushing back against income inequality and institutional privileges enjoyed by the wealthy. Money is a weapon used by Cassidy to enable his daughter to have a degree of happiness not accessible to the other characters and the stark injustice of that helps to position the audience against Cassidy and opens the door to Marion’s future rehabilitation. Unlike Cassidy, who finds bliss in controlling events and people with his money, and Norman, who describes happiness as “stuffing things,” Marion’s answer to her co-worker’s concern that she looks unhappy is to tell her she intended to “sleep it off.” That the film’s two most immoral characters are able to define happiness so easily within the context of their own lives while Marion continuously struggles further forces the audience to struggle with their views on Marion and her behavior.
Modern criticism of Psycho has ranged from explorations of gender and sexuality to considerations of the recurring bird motif to how Hitchcock launched its publicity campaign, the bones of which can still be seen in modern horror marketing. But missing is a contextualization of how money is deployed in the film to disrupt the narrative and to complicate Production Code era views on morality. Yes, Norman Bates is the character most closely associated with Psycho, but his menacing and perversion is only possible through his association with Marion Crane. It’s a bold framing of female agency that adds yet another form of complexity in this beloved classic worth celebrating.
For Further Reading:
Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho by Stephen Rebello
Hitchcock’s Villains: Murderers, Maniacs, and Mother Issues by Eric San Juan and Jim McDevitt
The Moment of Psycho: How Alfred Hitchcock Taught America to Love Murder by David Thomson
Psycho in the Shower: The History of Cinema’s Most Famous Scene by Philip J. Skerry
Psycho: Behind the Scenes of the Classic Thriller by Christopher Nickens and Janet Leigh
You can stream Psycho on Amazon:
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