Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho | Reel 3 11/7/09 5:32 PM
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Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho | Reel 3 11/7/09 5:32 PM Home Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho By Jason Haggstrom, June 16, 2010 Today marks the 50th anniversary of the release of Psycho, one of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest films in a career that fostered the creation of many. As with all of Hitchcock's great films, Psycho can be seen as simple, face value entertainment or as a a film worthy of great study and analysis. I've seen Psycho many times over the course of my 34 years of existence, but what keeps me coming back is the way that Hitchcock uses multiple narratives to toy with audience perspective. The film begins with an objective narrative before switching to a subjective one only to see that narrative destroyed when it collides with another. This is an analysis of those narratives and how they shape (and re-shape) the way that we view the lead characters and their actions. Spoilers Ahead: Initial plot Plot twist Character death Psycho opens with a series of pans that overlook the city of Phoenix, Arizona. The shots cut progressively closer until the camera finally settles on one specific building, then one specific window. The camera drifts inside, an explicit act of voyeurism that exposes what would otherwise be a private moment: two lovers discuss the lunchtime affair they have been conducting during the free hours of the workday. Marion Crane http://reel3.com/marion-norman-and-the-collision-of-narratives-in-psycho/ Page 1 of 7 Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho | Reel 3 11/7/09 5:32 PM is introduced as a semi-naked body laying on a bed, a delectable object for the camera's eye. What would seem to be a romantic dalliance is revealed to be a workday interruption. This titillating view of a secret affair quickly turns to melodrama: the couple can't be together because they live in different cities; they must steal away work hours to be with each other. Marion desires a "respectable" relationship, and her lover, Sam, is paying down his father's debts and alimony to his ex-wife; he can't afford to provide for Marion if she were to leave her job to be with him. These melodramatic exchanges allow the audience to disregard any issues of morality and instead come to identify with the floundering couple's suffering.1 Any remaining apprehensions about Marion's morality are quickly washed away in the next scene when Tom Cassidy, a rich Texan and client of the firm where she works, attempts to buy his way into her bed. He flirts with her, and then waves $40,000 cash in her face in what amounts to the film's funniest phallic symbol. Marion may be having sex out of wedlock, but she's no tramp. Tom's inappropriate advances—and downright sleazy demeanor—only further establish our identification with Marion. Click any image to enlarge The film cuts to Marion at home, objectified for the audience once again when she is seen half-naked while changing her clothes. The camera tilts down from the half-dressed Marion to an envelope of money— Tom's $40,000—lying on Marion's bed. The camera then pans over to a suitcase filled with Marion's clothing, revealing Marion's intention: she's stealing the money as a means to solve the problems that threaten her relationship with Sam. In just over ten minutes, Marion has appeared half-naked twice and been associated with a phallic symbol once. But then a remarkable thing happens: Marion takes over the narrative and changes the way we see the film, beginning with the way we look at her. Refusing to be defined by her sexuality, Marion conceals her body in a gray blouse that buttons up to a tight-fitting collar that eliminates her neckline. The rest of Marion's new outfit is just as bland, helping to further cloak the sexuality that had been so readily on display. Marion nervously packs then looks around the room. She pauses briefly on a photograph of her parents hanging on the wall then sits, giving her crime one last thought before finally committing to it. As Marion drives out of Phoenix, the film's diegetic mode makes a dramatic shift from the objective to the subjective. Hitchcock's camera cuts back and forth between shots of Marion driving and her point-of-view through the car's windshield, creating a diegesis that is formed by Marion's senses. Hitchcock furthers this transformation by adding dialog to the scene that represent the thoughts running through Marion's head. She squirms in her seat and bites her finger out of nervousness even as she imagines Sam's surprise and joy in response to her unannounced arrival. When Marion spots, and is spotted by, her boss while waiting at a traffic light, we are so entrenched with her subjectivity that we feel the same shock, panic, and anxiety that she feels. Hitchcock then employs Bernard Hermann's jarring score as a means to communicate the tension that Marion feels as she drives further away from the scene of her crime. We are made to hear what Marion hears, see what she sees, and feel what she feels. Hermann's score, and Marion's guilt-laden http://reel3.com/marion-norman-and-the-collision-of-narratives-in-psycho/ Page 2 of 7 Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho | Reel 3 11/7/09 5:32 PM tension, finally subside when Marion pulls off the road and falls asleep. When Marion is awoken by a police officer the following day, Hitchcock films the officer looking directly into the camera as he questions Marion. By this point, we are so aligned with Marion's perspective that we feel the same apprehension that she feels during the interrogation. The officer stares at Marion, his face showing no emotion. His eyes, made into large pools of blackness by sunglasses, penetrate Marion and seem to assess her guilt. But the police officer, as it was with Marion's boss, isn't just looking at Marion; he is looking at the audience. When Hitchcock changes the diegetic mode of Psycho from the objective to the subjective, he allows the audience to experience Marion's crime vicariously along with the anxiety and tension that she feels while committing it. More subtle, however, is the fact that Hitchcock has turned the tables on the audience. After enabling the us to watch Marion in a voyeuristic fashion, Hitchcock forces us into the uneasy position of being looked at—as the object of the extra-diegetic gaze of both Mr. Lowery and the police officer—as we experience the story from her point of view. As Marion drives away, we are shown the rear-view mirror just as she sees it. The officer follows close behind, a terrifying object fixed in the mirror. As Marion drives on, night begins to take hold of the mise- en-scène, rendering Marion in darker, and darker shadows that reflect her darkening thoughts. The tension is further heightened as Hitchcock tightens the frame around Marion with each successive cut. Hermann's score is unrelenting as Marion's vision is impaired by an onslaught of rain and the blinding lights of passing cars. Then, blackness. Out of the dark arises a beacon, a sanctuary: The Bates Motel. There's something odd about Norman Bates from the first time Marion sees him. Firstly, he never bothers to open his umbrella as he runs from his house in the drowning rain to greet Marion. Then, he refers to the rainy night as "dirty" when "wet" would seem to be more the more operative description. Norman tells Marion that she has "gotten off the main road," in what amounts to the film's first indication that Marion has deviated from her narrative path. This is quickly followed by the introduction of a second narrative: Norman's. Hitchcock cuts, abandoning Marion completely in order to show a shot of Norman looking at the wall of motel cabin keys. After a long period where the camera's subjectivity was possessed by Marion, this shot is owned by Norman. His hand passes over every key on the rack then pauses over and selects the http://reel3.com/marion-norman-and-the-collision-of-narratives-in-psycho/ Page 3 of 7 Marion, Norman, and the Collision of Narratives in Psycho | Reel 3 11/7/09 5:32 PM key to cabin one. Norman tilts his head to the left, an odd pose that seems out of place somehow, a feeling that is accentuated when Hitchcock cuts from the subjective shot back to a more natural-feeling, objective shot containing both characters. When the scene shifts to cabin one, Hitchcock uses his camera to bisect Norman and Marion with a series of one-shots. This fragmenting of the two characters creates a diegesis that isolates each narrative into its own frame and emphasizes the impossibility of physical contact or even close proximity between the two. When Norman leaves the room, the camera and score become Marion's once again. She hides the stolen money inside a newspaper then hears an argument coming from the Bates' house. The camera cuts to Marion's view out the window where she hears Mother's raspy voice and acrid words echoing down from the house. The house itself becomes a personified Mother, an entity that is threatening but distanced.