All language subtitles for BBC.Hitchcocks.Shower.Scene.720p.HDTV.x264.eng

WATER RUNS DOWN A DRAIN

SOMBRE ORCHESTRAL MUSIC

This film contains some
strong language and scenes which
some viewers may find disturbing

THUNDER RUMBLES

SOMBRE ORCHESTRAL MUSIC

MARLI RENFRO: I was 21 years old,
I was a pin-up model.

I was working with a photographer
and he said that Universal - or UI,

as it was called then - are looking
for somebody to pose in a film.

So I called and made an appointment.

I went and spoke with Mr Hitchcock
and basically had to strip down,

got dressed again and then
was interviewed by Janet Leigh,

and I had to strip down for her,
too.

Oh, just in my underpants.

But anyway... My body was very
similar to hers, so I got hired.

I had to report for make-up,
I don't know, one or two days later.

And there's the red light flashing
and "no admittance" and all of this,

and I thought, "Oh, God, here
they're expecting a stripper."

I was not quite completely nude.

I had what we called a crotch patch.

During filming with the shower going
and everything, it would come loose.

I told Hitchcock, I said
"Why don't we take this thing off?"

He said, "No. No."

The whole time he wore a suit,
black tie, white shirt.

I was hired for two or three days,
and wound up working for seven.

It's extraordinary that it took

so long to do
that one particular scene,

because that was about a third

of what Janet Leigh
had to work for the movie.

There were 78 pieces of film
and about 45 seconds.

Spending seven days on one small
set,

shooting such a short scene,

was pretty much unheard of.

Generally these days you're lucky if
you get one day to kill someone.

Oh, it has to be an obsession.

You're shooting that over the
course of seven days,

that is absolutely an obsession.

Hitchcock fought to film this murder
separately from the rest

of the movie, which meant in a way

that murder was now
going to be

an acceptable
part of entertainment.

There was violence in American
films, but nothing like Psycho.

Nothing that intimate,
nothing that designed,

nothing that kind of remorseless.

I think he knew what he had on his
hands,

and he probably felt like

the whole film
hinged on that moment.

This crucible moment.

You should have seen the blood.

The whole...
The whole place was...

Well, it's too horrible to describe.

Dreadful.

It's...
I think the first modern...

..expression
of the female body under assault.

And in some ways it's its
most pure expression,

because it IS devastating.

Women had top billing
in the '30s and '20s,

and that sort of
evaporated during the '40s.

And by the time we got to the end of
the '50s,

women were secondary
in movies and Hitch sort of...

That's what the movie does,
in a way, say that.

It's killing off the woman.

And it was really the
first A movie to deal with

this kind of horror,
trashy, tabloid stuff.

Nobody wanted to make it,
and they went, "Are you nuts?

"You just did North by Northwest,
this incredible hit,

"and now you want to do this black
and white... "What is this thing?"

I have just made a motion picture,

North by Northwest.

North by Northwest was, like, the
ultimate achievement on every level.

It was grand entertainment,
it was classy, it had movie stars.

It was beautiful, colourful.

So how are you going to follow that
up?

With a prank.

I once made a movie, rather
tongue-in-cheek, called Psycho.

Yes? And it was...
It was a big joke, you know?

And I was horrified to find that
some people took it seriously.

It was intended to cause people
to scream and yell and so forth,

but no more than the screaming and
yelling on a switchback railway.

Those of us who work in the horror
genre rarely wear tuxedos.

This is not a movie
that wears a tuxedo, either.

This is a movie that's
very much jeans and a T-shirt.

But it's told by a guy who wears
a tuxedo.

He wanted to stray beyond his
comfort zone.

One of the things
he was up to is,

"You don't
know me at all."

And that's what
Psycho is really about.

What attracted you to this one,
then?

I think the murder in the bathtub
coming out of the blue, you know?

That was about all.

Hitchcock was very, very aware of
his competition.

He realised that Clouzot
had done the kind of movie

that he felt that he should

and could be making and, of course,

when critics started calling
Clouzot the French Hitchcock, well,

you were invading his territory
then, and, believe me,
he took notice.

Psycho is really the moment where
the gloves come off.

It does feel like Hitch's revenge on
Hollywood, to some extent.

On so many levels,
it's his masterpiece.

I continue to feel like the movie
is an act of aggression.

Yeah. Against his fans, his critics,
actors.

Yeah. It just feels angry, like he
was hurt and he had to hurt back.

The sudden violence of
the shower scene in Psycho

was meaningful to him

for reasons that dated back,
you know, 20 years

to the origins of World War II.

Hitchcock thought that the UK and
the United States were
insufficiently

prepared for the dangers and horrors
of World War II.

There were several moments in his
movies that spoke to that.

You can hear the bombs falling on
the streets and the homes.

Don't tune me out, hang on a while,

this is a big story
and you're part of it.

It's too late to do anything here
now except stand in the dark

and let them come.
What's the matter with us?

We not only let the Nazi do our
rowing for us but our thinking.

Ye Gods and little fishes!

One of them was Shadow of a Doubt.

Only about a year and a half after
Pearl Harbor,

set in Santa Rosa in California.

You can see how in that movie
he's kind of chastising this town

for being naive.

You live in a dream,
you're a sleepwalker, blind.

How do you know what the world
is like?

Do you know the world is a foul sty?

Do you know if you rip the fronts of
houses, you'd find swine?

He was basically saying,
"America, you were way too naive.

"You think you're safe in your
shower at home with
your family and loved ones nearby?

"No. You're not.

"Sorry."

Hitchcock had many obsessions,

but one of them that he
talked about with The Birds

was the randomness of life.

There is no explanation
for the birds attacking.

To him, that was life.

There you are, everything's fine

and then someone gets cancer
and they're dead two weeks later.

Or your life is good and you get hit
by a bus.

Hitchcock was someone who,
for several years now,

was showing up on people's
TV sets on Sunday nights.

The victim tumbled and fell with a
horrible crash.

I think their back broke immediately
it hit the floor.

It was... It's difficult to describe
the way that the...

He was an icon.

He was the sort of avuncular
yet creepy guy who was presenting

sex and violence to Americans

leavened with black humour,
every Sunday night.

And Americans
are comfortable with him by 1960.

If someone else had made Psycho,

it's quite possible
that the reaction would not

have been the same.

Psycho came at a very unique time in
American pop culture.

It almost predates the turmoil and
the shock and the trauma

that were to come in the 1960s

with racial violence,
with political assassinations.

I'm not saying that Hitchcock
anticipated it

and knew what he was up to,

but what he did know
is that he was trapped by his past,

that it was not a time any more for
Grace Kelly.

It was not a time any more for,
what you do you call it,

beautiful Technicolor baubles.

When you look at Psycho

and you look at those
magnificent, elegant, big,

rich, Technicolor films
of the '50s,

you know that something changed.

I think that Psycho was his response
to movies changing

and to upping the ante
and not wanting to be forgotten.

1959, that was the year of
Some Like it Hot,

Suddenly, Last Summer...

..and Anatomy of a Murder.

All three of those movies
pushed boundaries.

So there was something in the air,
culturally speaking,

that Hollywood was already tapping
into.

Psycho comes out at this period

where we are post-atomic age
but pre-civil rights.

You know, if you think about
the horror movie violence,

they were science gone wrong,

but you didn't really feel like it
was going to happen to you.

Psycho you felt could happen to you.

This was the first movie
that showed,

yeah,
you could be vulnerable,

naked, alone in a shower and someone
who is wearing the clothes of their

dead mother is going to come in
and just stab you,

because that's what they're going to
do.

Americans were kind of obsessed with
domesticity.

They wanted to tell themselves
that in their private,

personal domestic spaces,

at least there they were safe.

The Soviets and whomever else,

they couldn't possibly get to you
in your bathroom!

A few days after Psycho began
shooting in November of 1959,

the Clutter family in Kansas
is murdered.

Those are the In Cold Blood murders.

You're not living next door to the
Norman Rockwell family any more,

you're living next door to the
Manson family.

This is the new modern American
family, which very much inspired

Tobe Hooper's
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

SHE SCREAMS

HE HOWLS IN RESPONSE

The first Playboy club opens
in Chicago.

The most famous sitcom stars of the
1950s,

Lucille Ball and Ricky Ricardo,
are divorced.

The birth control pill is approved
by the FDA.

You could look at the shower scene
as this build-up of tension,

all of these things, all of these
American fears of the quiet '50s.

It's all going to explode,
and it comes out in this scene.

Well, I was on the critics list in
New York for review.

The press was all invited to the
theatre

the day it opened at ten or 10:30
in the morning,

with the first performance.

As you went in,

Hitchcock's voice was blaring on
loudspeakers saying...

MIMICS HITCHCOCK: "Nobody would be
allowed in after the picture starts,

"and please don't reveal
the ending."

Before Psycho, movies,
as a form of entertainment,

were relatively disposable.

There was a tremendous...

Compared to today, a tremendous
coming and going in movie theatres.

And Hitchcock brilliantly said

"We don't want anyone coming in

"after the beginning of this film."

It changed the way films are
exhibited.

The reason was because
the leading lady, Janet Leigh,

was killed off
a third of the way through.

And I didn't want people whispering
to each other,

"When is Janet Leigh coming on?"

He wanted to build anticipation.

The bathroom...

Something terrible happens in a
bathroom.

We know this from the trailer.

We don't know it is Janet Leigh,

because it's Vera Miles in
the trailer and not Janet Leigh.

SHE SCREAMS

The minute the curtain
opens and started stabbing,

there was...
There was a sustained shriek...

..from the audience.

AHHHH!

Like that. Constant.

You couldn't hear anything off
the soundtrack.

Through the entire shower scene.

So you had the
screams from Janet Leigh,

the screams from all the women
surrounding you in the theatre,

and the high shrieking strings
from Herrmann.

That must have been total mayhem.

It was actually the first time in
the history of movies

where it wasn't
safe to be in a movie theatre.

And when I walked
out into Times Square at noon...

..I felt I had been raped.

In 1895,

when the Lumiere brothers really
first showed film to an audience,

one of the fragments they showed was
of a train pulling into a station.

And the legend has it
that they thought the train

was going to hit them,
and they were screaming

and it caused a
stampede of people trying to

evacuate this room
that it was screened in.

They didn't understand the concept.

You know, Psycho comes along and
it has a similar kind of impact.

It's the only movie in my childhood

that my mom
wouldn't let me go and see,

which was kind of ridiculous because
I was seeing nothing

but horror films every single
weekend, two of them, in fact.

But Psycho - no, I couldn't go!

As a kid,
I thought the name was Cycle,

like it was about
some killer on a motorcycle.

But I actually got this
Super 8 version and just, like,

constantly ran the movie
over and over again.

When audiences saw this really
likeable character,

someone who was quite relatable
in terms of

"I need more money,
I'm growing older,

"the man that I love won't
marry me,"

they were really hooked.

Oh, Sam, let's get married.

Yeah.

And live with me in a store room
behind a hardware store in Fairvale?

We'll have lots of laughs(!)

Of course she's going to
survive the movie, it's Janet Leigh!

Instead, she takes a shower,
out of nowhere she is murdered by...

..an old lady, who I can't even see?

What the fuck is going on here?!

He has broken the covenant
of film-maker and audience,

and the audience
cannot wait to see more.

He was a respected director...

..and, you know, she was
a bona fide movie star,

and I think you kind of get into the
thrill of that possible shock wave,

which obviously happened.

I think that moment signalled
new American cinema,

maybe world cinema in certain ways.

I don't know that that had ever been
done.

Right.

Maybe there's some obscure
Czechoslovakian film that did it,

there's a guy going, like, "Grr!"

LAUGHTER
"I did it first!" Yeah.

I can think of things that,
culturally, have got us thinking
about that structure.

For instance, the first season
of Game of Thrones,

in which our most
appealing character of Ned Stark,

is just sort of cruelly killed in
front of us.

Culturally, we had to be reminded of
the power of that narrative trope.

The reality is he used the whole
first half of the movie

as a ruse to get you to this house,

and the only way you're
going to get to this house is

if you believe that she's someone
who's stolen $40,000 and that she's

gotten off on the wrong freeway exit

and is on this little tiny road
where nobody goes by.

There's a lot of things he is saying
here about our society

that was changing at that point.

We were trying to get as fast as we
could from Los Angeles to Chicago or

New York, and going in these little
towns was not necessary any more.

And Norman doesn't even seem to
mind.

He's ready to change the bed sheets
every day with nobody there.

One by one,
you drop the formalities.

I shouldn't even bother changing
the sheets, but old habits die hard.

When she's driving off with the
$40,000,

she's on the road
and she's in the West.

There's something fundamentally
American about that,

dating back all the way
to manifest destiny.

"Go West, find your fate,
find your freedom."

Marion tries to do just that, and
that's where she meets her fate.

PSYCHO VIOLIN STRINGS
PLAYED IN SLOWER TEMPO

It's interesting to compare the
novel Psycho with the movie Psycho.

The shower scene is a lot different,
it's really brief in the book.

So on page 28...

..um, here's the shower scene.

SHOWER RUNS

"The roar was deafening, the room
was beginning to steam up.

"That's why she didn't hear the door
open,

"or note the sound of footsteps.

"And at first when the shower
curtains parted,
the steam obscured the face.

"Then she did see it there,

"just a face, peering through the
curtains, hanging in mid air like a
mask.

"A half scarf concealed the hair and
the glassy eyes stared inhumanly.

"But it wasn't a mask,
it couldn't be.

"The skin had been powdered dead
white and two hectic spots of rouge

"centred on the cheekbones.

"It wasn't a mask,
it was the face of a crazy woman.

"Mary started to scream and then
the curtain parted further

"and hand appeared,
holding a butcher knife.

"It was the knife that,
a moment later, cut off her scream.

"And her head."

The fact the Hitchcock brought Saul
Bass in to work on the shower scene

as its own kind of independent thing

says to me that he knew
that he had to do something special
with the shower scene.

"Interior, Mary in shower.

"We see the bathroom door
being pushed slowly open.

"The noise of the
shower drowns any sound.

"The door is then slowly
and carefully closed

"and we see the shadow of a woman
fall across the shower curtain.

"Mary's back is turned to the
curtain.

"The white brightness of the
bathroom is almost blinding.

"Suddenly we see the hand reach up,

"grasp the shower curtain,
rip it aside.

"Cut to Mary, extreme close-up.

"As she turns in response to the
feel and sound of the shower curtain
being torn aside,

"a look of pure
horror erupts in her face.

"A low, terrible groan
begins to rise up out of her throat.

"A hand comes into shot.

"The hand holds
an enormous bread knife.

"The flint of the blade shatters
the screen

"to an almost total silver
blankness.

"The slashing.

"An impression of a knife slashing
as if tearing at the very scream,

"ripping the film. Over it,
the brief gulps of screaming.

"And then silence.

"And then the dreadful thump
as Mary's body falls in the tub.

"Reverse angle, the blank whiteness,
the blur of the shower water.

"The hand pulling the shower curtain
back.

"We catch one flicker
of a glimpse of the murderer.

"A woman, her face contorted with
madness, her head wild with hair,

"as if she were wearing a fright
wig.

"And then we see only the curtain,
closed across the tub,

"and hear the rush of the shower
water.

"Above the shower bar
we see the bathroom door open again,

"and after a moment, we hear the
sound of the front door slamming.

"Cut to the dead body.

"Lying half-in, half-out of the tub,
the head tumbled over,

"touching the floor. The hair wet,
one eye wide open as if popped.

"One arm lying limp and wet
along the tile floor.

"Coming down the side of the tub,

"running thick and dark along
the porcelain,

"we see many small threads of blood.

"Camera moves away from the body,
travels slowly across the bathroom,

"past the toilet...

"..out into the bedroom."

I think that the shower scene
elevated film.

Not the horror genre specifically,
but film-making in general.

Over and over again,
it keeps showing you new things.

I think it's one of those
spectacular pieces of work.

The film is moving inexorably
to that scene.

You don't know it, as a viewer.

Sam, this is the last time.

I pay, too.

They also pay, who meet in hotel
rooms.

There are plenty of motels
in this area, you should have...

I mean, just to be safe.

Mother... My mother...

What is the phrase?

She isn't quite herself today.

Hitchcock was amazing at setting
everything up.

When she's packing to go to see her
boyfriend,

you see the shower head
in the background.

It's very specific, the shower is
right over her shoulder.

When it comes to Norman,
when he talks about the bathroom,

he, like stutters and he can't
really say toilet or bathroom.

And the, er...

..over there.

The bathroom. Yeah.

That's what's great about Hitchcock.

He always really tunes into those
character moments.

That desperate drive at the
beginning.

It's crazy good.

The notion of getting clean,
that's her arc.

She can't see because of the density
of the water,

which is really beautiful

because she's drowning in
her worry and fear.

The slashing of the wipers presages
the slashing of the knife.

It's sort of... It's a very violent
and wet and sloshy,

sharp stabbing motion.

And it's a long build-up,

but we have no idea that the rain

that's going to come down upon
her later

is going to include her own blood.

I certainly get the sensation that
the shower scene was something that

Hitchcock had probably been
working towards all of his life.

Is he cleaning house?

He's washing down the bathroom
walls.

It must've splattered a lot.

Well, why not?
That's what we're all thinking.

He killed her in there,
and he has to clean up

those stains before he leaves.

You really can't talk about
the shower scene without talking

about the rest of the film.

Without the parlour scene,
obviously, the shower scene doesn't
really work nearly as well,

because the parlour scene is
a sort of really sad,

beautiful connection
that comes before this savagery.

Is your time so empty?

No. Well, I run the office.

And, tend the cabins, and grounds,
and do little errands for my mother.

The one she allows
I might be capable of doing.

Do you go out with friends?

Well, a boy's best friend is his
mother.

He has a very loaded preamble to the
shower scene.

Wouldn't it be better if you put
her...

..someplace?

You mean an institution?

A madhouse?

Look how still he is.

Whereas before, he was fidgety
and moving around.

Suddenly, he became very still.

Maybe that's the moment he decided
to kill her. Yeah. Yeah.

Yeah, he's super confident now.

Yeah. Look at him.
He's barely moving his head.

LAUGHTER

Just his eyes. Wow!

He's so angry.

And she just got terrified.
Yeah.

Oh, you're not, you're not
going back to your room already?

Perhaps I'll go back to my room,
now...

..Norman, it's been lovely to chat.

Terribly sorry about your
loneliness.

This is the first moment
that you're with him and not her.

Yeah, she literally walks away from
camera.

Yeah. Right. And then, well with him
now. My job here is done. Yeah.

I'm no longer
the protagonist of this story.

There was a private supper here...

..and, er...

Oh, by the way, this picture...

..has great significance.

Because...

Let's go along to cabin number one.

The painting that Mr Bates removed

to become the Peeping Tom
was actually

a 16th or
early 17th century painting.

Susanna and the Elders is actually
a morality story

about a virtuous woman
who bathed in her garden,

and was spied on by two elder man.

And the theme burgeoned,

possibly as a result of counter
reformatory motives.

It was either that, or it was simply
an excuse for painting female
nudity.

Now, the interesting thing about it,
is it's about adultery.

And it's fascinating because Mary,
who's in the shower,

is kind of cleansing herself

of committing adultery
with a married man.

In art history, there were about
three or four different phases

of how artists depicted
Susanna and the Elders.

Lucas van Leyden shows
the two elders in prominence,

whereas the small Susanna
is bathing in the far distance.

But by the time you get to
Tintoretto, she's full frontal.

Rubens begins to take and probe the
psychological intensity of the
moment.

Rembrandt, using the power of
lightness and darkness,

of highlights, to enhance the drama.

The interesting thing about the
painting is that you've got
full frontal nudity of Susanna,

and yet the two elders
are not simply looking at her,

they're actually groping and
violating her.

It's almost a rape scene...

..that's taking place
before our eyes.

It's an amazing painting
that he picked.

It's not any old Baroque painting.

It's voyeurism.

He removes the voyeuristic painting

to become the voyeur
looking in on the shower.

He could've picked from
50 different examples,

but he chose this one because it had
the most amount of information that

he could use for his film.

I love that there's a hole in the
wall the size of his face.

Which tells you that he's been doing
this more than once

and that he's made it comfortable
for himself.

The notion that he is looking just
as you are, it binds you with him,

and when you eliminate those walls
and you're now watching him,

and you're watching,
and you're watching together,

then you are in a new place
where things can get a lot scarier.

Psycho is delineated from the other
works of his oeuvre by those gazes.

The birds are looking at us,
each individual bird,

dead bird, is looking at us.

Mother is looking at us from eyeless
sockets.

Dead Marion, with her eye open.

The stare includes
and indicts us at the same time.

It's a mirror image.

You know, it goes both ways.

We're looking into the eyes
of death,

and the eyes of death
are looking at us.

And it's inclusive and horrifying.

The laughing and the tears,

and the cruel eyes studying you.

My mother there?

God is studying you,

because there are a number of
God point-of-view shots in Psycho,

just as there are in The Birds.

Hitchcock's God is cruel and
arbitrary,

and like some kind of bird of
prey or raptor which is gazing down

rather coldly and disinterestedly
on its human subjects.

In the shower sequence,

the violence is directed and
that knife is coming towards us.

So we're being
punished for being the voyeurs.

There are consequences to watching
and being watched.

In the character of James Stewart,

if we identify
with him in Rear Window

has a very literal, great fall

at the end of it
where he breaks the other leg.

Meaning another six, eight months of
pain and itchiness

and not being able to screw
Grace Kelly.

All those things are
pertinent to Hitchcock.

I'll bet you nine people out of
ten...

WOMAN TRANSLATES INTO FRENCH

..if they see something across,
like a woman undressing and going

to bed, or even sometimes a man
pottering around his room

doing nothing.

Nine people out of ten
will stay and look.

They won't turn away and say,

it's none of my business
and pull down their own curtain.

They won't do it.

In the beginning of the movie you're
flying into a window with the blinds

closed, so you're starting out as a
voyeur.

And if you think about it, if the
movie's opening

from the point of view of a fly,
it changes the whole context
of what meaning of the movie is.

WOMAN: I'm not even going to swat
that fly.

I hope they are watching.

They'll see, they'll see and
they'll know, and they'll say...

..why, she wouldn't even harm a fly.

I think the voyeurism actually
has a payoff in the shower scene.

It's Hitchcock's way of setting
the bomb under the table,

which is something he liked to do
to create dramatic irony.

Four people are sitting around
the table, talking about baseball,

whatever you like.

Five minutes of it,

very dull.

Suddenly, a bomb goes off.

Blows the people to smithereens.

What do the audience have?

Ten seconds of shock.

Now take the same scene

and tell the audience
there is a bomb under that table

and will go off in five minutes.

Well, the whole emotion of the
audience is totally different,

because you've given them
that information.

You've got the audience working.

Hello? I think at this point

we start to wonder
what's going on in his head

and what's going to happen
because of this look on his face.

That's so interesting as an actor,
what is he playing?

He's playing, "Oh, God,
don't let my mother kill this girl."

Norman Bates is presented
in all these little, you know,

encapsulated moments
throughout the film

and in much the same way that the
murder is presented

in encapsulated moments of images
and compositions, cut together.

So, I think that the movie is,
it's about fragmentation,

it is fragmentation.

Norman goes up to the house.

It's very important that
the audience sees him leave

because he is reacting to a
third character that we think

is in the house, Mother.

But that is really in his mind.

He goes to the stairs and he looks
up, and he looks like he's sad

because he realises that Mom's not
at home upstairs.

Then he goes and
flops into the kitchen,

like a dejected little schoolboy.

So he sits there, like, "Oh, rats,
I can't have dinner with the
lady I want to have dinner with."

I imagine he must've done
that a lot when Mother was alive.

That she must've yelled at him and
he would just go into kitchen
when he couldn't get what he wanted,

when she was berating him
for whatever he wasn't
living up to her standards.

There's a lot one could say about
Hitchcock mothers.

Are you quite sure she didn't come
down here to see you,

to capture the rich Alex Sebastian
for a husband?

Go get shaved before your father
gets home.

You gentlemen aren't really trying
to kill my son, are you?

When you talk about what is sacred
in America,

people talk about mom and apple
pie.

Mom is good, we love Mom,
we are Mom, we are good.

On the other hand, there's something
else going on in 1950s America

in culture and society,
where Mom is also suspect.

There was a serious social panic in
America about juvenile delinquency.

One thing that this social panic
resulted in was this fear that moms

were going to shelter and spoil
children,

possibly America itself,
to death.

All of the sitcoms - Father Knows
Best, Ozzie and Harriet,

where Mother never did anything.

All she did was take care of the
house and the kids.

I'm just practically ready
and David has to get dressed.

Get dressed? You mean dressed up?

Well, yes, you want to look nice
when Nancy gets here.

The director who exposes the horror
of the American family in the '50s

without making a horror movie,
is Douglas Sirk.

You see Kay, I love Ron.

You love him so much you're willing
to ruin all our lives?

You can't really think that.

What else can I think?

In Sirk, it's the whole construction
of the family.

It's not until Psycho, though,

where the mother is literally a
monster when you see her at the end.

I think my mother scared me
when I was three months old.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS
You remember that?

You see, she said boo.

I don't know how many times in
Psycho, do people talk about Mother.

Oh, we can see each other.

We can even have dinner.

But respectably. In my house, with
my mother's picture on the mantel,

and my sister helping me broil a
big steak for three.

And after the steak,
will we send Sister to the movies,

turn Mama's picture to the wall?

Sam!

Patricia Hitchcock talks about,
she offers her a tranquiliser.

Have you got some aspirin?

I've got something, not aspirin,

my mother's doctor gave them to me
the day of my wedding.

Teddy was furious when he found out
I had taken tranquilizers.

Any calls? Teddy called me,

my mother called to see if Teddy
called...

Even in that office, the influence,

the negative influence of mothers,
and here it's on women, not on men.

So, the fact that Norman Bates'
mother,

we realise eventually
it's Norman Bates himself,

might have on an unconscious
level audiences saying, "Aha!

"I knew it! Mom IS going to to kill
us!

"Mom IS going to be
the death of us all!"

SHOWER RUNS

OK. Once more into the bridge.

Back to the primal moment.

Marion is doing her accounting here,

figuring out how much she spent on
the car.

She's making the decision to...

..return the money.

Nice little bit of handy exposition.

I always write down my math.

It's charming, you know.

It's still an old movie,
let's face it.

She throws
the paper in the toilet bowl

and then to cap it off
she flushes it.

Right from the beginning, you know
you're in new territory.

In 1960, nobody had shown a toilet
before.

The flushing toilet is a clear
indication that the scene to come

is going to break one or two taboos.

Details are important, you know.

In the building of suspense,

you know that those details are all
going to add up to something

much more monumental
than the simplicity of these shots.

Hitchcock was a Victorian.

Victorians thought that a bright,
white tiled bathroom was sanitary.

That's the term they used.

His bathroom, in his home,
was bright, white tiles.

He thought that invading
the sanctity of the bathroom

was a cool and subversive thing to
do.

He did it in silent films,
he did in Spellbound.

By showing that brightness
it was a way of saying,

look at how I am defiling
the sanctity of the bathroom

and I am doing it almost
bloodlessly.

Coincidentally, this scene was
extremely influential on a scene

in The Conversation,
which I edited back in 1973.

A murder has been committed and
Gene Hackman comes into the bathroom

of a hotel room
but the room is completely clean.

And he pulls the curtain apart,
just as in Psycho

the mother pulls the curtain apart,
but it's empty.

He goes to the drain of the tub
and runs his fingers

around the drain to see if there was
any telltale signs of blood

and there's nothing.

He goes over to the toilet to jiggle
the handle

and the toilet suddenly backs up.

So it's a kind of an inverse version
of the Psycho scene.

The toilet and the flushing of the
toilet,

the shower curtain,
the drain,

all of these things were definitely
imprinted upon us by Psycho.

Now, one of the most beautiful,
famous leading ladies in 1960

just stripped in front of us
and stepped into a shower.

It's like, holy shit,
where are we going now?

Man, that must've been crazy racy
for 1960.

I don't even understand.

Hitchcock
knew that American men were curious

about Janet Leigh.

And so, the idea of having her in
a shower

in a stance that seems very
suggestive, was a huge deal.

Seeing her full body behind that
curtain,

it's brilliant
because it's translucent.

It's not transparent, it's not
opaque but it's translucent.

Enough to see her and titillate us.

But not enough to really be graphic
yet.

The whole theory is that you have
to discover the sex in a woman

and not have it...

..stuck all over
her like labels, you know.

And there's nothing else
to look for, nothing to discover.

Do we know anybody who turns the
shower on before getting in, I mean,

I don't act that way.

I don't turn a shower on like that.

I run it, and then get in
when I know that it's safe.

And look at that almost
sexual expression on her face.

She is being rained upon
and it's cleansing,

it's warm and she's happy,

and she's, like, made up her mind.

The natural sounds kind
of put you in the perspective of,

we all become Janet Leigh
but not as attractive.

Through other movies
like Rear Window and Birds,

he knows when the lack of music
can be as effective as music.

APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS

FLUTTER OF WINGS

I think there's almost no moment

when we see Marion
with a genuine smile.

There's almost no moment where...

Where she's allowed to feel good

about what her life is like.

She's happy for the first time.

We're going into a scene which,
on the one hand,

is, um, quite liberatory for the
character,

but at the same time it's clearly
really what we're watching

is the liberation of Hitchcock.

Of his own repressed desires finally
being writ large on the screen.

Hitchcock viewed the world as a very
imperfect moral machine.

And he always had this...

..biblical almost
sense of doom and punishment.

WOMAN SCREAMS
You know, that befalls those

that tangle with sin
in a casual way.

Even his most unHitchcockian movie,
which is Mr & Mrs Smith,

which I love, punishes banality.

She makes a moral decision to take
back that money and, you know,

and suffer what ever punishment
will come her way.

I stepped into a private trap back
there.

And I'd like to back
and try to pull myself out of it.

Before it's too late for me, too.

This is very important.

It's very important narratively

because it doesn't come in the
middle of a heist.

Or in the middle of the robbery.

Or as she is escaping with the money
on the road.

And it turns out, bang!

It doesn't make a damn bit of
difference because the universe

doesn't give a shit.

And I think, uh,

that is a true sign of his
Catholicism

and his sense of doom about a sin
that cannot be washed away.

Literally, with water.

You know, it cannot be purged.

Except by blood, and violence.

And paying the price.

She's punished for the worst crime,

which is sexually arousing
Norman Bates.

You know, you get this strain
again and again.

I mean, think of Strangers on a
Train, where Robert Walker, you
know,

strangles this poor girl.

Again, what does
he strangle her for?

Because she's a loose woman who is
in Farley Granger's way.

I mean, that's a foreshadowing of
Psycho.

That's her point of view of the
shower that puts us, the audience,

as if we're in the shower with her.

It makes us feel just a vulnerable
as she is.

It's spraying at us
and it's creating a sonic curtain.

She can't hear him coming.

Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you in
all this rain.

And that's why that shot is bad
news.

You know, the shots change in their
level of symmetry

during the course of the sequence.

That's order at the beginning,
and then, oddly,

it'll be echoed by the eye,
in the drain,

and Norman Bates' people
through his office

and those things start to
rhyme after a while in a great way.

How do you point a camera
at a shower head
without the lens getting sprayed?

Move the camera back enough,

plug some of the holes so that the
spray shoots outward.

Very simple and elegant solution.

There's nothing unusual about the
pacing here.

It's at a rather leisurely
4.5 seconds per cut, on average.

So, it's a calm before the storm,
let's say.

Now here's what I would call a
strange cut.

What I call the wet hair cut.

Which is her washing herself with
her head tilted back,

and then it suddenly cuts to the
same kind of an angle.

Really a jump cut.

Except now her hair is completely
wet.

This would give the lie to somebody
who said

"this scene was shot exactly
as the storyboards were done,"

because you never
would storyboard a moment like that.

You think you're going to be
watching her go through

the whole process in real time
but that cut jumps you ahead.

It feels very...

..bold and confident.

Now we cut to the shower head,

but it's a side angle on the shower
head.

Not this, sort of, subjective point
of view.

When we were looking at her,
she was facing left to right,

away from the shower.

And when we cut back to her,

we come around to the other side of
the stageline.

What's behind her now
is the shower curtain, not the wall.

And now there's another cut.

Again, it's a kind of awkward
jump cut.

Objectively, there
would be no reason to do that.

But it's unsettling
because there's a big empty space,

which is itself unsettling.

What is going to fill that empty
space?

The audience starts to
look over to that negative space.

And feeling like,
"Why am I looking over here?"

The door opens. You see the shadow.

And then Norman's figure.

And that's the mounting terror.

Where you say to yourself,
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

And THAT is the difference
between suspense and surprise.

The idea of menace
in a shadowy figure,

I think, that Hitchcock's fear.

Who is the menacing figure in
Alfred Hitchcock's own life?

By the time he gets to Pyscho,
that person is unleashed.

Here you see Margo Epper,
the stunt woman, coming toward.

How do you NOT reveal who that is?

I've been taking the wrap for that
sequence for 20 years now

but that's
not me behind the curtain.

I was in New York that day
rehearsing a Broadway show.

Every time they kept shooting it,
you kept seeing the stunt woman's
face.

And one of the make-up men decided,
"What if we blackened her face?"

And so they tried that a couple of
times.

And went darker and darker,
and darker.

Until they achieved that effect.

I've I talked with Janet Leigh about
what she thought she saw

coming at her, and she clearly
saw Norman coming at her.

And that's what she played.

So, the reality for her was,

"I'm going to die this way by this
person who tried to befriend me,

"and I tried to be polite to."

You're very kind.

It's all for you.
I'm not hungry, go ahead.

It really does lend an extra air of
horror and pathos to that moment.

And that wallpaper in the
background.

The Shining - so many horror movies
try to have that, like,

perfect Hitchcock Bates' Motel
wallpaper.

This floral pattern,
that juxtapose with this black
silhouette of the knife

and the hair of Mother,
it's really, really terrifying.

The shape always kind of tortured
me,

it was like a weird mushroom shaped
head.

I don't know, kind of lame to me for
some reason.

I'd always wished that
the shot looked a little scarier.

When my grandfather first saw
the first rough cut of Psycho

he didn't like it at all.

He was just going to cut it down
to an hour

and make it part of the TV show.

Bernard Herrmann convinced
him to create the most,

like, famous scared chord music
in horror cinema history.

It's so ingrained in pop
culture to where...

HE MIMICS PSYCHO SHOWER SCENE MUSIC
Yeah, yeah. It is transcendent.

Yeah, yeah. My seven-year-old
daughter knows that,

but she doesn't know where comes
from. But... Yeah.

You know, she's made that joke.
MIMICS PSYCHO SHOWER SCENE MUSIC

Like, I don't know where she got it.
That's incredible.

She has no idea
it's from Psycho. It's evolutionary.

Like, we're just born knowing
the shower scene!

LAUGHTER

I wanted a tattoo,

and I thought it must be that one
cue by Bernard Herrmann.

The most amazing cue ever made
in cinematic history.

It has so little to do with harmony.

It is just sheer terror.

The way that music was used in
movies to scare people

really changed after Psycho.

If you want to make something scary,
you put in those strings.

And you're like "DE-DE-DE-DE!"

If you slow it down you get,
"Da-ran, da-ran."

What I really adore about Herrmann

is the way that he
realised that in the limitation

there is actually a much more
powerful statement to be made.

He did the
Day The Earth Stood Still,

and he wrote it for seven theremins
and only a couple of horns.

EERIE TITLE MUSIC PLAYS

Herrmann wrote Living Doll,

which I think is one
of the best scores that they had
on Twilight Zone.

It's like a bass clarinet or it
might have been a contrabassoon,

a glockenspiel, and a harp.

He was definitely an experimenter.

He's the one who taught me
that you can kind of do anything,

anywhere, if it works.

What I think is also absolutely
genius about the shower scene

is the way Herrmann spotted it.

The spotting is deciding,

when do start a cue,
when do you end a cue.

It starts with the toilet flushing.

She steps into the shower.

There is no music at all,
whatsoever.

This composer does not prepare us
for the onslaught

that is about to happen.

When Janet Leigh walks into the
shower

and she pulls the curtain closed

you can actually hear the sound of
the rings on the bar

and it goes "qu-ii-ii-th".

You see the villain coming through.

No music. No music at all.

The curtain gets swept aside -

we get the first sting.

"Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da!"

This is... This is the rush of
Janet Leigh's heartbeat.

From the moment that we as an
audience completely realise,

"OK, this girl is being brutally
butchered here."

And we see this and the music goes

"Ba-bom, ba-bo-oom ba-bo-oom!"

She falls to the floor.

The heartbeat slows
because she's dying.

And then in her last gasp

that music basically leaves her

and all we have
is the sound of the falling curtain

and her head smacking to the ground.

How genius is that?

That's Herrmann. That's not Hitch.

That's Bernie.

We used the
original score, um...

Bernard Herrmann's
original score

for our temp music, of course...

while we were editing the film.

And then Danny came
and re-recorded it.

And it was so beautiful.

It's a perfect score.

When I was given the job, I mean, it
really was a holy scripture for me.

And there was one beat in a meeting
with some of the producers of like,

"Maybe because it's in colour
we should do it with brass,

"and woodwinds, and percussion
and do it for the full orchestra."

And I was like, "No, no, no, no!

"Please, please.

"I beg you. Don't make me do that."

I had visions of a very grumpy
Bernard Herrmann.

His ghost coming into my room.

I'd wake up in the middle of the
night and he'd be there going

"You little asshole.
What've you done?"

A knife is raised up,
and now the murder scene begins.

And the pace of the cutting,
it's going to shrink dramatically.

And there it is.

Beautiful,
cathartic, unbelievably savage.

Intimate...

And just wrong on so many levels.

That... That looks awful.

That is...

SHE SIGHS SLOWLY

Wow. Wow.

Man, oh, man!

He has a way of reaching out and
grabbing you by the throat

and saying, "Look! Look!
You WILL look at this!"

It was a perfect
stainless steel trap.

You could not run away from it.

It was inflicting damage,

but at the same time, you knew
you were in the hands of a master.

There was nothing to do but submit.

The Psycho shower scene is cut
very much like an action scene.

George Tomasini was a master.

What he did with the shower scene
changed the language of cinema.

The editor suddenly became a much
more important piece of the puzzle.

You had to think about a cut.

Because a cut was going
to take you four minutes to make,
and splice, and check it.

And now you can make a cut every
12 seconds or something.

The planning, the consideration,
the thinking,

that went into designing some
of these films is astonishing.

Motion pictures were 14 years old

before somebody got the idea that
you could make a cut.

Because it's violent
what's happening.

You're looking at a image
of a visual field

that is very detailed and full of
motion

and then instantly it is removed
and replaced with another image.

In a sense,
the audience should, kind of,

crash through the windshield
of this experience.

Hitchcock and Tomasini knew exactly
where the audience was looking.

They ended up working
the disorientation,

drawing you into Marion's sense of
confusion and terror.

Every single cut that Tomasini does
is you...

By the time you've caught up to what
you're looking at in the new shot

he's already cut to another shot.

It's a kaleidoscope of these images
crashing into your cranium.

But it's very planned.

And it feels that way -

it's order and chaos
come crashing up against each other.

It's a magic act.

Truly. Yeah.

Because people walked out of the
cinema feeling like they had seen...

Like, shocked, you know,
beyond belief.

Because there was nothing like that
in cinema prior to that.

And yet they hadn't actually seen
the things that they thought they
saw.

That's an incredible thing.

SHOWER RUNS

The use of the sound effects,
um, are, I think,

a huge contributor to the violence
of the scene.

The stabbing sounds in particular.

How do you come up with the sound of
what happens

when a butcher knife strikes flesh?

The sound man came up
with the idea of,

"What about a knife stabbing
melons?"

So, knowing Hitchcock,

you would have to bring
lots of melons and arrange them
on a big table.

There would be Crenshaw melons,
and, you know,

any kind of melon that you can
imagine

of very, very different sizes.

So, I think they had about
two dozen.

And some backups.

So, there's the prop man
stabbing melon.

Melon, melon, melon.

Next. Melon, melon, melon.

And so by the end of it
Hitchcock knew the one that sounded
most like sinew

and sounded the way he thought it
should sound.

So, when they were through
demonstrating
all of these different melons

all he said was...

"Casaba."

That's all they needed to know.

I think the whole key to the sound
of the Casaba melon

is that the inner gooey part is very
small

and there's a very thick layer of
fruit that you have to stab through.

It's very dense.

Dense. Not hollow.

Like a lot of the other melons
sounded a little bit hollow.

And I'm sure with his eyes closed,
Hitchcock was probably hearing that.

To my ear, Casaba melon sounds more
like dry,

bony stabbing as opposed to wet,
gooey stabbing.

The starchiness and the thickness

probably gives you more of that
viscera.

The crunchiness, or... Viscera?
Viscera.

Hitchcock also had them bring a
sirloin.

A really big...

..thing of sirloin.

I don't eat me and so I nearly
nauseous telling you this

but, in any case, Hitchcock thought
that would be a really great idea.

And they did in fact stab
a big, big, big slab of steak.

And so that sound is
interspersed with melon.

RECORDINGS OF MELON
AND STEAK BEING STABBED

And the sound man took it home
and had it for dinner that night.

The stabbing sound in Psycho is not
a Hollywood sound effect.

It is a natural sound effect.

Which makes it all the more
horrible.

Like, you could take the combination
of, like, an arrow...

A literal arrow or an axe hitting

and you add to that something like,
pipe-in-the-mud kind of "goosh".

And you add to that some sort of a,
like, a leather rip

and you could make the
sound designed stab
that would feel horrible.

Marion turns.

We have three close ups getting
increasingly tighter

to the point that now we're looking
at nothing but her open mouth.

The three quick cuts which makes me
happy to be an editor.

I've seen some of Saul Bass's
boards.

And you'll see cut one,
and cut three.

But the idea of drawing the three
together really feels like something

that's kind of a joyful discovery

in feeling your way through things
in the cutting room.

Hitchcock does the thing
here that he does and The Birds too,

to show something that's shocking -

an on axis cut.

Boom, boom, boom.

It's a psychological cut.

People always think it's something
that Hitchcock came up with,

but I actually always traced it back
to the original Frankenstein

directed by James Whale, in 1931.

In a way it was the same effect

because they were showing you
something so grotesque, something
that you had never seen before,

people wanted to go to the movie
just to see how shocking it was.

There is something called an
American cut when you're editing

which is just like jump-cutting
into a close-up from a wide shot.

And I know whenever I do
it in a movie

when I'm working with Sam Raimi,
he is always, like, tortured.

He's like, "Why do you do those
stupid cuts!"

I explain, "It's an American cut."

And he says,
"That's more like a Canadian cut."

There is something really visceral
about cutting from a wide shot,

jumping into a close-up.

Now we have a lower angle that is
not a subjective angle.

This is not what Marion sees.

But it's maximised for threat.

There's a lot of defensive shots
that make it look like

she's trying to fight him off.

That makes you
feel that you're there.

We've jumped the stageline here,

which is another disorienting thing
- in violence.

And in love, interestingly.

It's actually good to cross
the stageline...

..because it gives
you that subjective sense

of a kind of a dizzy, delirium.

You see Norman's hand with
the knife,

come laterally across and
break the lines.

It's so great
because it's violating the purity.

The water is going in the opposite
direction of the knife,

so there's all these great angles
that are, again,

like German expressionist cinema

that Hitchcock had been exposed to
in the early '20s

when he first started his career.

This overhead shot - it's like
the whole shot is out of focus.

And they used it anyway.

I can imagine sitting in with studio
executives now

and I'm saying, "Oh, you've got this
one shot that's so out of focus.

"We really didn't need to
take that shot out of the edit."

But thank goodness they left it in
because it's such a great shot.

The knife is already through the
frame before we, the audience,

are really able to lock on
to what we are looking at.

Our face gravitates to Marion,

and then to the negative space
to see where did the knife go.

They force the audience to fill in
the blank.

Her right to right-to-left movement

carries us right to the cut

and right where her face is,
there's the knife.

That knife never makes connection
with her

but in my mind
I see him stabbing her. It's crazy!

Hitchcock is going in 360 degrees.

All of these things that you're not
supposed to do in narrative

storytelling, he's doing to give you
this feeling

of complete disorientation.

Every time we cut back to Norman's
form, we're grounded again.

Back to Norman,
but now we're slightly tighter.

Cut to Marion, we are tighter.

Norman, tighter.

And then, ending -

intersecting water,
over and over again - to the shot.

The one shot that convinces me,
as a viewer,

that Marion has been stabbed.

The knife never connects with the
skin?

But what about this shot here?

I'm telling you, folks,
THAT is penetration.

Hitchcock got away with showing my
belly button on film.

In all the beach towel movies,
you know, with Annette Funicello

they had bikinis
but they had to have them

up over their belly button.

He explained to me that...

He says, "the Paramount
special-effects department made for
me a torso of rubber.

"He plunged the knife
and blood would spurt out.

"Oh, it was wonderful.
I didn't use it at all."

"You didn't use it at all?"

"No, no.
The knife never touches the body."

It goes back to Eisenstein

and the whole idea of editing,
cutting, montage.

He didn't want a plastic knife
or anything.

He used the knife.

He had marks on there like blood.

And he pressed it against my stomach
and then pulled it out.

And then, in the film,
they reversed it

showing it going in.

Hitchcock, I think,

it's safe to say spent
an entire career

thumbing his nose at the censors.

The last shot of North by Northwest
is a train entering a tunnel.

Like, a very unsubtle sexual
metaphor.

And then we pick that up post coitus
in Psycho.

Wow. That's interesting.

LAUGHTER

You know, the production code
administration
still mattered at that time.

And then in trying to get the movie
approved by the Legion of Decency,

if either one of those had been a
problem as far as

the production and distribution of
Psycho,

it would not have been
the phenomenon that it was.

There was a little negotiation going
on.

He said,
"I'll reshoot the beginning.

"You can come
and watch me shoot it."

They never showed up.

All he did was
tell the whole crew,

"We're just going to send the scene
back.

"We're not going to cut one frame
from it."

And he didn't.
He just kept basically telling them

"You're prudes. And you're actually
horn-dog prudes,

"because you're seeing
something that isn't there."

So, everything stayed in the way he
wanted it.

And he got away with it!

SHE CHUCKLES

You contrast Hitchcock making a
disturbing,

shocking movie that revolves around
sex and violence and a deeply

disturbed protagonist, with a movie

that came out the very same year,

within a few months of it,
like Michael Powell's Peeping Tom.

That movie a lot of people see as
having

ruined Michael Powell's career.

You know, Val Lewton, who these guys
know I'm obsessed with,

but, you know, he was the master of
"You saw nothing! Ever!"

There's no cat in Cat People.

Right. You know? Right, right.

There's no cat people in Cat People.

There's shadows.
There's some shadow.

Every one of his films was,

the title promised something
that you never actually saw.

There's no leopard man
in Leopard Man.

And the most chilling murder in all
of Val Lewton's canon

takes place on the other side of a
closed door

from the perspective of
a mother who's hearing her daughter
get slaughtered.

And you just see the blood seep
in under the crack in the door.

You never see it.
You never see it at all.

And that seems to me like the roots
of the shower scene.

Totally. I would like to throw one
in there...

OK. One film into the mix which has
one particular mind-blowing scene,

which I would call horror,
and that's Irreversible.

Yeah. And here's the thing about
that rape scene.

It's like, it's...
What is it, like 15 minutes long?

I think, 10 minutes.

And they don't really show anything,
there's no nudity,

there's no nothing.
It's just one shot that lingers.

Don't make it...

The rape scene in Irreversible and
the shower scene in Psycho

are exact inverses.

The shower scene is incredibly close
and frenetic. Yeah.

And the rape scene in Irreversible
is incredibly distant and still.

The shots of the mother are out of
focus,

the focus is on the water, not the
mother.

You could argue that this is
Marion's subjective point of view,

that she doesn't see who it is
clearly because she's so confused.

Very quick cutting here.

On the average one shot
every 3/4 of a second, 18 frames.

And the audience in 1960 would be
having,

they would be seeing something

in a way that they were not used to
seeing it.

I was always surprised that they got
away with this.

Just the amount of, like, naked
breast that they were able to show.

It had to be done
impressionistically.

So, it was done with little pieces
of film.

The head, the feet, the hand,
parts of the torso.

The shot of her feet is the very
first cut of blood

that we've had in this entire piece.

The blood starts to spatter
into the water rather than flow.

You know, you see spots hitting
like a dark rain.

And then it just is absorbed by the
water and it spreads out in a very

kind of haunting, a haunting way.

My mom loves to tell me that,

"Oh, you know that the blood going
down the drain in Psycho

"is chocolate..." Chocolate syrup.
Chocolate syrup, right?

So, is anyone in this room going to
tell us that that's
not actually chocolate syrup?

They had a can of Hershey's syrup,

which is watered-down and
that's what they used for blood.

But they had to dribble it around
me, and on me.

I deliberately made the film
in black and white

because I knew that
if it had been in colour,

the draining away of blood
would've been too repulsive.

SHOWER RUNS

The knife comes through and even
though it's just swinging through

frame, my brain is telling me

she's just gotten stabbed squarely
in the back.

And then to the sneaky cut that
Tomasini has put into the film,

starting here with her hand
out of focus at the front,

it's going towards the wall,
your eyes are super confused here

because you're looking at a negative
space and just the wall tile.

Her hand starts to come in
and instantly there's a jump cut.

If you watch that at full speed it
just looks like...bam!

It ends up making it feel like she's
slamming against the wall.

His exit is also tremendous, that
quick move, without looking back.

He doesn't even stand there to make
sure she's dead. He leaves.

It's almost like a time cut,
where he's already out the door.

And I think part of it is they were
really trying to hide,

you know, who it was and they were
tired of showing that lame

shot where his head
looked like a mushroom.

The shot of the hand, it looks
like a starfish against the wall.

It's just a hand.

The least important part of her body
right now after she's been

hacked to death.

And you see the life ebbing
out of her body through her hand.

So the scene becomes all about her
hands, if you watch it.

Hand. And then hand.
And you watch it go.

Trying to grab onto something.
Hand going down the wall.

She turns around, where is her hand?
That's the big question.

And if you actually watch
the opening scene of Jurassic Park

it's the same thing. It doesn't
matter, that guy that got eaten

by the velociraptor,
you barely see his face.

But what's important is he's
grabbing on to his hand.

Hand reaches out.

Hand's touching the thing.

And I think that's part of the way
that he kind of is able to

bring the audience into her death,
rather than just watching her die.

Now she's begging for her life,
trying to hold herself up.

The way that her hair leaves a trail
behind her, it follows her down.

I mean, it's an incredibly haunting
image. And it's a wall.

You know, you had depth before and
she's just flat against nothingness.

Nobody did this before.

Deaths were quick in movies

and although actors loved to make
the most of them...

This is so obviously
directed in such a way.

You know, in Torn Curtain is this
endless scene of trying to

kill someone.
It's not bloody but it's graphic.

Even Frenzy is fairly graphic
compared to Psycho.

But Psycho has
the effect of being graphic,

much like Texas Chainsaw Massacre
later was.

I love how slow it is, how
much time it takes.

There's all this negative
space on the left-hand side.

This is absolutely intentional.

Hitchcock is mirroring the shot
at the beginning of the sequence

where Marion is showering in exactly
the right-hand side of the frame.

It is the book end that makes
the shower scene.

My favourite cut is the hand
coming around onto the curtain

and it's all of a sudden
from the staccato rhythms you end up

with this really fluid shot that
has a sort of almost,

kind of poetic
and sad quality to it.

She's dying
and there's a softness to it

and it makes it just
instantly emotional.

It's really, really a great cut.

It's one of the best cuts
I've ever seen.

You can just barely see the outline
of my breast in that shot.

That's my hand. And you can tell the
difference on my knuckles, there.

The ring finger is disfigured a bit.

The nail is darker than
a regular fingernail.

When I was three years old
I reached down to

help my brother on a push lawnmower
and - pssht! - cut it off.

This is the shot that
Cecil B DeMille actually did first

in The Ten Commandments

where Sally Lung
pulls down on the curtain.

This shot, the down shot,
she just feels so vulnerable,

like a dying animal.

Again, such a bold shot
because so much nudity is revealed.

There is a shot in the shower scene
that was never used,

it was one of the most heartbreaking
shots I've ever seen.

Anne Heche, she was definitely
willing to do stuff.

That one shot at the end where
she's slumped over,

that was the shot that Hitchcock
could not use.

But it was storyboarded.

There was objections to using that

and perhaps Hitch felt it wasn't
really necessary anyway.

Then we return to the
motif of the shower head,

the impassive eye which has just
watched this horrible thing happen.

This shot of the shower head
at the beginning of the scene was

one of joy, she was going to get
a new start and now that same

water is washing away the evidence
of her existence and the murder.

The water keeps running
and the blood flows

but the heart is stopping.

It's just such an amazing image to
see her life flowing down the drain.

What a metaphor that is.

And it switches to the eye, right?

Oh, come on.

That's so good.

I wonder how long this shot is,
how long she had to hold.

To get her eye to stay open?

Just to make sure her eye didn't
twitch even a tiny bit.

Oh, my God, that's incredible.

The pointless
spiralling of the universe

and the way that everything
is ultimately

drawn down the plughole towards
oblivion, towards meaningless death.

I think to some extent we are
looking at Hitchcock's

fears as well as his obsessions.

You see it in Barton Fink,
you see it in so many movies

and you're like,
"Why is he going inside the drain?

"Are we going to go inside?"

That is the moment of Psycho where
everything changes.

This was made by an auteur
film-maker

and that is a very personal stamp.

It's a rupture in the movie

but the movie never achieves this
kind of poetry again and you begin

to realise that, "Oh, this was what
really mattered most to Hitchcock."

Tomasini has done a clockwise
turn optically which then,

right about here, hooks back up
to the 24-frame footage.

I'm just amazed
they were able to get that clean.

Usually when you do an optical it's
pretty grainy but it looks

so smooth and so beautiful.

It's surprising and seamless where
they go from live action,

it's like one of the greatest
opticals in the history of movies.

It's also kind of like what the
title sequence is doing

in Vertigo, it's a
theme that runs through this film

and then later on, of course. It's
not style just for style's sake,

it's got content.

The cameras were huge
and very difficult to manipulate.

You can actually see pictures
of Hitchcock behind a Mitchell

and you get a sense of what it
was like riding on that

carriage behind that huge
locomotive of a camera.

Whereas today it's a snap,
you just do it like Gus Van Sant.

In the remake
he did it all live action.

The pull-back from her eye was
a whole robotic camera move.

I seriously followed the original
film shot by shot.

I was able to cut it exactly
like the original, and we watched it

and it was weird and it didn't work.

I said, "Well, Gus, come over, watch
the scene. I have a few reservations

"of how it's playing right now

"and it doesn't
feel like the shower scene yet."

We went in and tried to make it
a little more Gus Van Sant-y.

To duplicate something as iconic
as the shower scene,

I really think it wasn't
going to work.

And it just didn't.

I always loved the placement of
those drops of water cos

they're like tears.

Right at the end it was a little
flicker in her eye,

a little highlight in her eye.

And you can see her eye move.

There's a tight,
slight flick of the eye, there.

Hitchcock almost fetishistically
lingers in this postmortem moment.

This is what happens after you die
and no-one turns off the water.

Hitch had a little
snap of the finger to let Janet know

when the camera had past
and was going to pan into the room.

It took a lot of takes.

I can feel the moleskin pulling
away from my top part and so I could

feel this, it was just of going...
SHE SQUEAKS

..and I thought, "You know what?

"I don't want to do this damn thing
again. I really don't want to."

And there are all the guys
on the scaffolding and I said,

"I'm not going to be modest.
Let 'em look."

Why would you cut to the
shower there?

I don't think the reason has
anything to do with artistic

decision. It's the solution to some
problem that he had.

After my grandfather filmed Psycho

and it had been shown to all
the executives,

the last person
he showed it to was my grandmother

and they were sitting
in the screening screen,

and he's panning out and she looks
at my grandfather and says,

"Hitch, you can't release this."

And he said, "Why not?" She goes,
"Janet Leigh took a breath."

They couldn't reshoot it.

Janet was gone,
they didn't have the budget,

so they simply cut back to the
shower head...spewing water.

And then that cynical camera move.

She made her moral decision
and this is what it got her.

There's an image of the uncaring
universe, if you want one.

You see the headline there -
"OKAY" - it is not OK.

Nothing is OK.

He always comes back to
his MacGuffin which is the $40,000.

He throws the newspaper into the
quagmire, it goes down with the car.

And the audience says,
"That's the money

"that we thought was
important in this story,

"it's totally unimportant."

This is the thing in the movie that
always tortured me.

The greatest scene in movie history
ends on a sour note with

a bad ADR line. That has been
the doom of so many movies.

Here comes Norman.

Just wondering what happened and oh,
my, he can't believe it.

Another murder at the motel.
How did that happen?

It's an extraordinary aftermath,
it's a crucial piece

of the film-making to sort of let
the consequence of it actually land.

It's not about getting the blood
stains out of the tub

it's about this incredibly
laborious process

that this unbearably damaged soul
needs to work through.

It demands not just that we
watch as we've watched the murder

of Marion Crane, we're also voyeurs
to the horror of Norman's world.

For me, the clean up represents
Alfred Hitchcock's sense

of orderliness, sense of "I wasn't
sexually aroused by this woman,

"and I'm just going to pretend
that this unhappy episode just

"didn't even occur."

I think that cleaning always
represents sexual guilt.

You care about this guy. And I know
it sounds crazy but you do.

You want to know what's going to
happen to him, you want to know

is he going to be free of this or is
it going to consume him?

The fact that he is able to
get you to care is

one of the miracles of the movie.

Psycho obviously has
influence on a whole host of movies.

Psycho is the mother
of the slasher genre.

The shower scene is really the first
fully sexualised on-screen

knife attack.

You have Mario Bava
in Italy and he's taking

the visuals of the Psycho scene
and in Italy in the '60s

they didn't have the same censorship
laws that we had in America.

Bava takes the Hitchcock style and
really creates

the Italian giallo film.

Dario Argento burst onto the scene
with Bird Of The Crystal Plumage,

determined to present
murder as a form of fine art,

consistently sexualising

and fetishises the killings and
tries to present them

as something beautiful,
cathartic and almost orgasmic,

which happens again
and again in his work.

Then, of course,

the American films started
imitating the Italian films

and you get the wave of slasher
films in the '80s,

kicking off with
John Carpenter's Halloween.

Psycho might have also really
started the rather negative

trend of victims undressing
before they're butchered, which is

something that haunted slasher
cinema throughout the '70s.

Martin Scorsese talks about the
construction of the fight

in Raging Bull
with Sugar Ray Robinson.

I literally got a shot-by-shot
breakdown of the shower

scene in Psycho and laid out my
original storyboards for this one

sequence, shot-by-shot,
and shot it in that order.

I don't believe film influences
the culture in this way any more.

When a moment of violence
is so suggestive, so new,

so unlike anything we've
seen that it just becomes

part of the cultural conversation,

I think that's what happened
with the shower scene.

I'm on this TV show called
Scream Queens.

I've been asked to get in the shower
and take pictures before,

I've been asked to recreate it
and I've said no every time

because of course this
is my mother's legacy

and it is not mine to play in,
it's her sandbox.

But my mother's been gone now
over ten years

and this is a great show and it was

a really respectful, funny homage.

And so the red devil comes along,
he rips open the curtain -

but I'm not there.

And that second I come from behind
the bathroom door, attack him,

and right before,
I do I look at him and go,

"I saw that movie, like, 50 times."

I went back to Chicago,
shot the September 1960 cover.

I worked at the Playboy Club
until probably October that year.

I was one of the original Bunnies
there. I never mentioned Psycho.

The shot I didn't like was
when Tony Perkins pulls me

out of the tub and wraps me
in the shower curtain.

He picks me up to carry me
out to the trunk, he gets me,

I don't know, about six, nine
inches off the floor and drops me

back down because he wasn't in a
position to pick up a dead weight.

He picks me up,
puts me on his knees and then...

And that's me.

And that's out to the car
and that's the end of me.

CHAIR CREAKS