Choose any one of the module films, and explore in detail the strategies by which Hitchcock encourages emotional involvement and/or detachment on the part of the audience.

Case Study: Psycho

When it comes to suspense, there is undisputedly no greater film director than Alfred Hitchcock. The “Master of Suspense”, as he is hailed, exemplified over the course of his five-decade career filmic techniques that have highly influenced the landscape of modern film around the world. This essay however only touches upon a section of his substantial impact in film, but nonetheless an important part of which he is especially remembered for; his encouragement of audience involvement. I will concentrate on his 1960 film Psycho, chronologically exploring Hitchcock’s methods in placing the audience as an important part of the film. While Psycho has certainly influenced the horror genre (and horror’s sub-genres such as the slasher film), the themes and craft that Hitchcock employs are far more complex. Rather than placing a fear on the supernatural, Hitchcock locates the terror to the very normal everyday life, playing with human psychological fears. The film not only revolutionized the horror film, but changed the entire movie-going experience. Critics were excluded from advanced showings and no one was allowed to be admitted to the theatre after the start of each performance (McGilligan 2004: 599). The camera-work in Psycho works in a very purposeful manner, allowing for and also encouraging the audience’s emotional involvement as well as detachment. Not only is the audience’s role important in Psycho, but in fact crucial. Robin Wood’s argues that “the spectator becomes the chief protagonist, uniting in himself all the characters” (2002: 147). While Hitchcock has in his films prior to Psycho employed similar techniques, Psycho is the exemplary example of audience participation.

Privileging the audience with information and prohibiting it from the character in the shot was a trademark in Hitchcock’s work, which allowed for more suspense, as opposed to mere shock or surprise. He explained that “if a group of people is sitting at a table and a bomb unexpectedly goes off, we experience shock. But if we know that they are unaware of the bomb ticking away underneath their table, we will be caught in the grip of suspense” (Knight & McKnight in Allen & Gonzalès 1999: 107). Psycho though, combines elements of suspense and surprise on multiple occasions, hence placing the audience in an uncomfortable situation. From the very opening credit scenes, Saul Bass’ title animation and Bernard Herrmann’s continuous score already positions the spectators in a state of uneasiness. The text appears horizontally, but is split from the vertical. Susan Smith explains that the scene

Propels the viewer into a much earlier, more sudden and far more advanced state of suspense by evoking an instantaneous sense of dread (rather than mere suspicion or apprehension) about what is to follow… the film therefore mixes up and reworks the various stages of suspense in a way that is much more disruptive and unsettling than a gradual, predictable build-up tension (which at least offers a certain security of expectation) (2000: 26).

Once the intense ‘text-splitting’ credits – which play on the very themes of the film such as duality – end without a clear resolution still echoing in the audiences ears, Hitchcock transitions the viewer back to the very ‘normal’. The date and time of day is very precise and once the camera moves towards a supposedly random window, it briefly hesitates as if the location is neither here nor there; it could be the lives of anyone. Furthermore William Rothman argues that “the precise specification of date and time reinforces the suggestion that what we are about to view is no ordinary fiction. Psycho’s fiction is that its world is real” (1982: 251). The ‘soaring’ of the camera over the cityscape of Phoenix in itself suggests an embodiment of a bird-like creature – perhaps even the mythical phoenix bird – when intruding into the lives of a couple. The camera at this point has taken a free role and the morality of the audience’s voyeurism is already questioned. But once the camera (or the audience) commits its first intrusion, it takes a subjective stance with the character of Marion.

         

Rothman argues that once the camera arbitrarily chooses Marion as the film’s subject, it “also seals Marion’s fate when it singles her out. Its entrance into Marion’s life is fateful; the mark she bears is also the camera’s mark” (ibid: 253). Hitchcock has therefore incorporated the audience as a factor in the story. Once the relationship – which Robin Wood argues is nothing short from normal human behavior (2002: 143) – between Marion and Sam has been established, the audience’s sympathies lie with Marion after her situation with Sam seems hopeless. This scene thus creates a relationship between Marion and the audience, further augmented by the following scene and Cassidy’s crude character. Cassidy is, as best described by Wood, “a vulgar, drunken oaf” (ibid.), and the opposite of Marion. His boastful nature and plans to buy his daughter’s love with money furthermore highlights the audience’s sympathies for Marion. The moral implications of the crime she soon commits in stealing the $40,000 is lessened after the blame could be equally placed on Sam’s financial debts and now Cassidy’s persona; the emotional connection between the audience and Marion therefore remains. Moreover, Hitchcock maintains the subjective relationship with Marion when upon her escape the audience is granted “access to her stream of consciousness” (Rothman 1982: 261). Herrmann’s endless score reappears reflecting Marion’s anxieties. Herrmann himself has acknowledged the importance of his music in Hitchcock’s films by stating that “music becomes a communicating link between the screen and the audience, reaching out and developing all into one single experience” (Smith 2000: 104). Furthermore film editor Paul Hirsch explains that “the best film music… is an expression of the interior psychological state of a character in a scene” (ibid: 105) reflecting heavily on what Marion is feeling. In the previous confrontations between Marion and the police officer and car salesman, the audience is privileged in knowing Marion’s past and rooting for her despite her crime. Wood writes, “like her we resent, with fear and impatience, everything… that impedes or interferes with her obsessive flight, despite the fact that only interference can help her” (2002: 145). If Hitchcock has concentrated the beginning of the film on the ‘normal’ and ordinary, Marion’s journey establishes the shift to the ‘abnormal’.

With the introduction of Norman Bates – whose name is only one letter away from ‘normal’ – the audience’s character relationship starts to alter subtly in Norman’s direction. The first encounter between the pair comes when Norman takes Marion’s luggage into the motel reception where the placement of a mirror seems of grand importance according to Rothman. He explains that

Momentarily, she enters the frame in the flesh and turns to face the mirror, her turning precisely synchronized with the appearance of Norman’s reflection. At this moment, Marion (in full face) and Norman (in profile) are contiguous, as if the mirror framed not two people but a single composite being (1982: 267).  

In essence, Rothman observes that this moment in the film marks a symbolic transition in the identification process. George Toles notes that in the following shot, the positioning of Marion and Norman is perfectly symmetrical, acting as mirror images of each other (Allen & Gonzalès 1999: 167). If in the beginning Hitchcock’s camera-work exhibited a slight hesitation that has been argued to have sealed Marion’s fate, a similar parallel can be drawn from Norman’s hesitation when reaching for the motel room key in this very scene. At first he reaches for room key number three, but ultimately chooses the first cabin and setting of Marion’s murder after Marion lies about her city of origin. As discussed, Hitchcock has more than explicitly defined Marion’s place of origin, and thus, through her lie starts becoming less sympathetic to the viewer whilst compared to the charming youth of Norman. In the scene that follows Norman captures the audience’s emotional sympathies when it turns out that his mother is ill during the pair’s dinner conversation. The identification process however, is not complete until the rapid surprise departure of Marion where the spectator is left with no choice but to sympathize with Norman (when it is assumed that his mother is the killer). Robin Wood describes that

                    We have been carefully prepared for this shift of sympathies. For one thing, Norman is an intensely sympathetic character, sensitive, vulnerable, trapped by his devotion to his mother – a devotion, self-sacrifice, which our society tends to regard as highly laudable. That he is very unbalanced merely serves to evoke our protective instincts: he is also so helpless. Beyond this, the whole film hitherto has led us to Norman, by making us identify with a condition in many ways analogous to his: the transition is easy (2002: 146).     

Furthermore Hitchcock employs a subjective point-of-view when Norman mops up the blood off the bathtub and bathroom floor as if it were directly the spectator having to do the cleaning. Even when Norman dumps Marion’s car with her corpse in the trunk into the swamp, it is made clear that Norman still has the viewer’s sympathies. Once the car stops sinking, for a brief moment (or, again, hesitation) the tension builds in fear of Norman’s capture, only to be relieved with the car’s full descent.

In the second half of the film Hitchcock reintroduces Sam and two new characters in Marion’s sister Lila and detective Arbogast. The relationship with the aforementioned characters and the audience refrains from any sort of emotional involvement but grants important access to the mystery of the plot. “Our only link with these characters is the act of searching, but they are only able to search for things that we know are not there… They futilely retrace each other’s steps and imitate each other’s actions, without ever having the sense of what their eyes need to connect with” (Toles in Allen & Gonzalès: 171). The identification remains with Norman despite an obvious resemblance to Sam – portrayed once more in the motel reception – because the audience supposedly already knows the “truth”. Also the audience is aware of Sam’s past and the likeability remains clearly on Norman’s side. But as the plot thickens during the investigation when claiming that Mrs. Bates had died years ago, the audience is forced to second-guess the mystery and therefore utilizes Sam, Lila and Arbogast in solving it. Once Arbogast enters the unknown into Bates’ house, Hitchcock presents the suspense from Arbogast’s subjective point-of-view when mounting the stairs. This moment, though, is only brief as the camera-work Hitchcock employs rapidly shifts to a high angle view when “Mrs. Bates” comes rushing to stab him accompanied by Hermann’s loud and disturbing music. This moment in time the audience is in limbo between expectation and shock, suspense and surprise. The spectator was certainly aware of the possible implications of Arbogast’s passage, but nonetheless is left in a state of shock due to the crime’s coldness and rapidity. Arbogast is essentially the body employed to lead the audience to discovering the mystery, despite its implications. The lack in emotional ties further reinforces and encourages Arbogast’s investigation for answers.  The scene eventually changes to the murderer’s perspective, exposing the horror in Arbogast’s face when finding out the truth and also fuelling the audience’s curiosities.   

Similar to Sam and Norman, physical distinctions can be paralleled between Lila and Marion. It is as if Lila is an extension of Marion, but again, due to the lack of knowledge about Lila, the emotional tie is cut. When Lila enters Mrs. Bates’ room, Hitchcock once more utilizes mirrors. During her search her focus in centred on a set of bronze hands only to be frightened by a double reflection of herself in the mirror. William Rothman argues that the second reflection of her image (the reflection of the reflection), actually is the presence of the viewer standing behind her (1982: 321-321). During the moment when Lila discovers Norman’s room, the sympathies still very much lie on Norman’s side, further empowered by Sam’s rude behavior when questioning Norman. His room seems nothing short of normal and Hitchcock with the placement of toys, an unmade bed and an Eroica Symphony record, stays loyal to his man/child image. But once the climax of the film reveals to truth about Norman, the outcome is unexpected and extremely shocking. The emotions that the spectator has been feeling towards Norman through Hitchcock’s subjectivity complicate and question the viewer’s very own morality. Wood argues that “we have been led to accept Norman Bates as a potential extension of ourselves” (2002: 148).          

In conclusion, audience participation in Psycho can best be described through Robin Wood: “The characters of Psycho are one character, thanks to the identifications the film evokes, is us” (2002: 147). It comes to no surprise why Hitchcock would not allow audiences to enter the cinema once the film began, as the audience is an integral component of the film itself. From the very beginning, the undivided attention of the viewing participant is needed, in order for the full experience to be achieved. Hitchcock at first leads the audience to expect the eventual salvation of Marion despite her predicament, only to fully let down expectations by a graphically violent death. Furthermore Herrmann’s score empowers the raging fear, leaving the audience in a near state of trauma. The only person available to relate to after Marion’s death is the character of Norman, whom Hitchcock has designed with the utmost precision. His sympathetic nature misleads the viewer to believe in his innocence, until the twist in plot reveals the audience’s most horrifying fears; even the most ‘normal’ human being can be dangerous. While the Hitchcock has filmed some of the most horrific physically violent murder scenes in Psycho, the horror that stays with the participating protagonist, is in fact, psychological. The element of participation in Psycho forced the viewer to emotionally connect with Marion and Norman, two predominantly ‘normal’ characters and relate it to the viewer’s very own life. A moral dilemma therefore arises within the psyche of the watcher once the mystery is solved. In essence, “we all carry within us somewhere every human potentiality, for good of evil, so that we all share in common guilt, may be, intellectually, a truism: the greatness of Psycho  lies in its ability, not merely to tell us this, but to make us experience it” (Wood 2002: 148).

 

Bibliography

Allen, R. & Gonzalès, S.I. (eds.) (1999) Alfred Hitchcock: Centenary Essays. London: British Film Institute.

McGilligan, P. (2004) Alfred Hitchcock: A Life in Darkness and Light. Chichester: Wiley.

Rothman, W. (1982) Hitchcock: The Murderous Gaze. Cambridge, Mass.; London: Harvard University Press.

Smith, S. (2000) Hitchcock: Suspense, Humour and Tone. London: British Film Institute.

Wood, R. (2002) Hitchcock’s Films Revisited. New York: Columbia University Press.