Psycho Therapy

By RICHARD CORLISS

Remember the big masturbation scene in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho? The shot of a George Jones-Tammy Wynette record? The visions of a naked woman and a sheep during one of the murders? The spider crawling out of Mother Bates' mummified mouth? All these are in Gus Van Sant's new version of the 1960 horror classic--which suggests he hasn't been quite so slavish as expected.

But, yes, this is a nearly shot-by-shot recapitulation of the film and an almost verbatim rereading of Joseph Stefano's terrific screenplay. Why do it? One reason: it's never been done. Another: Psycho, which spawned a festering genre of slasher films, has been ripped off a zillion times--surely it can be remade just this once. And finally: let's set a test for today's actors, encrusted with decades of Method mannerisms. Can they assimilate the smooth delivery of the 1960 cast?

When Psycho first appeared, it was a shock. At first the picture seemed like a familiar Hitchcock melodrama of guilty escape: a woman, on the run with stolen money, stops for the night in a tatty motel, chats with the eccentric owner, takes a shower. And then, 44 minutes in, the movie goes a little mad. Exit leading lady, in a whirlpool of blood. New characters appear, are slaughtered or imperiled. What the hell is going on here? Audiences knew (it was one of Hitchcock's most profitable films), but the critics were annoyed, dismissive. It took a while for them to come around. In 1973 one critic (this one) chose Psycho as his all-time favorite film.

This time Anne Heche is the thief, Vince Vaughn is Norman Bates--two lonely people who want something from each other and, fatally, get it. Like some of the other actors here, Heche doesn't know the value of seductive repose; she's fidgety, shallow. But Vaughn (a taller, creepier Billy Crystal) understands Norman, his naive charm, his need to watch women, become them, then mete out punishment for the transgression. And William H. Macy is fine as the prying detective. But does any man still wear a hat these days?

Indeed, the whole film is in a style we'll call contempo-retro. It is beautifully shot by Christopher Doyle, who turns the puky green of motel lighting into a circle of Hell, and it features a busy sound track of rattlesnakes and buzzing flies--moral decay in the desert. Everything else is defiantly same-old. This Psycho is radical because it has not only the dialogue but also the tempo of a film almost 40 years old.

Modern viewers, used to up-front gore, may find all that subtle talk way too talky. Could we fast-forward to the bloody part? Or, better yet, shall we go rent the original? Perhaps that was Van Sant's aim all along: to lead today's children back to a revolutionary masterpiece.

--By Richard Corliss