When larcenous real estate clerk Marion Crane goes on the lam with a wad of cash and hopes of starting a new life, she ends up at the notorious Bates Motel, where manager Norman Bates cares for his housebound mother. The place seems quirky, but fine… until Marion decides to take a shower.
All those who still get a chill every time they step into a hotel shower, say aye. That, you see, is the power of Psycho.
[Hitchcock s] denouement falls quite flat for us. But the acting is fair.
With the exception of Halloween, no latter-day horror/thriller has been capable of generating as many goosebumps.
[Hitchcock] has very shrewdly interwoven crime, sex and suspense, blended the real and the unreal in fascinating proportions and punctuated his film with several quick, grisly and unnerving surprises.
What makes Psycho immortal, when so many films are already half-forgotten as we leave the theater, is that it connects directly with our fears.
Alfred Hitchcock s 1960 masterpiece blends a brutal manipulation of audience identification and an incredibly dense, allusive visual style to create the most morally unsettling film ever made.
An unusual, good entertainment, indelibly Hitchcock, and on the right kind of boxoffice beam.
Director Hitchcock bears down too heavily in this one, and the delicate illusion of reality necessary for a creak-and-shriek movie becomes, instead, a spectacle of stomach-churning horror.
It blazed a bloody trail for the much-loved slasher cycle, but it also assured us that a B-movie could be A-grade in quality and innovation.
The best that can be said is there are bats in the belfry and a well-preserved corpse in the basement. What else can one do but scream?