Psycho(1960): Expect the Unexpected
Arguably one of horror’s greatest cinematic achievements, and undoubtedly the director’s biggest success, isPsycho.
The drama starts when Marion Crane decides to steal from her employer and skip town. Along her journey to the Bates Motel, Marion tries to predict the drama unfolding—how her lover will react to what she’s done, the possible legal implications imposed by her employer—speaking to a person’s tendency to overthink, sometimes rightfully so. And yet none of those alarm bells begin to ring when she encounters Bates and (whom she believes to be) his overbearing mother.
The “psycho” of the film (arguably, that is), Norman Bates, even resembles Marion’s love interest, reminding audiences that there’s often a fine line between charming and creepy, passion and insanity. (It shouldalso be noted that Marion’s love interest has plenty of red flags of his own, a pile full of debt and one failed marriage under his belt, to name a few.)
From its sultry opening scene to the twisty climax,Psychogave contemporary audiences shocks they didn’t anticipate. Even if they thought they knew what was coming, those expectations soon went out the window when the film’s biggest star, Janet Leigh, perished in the iconic shower scene within the first forty-five minutes of the film. For this reason and many others, my primary takeaway fromPsychois to expect the unexpected. There’s no telling what might come next in life, but with Hitch behind the cameras, it’s sure to be a thrilling ride.
28
Before
Confrontation. In the movies,it’s an exhilarating scene to watch unfold.
The determined detective confronts the conniving criminal. The heroine regains control of her life. The audience finally determines why the deceitful villain does what he does. Or she does. Women can be villains, too.
It’s far less satisfying in real life.
Part of me—the sensible, tame part—wanted to cut and run away from the situation. I could pack a bag and be gone by morning.
I thought of Danielle. If my suspicions were correct, and Oliver was somehow involved with her death, she’d receive no justice. The only way I could find any real evidence against him was to provoke a confession, but first, I’d have to confront him with undeniable proof of his crimes.
Oliver was manipulative, charming enough to trick me and everyone in my life. Of course, he’d had practice. I thought of the happy photograph from his first wedding I saw on social media, the joyful couple emerging from the church doors. Oliver’s conniving wasn’tsomething that happened by chance or coincidence. He likely sought Danielle out with the hope of draining her accounts for his own financial security.
And now he was trying to do the same to me.
If we went through with the wedding, how long would it take for his stealing to become more blatant? And if I became too much of a problem, would a tragic death befall me just as it had Danielle?
Danielle had put herself at risk for me. She tried to warn me, and I unknowingly delivered her to the hands of her killer. Oliver had gotten enough out of her financially, and then she posed a problem. The only benefit in killing her when he did would be to keep her silenced so he could complete his next fraud. Me.
The idea I’d been so easily fooled and seduced by this man soured my stomach with sickness, and yet, with each passing second, that disgust was morphing into something else. Rage. Wrath. Oliver’s lies would stop with me, but first, I had to confront him with everything I knew.
Oliver and I shared locations on an app. It wasn’t something I used often; like Marmee, I preferred a world where knowledge wasn’t at the tip of my fingers. Now, I was grateful for the convenience of tracking him. As I suspected, he wasn’t heading toward the airport. He was traveling along the highway in the direction of Marmee’s house, about to reach the precise area where service would drop altogether. I recalled the most recent email I’d read. If Oliver was planning to sell more of Marmee’s jewelry in Atlanta, he’d have to obtain the pieces tonight.
I rushed out of my apartment and toward the parking garage where I stored my car. Normally, I relied on the ease of subways and Ubers, but Marmee insisted I keep a car in the city for emergencies. This qualified. I sped in the direction of Marmee’s house.
When I reached the gates, I pressed my birth date into the keypad. The wrought iron bars opened wide, as they had so many times before. My car swerved along the familiar driveway leading uphill, the dipping sun drenching the landscape with a dreamy orange glow.
When I reached the house, construction materials from the newlyrevitalized crow fountain blocked the stone awning where I normally parked. I veered to the left, and that’s when I saw Oliver’s Alpine hidden in the shadows. My heart dropped into my stomach. He was here. Part of me still hoped I’d been wrong, and an even smaller part said I still could be, but now I had no choice but to walk inside.
The house was quiet. Marmee had been going to sleep earlier and earlier, and I didn’t want my presence to disturb her. I climbed the carpeted stairs. Marmee’s bedroom door was shut, but the door to the room beside it, her walk-in closet, was open just a crack. I stepped inside.
Someone was already in the room. Their back to me, the person stood in front of the floor-length safe. I cleared my throat, prompting them to turn.
The face of the man I loved stared back at me. Oliver. In his hands, he held a black backpack. The smile on his face was slow to spread.
“Tippi,” he said, his voice as cool as a late-night breeze. “You scared me.”
“What are you doing here, Oliver?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” The way he was able to turn on his charm was frightening. If I didn’t already know his true intentions for being here, he could have fooled me into believing anything.
“You said you were going to the airport.”
“I am.” He didn’t volunteer any more information. “After I leave.”
“What’s in the bag?” I asked him, growing impatient.
