Psycho’s Shocking Legacy: Why It Became The Most Famous Film
Filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock dramatically defied conventional Hollywood wisdom and foreshadowed significant industry trends by creating the low-budget shocker Psycho. Released on June 16, 1960, this audacious film swiftly became his most popular work, solidifying its place as one of The Most Famous Films in cinematic history. Its influence rippled through the industry, altering how films were financed, marketed, studied, and censored.
The widespread success of North by Northwest (1959) perfectly illustrated Alfred Hitchcock’s observation, “style is self-plagiarism.” A considerable box-office hit, North by Northwest adhered to a well-established Hitchcock formula tracing back to his 1935 British thriller, The Thirty-Nine Steps: the narrative of an innocent man entangled in a double-chase plot. Hitchcock had successfully adapted this formula—where a falsely accused protagonist pursues the true culprit while simultaneously being pursued by the police—for American audiences in films like Saboteur (1942), though elements of this structure also appeared in Foreign Correspondent (1940) and To Catch a Thief (1955). While viewers could instantly recognize these films as distinctly Hitchcockian, the director himself acknowledged their self-imitative nature.
Alfred Hitchcock, the director of Psycho, known for breaking genre conventions
Hitchcock’s continuous search for novel ideas was driven by both box office considerations and an inherent desire for originality. A shrewd businessman as much as an artist, he still recalled the commercial disappointment of Vertigo (1958), a bold psychological drama that deliberately downplayed plot and failed to connect with mass audiences. While moviegoers appreciated his return to more familiar territory with North by Northwest, Hitchcock was keen to explore something new, provided it wasn’t overly risky. His pursuit of innovation and commercial viability led him to observe emerging trends that would redefine hollywood most famous movies.
Hitchcock had noted the unexpected recent success of certain low-budget horror films. Hammer Film Productions spearheaded this trend with Terence Fisher’s The Curse of Frankenstein (1957), a vivid Technicolor adaptation of Mary Shelley’s classic, starring Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. Working with Allied Artists and Columbia, director William Castle became known for combining minimal budgets with aggressive publicity stunts to draw crowds. For The House on Haunted Hill (1958), Castle famously arranged for exhibitors to fly a skeleton over the audience’s heads (a technique he dubbed “Emergo”). For Macabre (1958), ushers distributed insurance policies to patrons in case they died of fright. And for The Tingler (1959), select theater seats were wired to deliver physical jolts to viewers at key moments. More critically acclaimed was Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Diabolique (1955), a French black-and-white thriller about a husband murdered by his wife and mistress, which enjoyed significant popularity in America and earned praise for its terrifying bathtub murder sequence.
Aware of these cinematic currents, Hitchcock’s assistant, Peggy Robertson, brought his attention to a review of Robert Bloch’s 1959 novel, Psycho. Bloch’s story was a fictionalized account inspired by the chilling real-life crimes of Wisconsin recluse Ed Gein. In the novel, Norman Bates, a man in his forties with a drinking problem, manages a run-down motel and is dominated by his overbearing and possessive mother. Bloch skillfully misleads the reader by filtering much of the action through Norman’s perspective, setting up a shocking twist: the brutal murders, seemingly committed by Norman’s mother (including the infamous shower stabbing of motel guest Mary Crane), were actually perpetrated by Norman himself. He had secretly preserved his deceased mother’s body for years and developed a split personality, psychologically merging with her. Intrigued by the elements of Gothic horror and particularly by the surprising early demise of the apparent heroine, Hitchcock purchased the film rights to Bloch’s novel for a mere nine thousand dollars.
Transforming the novel into a viable film project presented several hurdles. Paramount Pictures, the studio where Hitchcock had enjoyed most of his successes throughout the 1950s, was unwilling to finance a film touching on themes like necrophilia. Undeterred, Hitchcock decided to personally finance the movie. He chose to shoot it on the Universal-International studio lot, utilizing the crew from his popular television program, Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Paramount agreed to handle the film’s publicity and distribution. This arrangement allowed Hitchcock to retain 60 percent ownership of the picture, a strategic move that resulted in earnings of $2.5 million within the first four months following its opening on June 16, 1960. His initial investment in the film’s production totaled only $800,000, making it an extraordinary financial success and a contender for one of the most famous classic films to yield such returns.
An initial screenplay drafted by writer James Cavanagh missed the intended tone by focusing on a love story between Mary Crane’s sister and her boyfriend as they investigated Mary’s disappearance. Joseph Stefano then collaborated closely with Hitchcock through numerous story conferences to refine the narrative structure and write the second screenplay. Stefano’s key idea was to open the film with Marion (her name was changed from Mary) and her lover Sam. The opening scene, featuring two partially clothed lovers in a rented room, would immediately signal the film’s daring and unconventional nature. Hitchcock specifically wanted Anthony Perkins to portray Norman Bates, a casting decision that imbued the character with a more boyish and vulnerable quality than the novel’s description. While Stefano focused on the dialogue, Hitchcock concentrated on solving the significant technical challenges presented by the film’s visual centerpieces: the infamous shower murder sequence and the killing of the detective, Arbogast.
As production commenced, Hitchcock’s decision to self-finance meant he was reluctant to hire expensive “name” stars. Janet Leigh, the most recognizable performer in the cast, agreed to take on the role of Marion. John Gavin (Sam Loomis), Vera Miles (Lila), and Martin Balsam (Arbogast) rounded out the primary cast. Filming proceeded efficiently from November 11, 1959, to February 1, 1960. Surprisingly, the censors requested only minor edits. Hitchcock, arguing that the knife was never explicitly shown making contact with the victim’s body in the shower scene (and, of course, strategically omitting the fact that the scene’s intense violence was masterfully created through staccato editing and Bernard Herrmann’s shrieking violins), successfully navigated the entire sequence past their scrutiny. Hitchcock personally made most of the other deletions to tighten the film’s running time, which ultimately came to 109 minutes. He cut dialogue and shortened a later scene depicting Sam’s grief over Marion. Joseph Stefano strongly disagreed with these edits, believing that the negative reaction to Vertigo had made Hitchcock hesitant to explore character depth more fully.
To generate buzz for the film, Hitchcock arguably borrowed some tactics from William Castle’s playbook. He strictly prohibited any preview screenings, a decision designed to safeguard the secrecy of the surprise ending. However, this move also alienated many film critics, who were forced to watch the film alongside regular audiences and subsequently delivered mixed or negative reviews initially. In another effort to prevent word-of-mouth spoilers, Hitchcock concluded the preview trailer for Psycho with a stern warning that no one would be seated after the film had started. The publicity kit provided to theater owners even suggested various methods for enforcing this policy, including employing Pinkerton detectives, prominently displaying large lobby clocks, and playing an audio tape of Hitchcock himself consoling impatient ticket buyers waiting in line. This unconventional marketing further contributed to Psycho‘s status as most famous films ever.
The rise of film as a subject for both casual discussion and academic study was significantly intertwined with the increasing critical attention Alfred Hitchcock received throughout his career. The first book dedicated to Hitchcock’s films, authored by Eric Rohmer and Claude Chabrol and published in 1957, offered serious analysis of his technique and themes, particularly the concept of the transfer of guilt. The immense popularity of Psycho substantially boosted Hitchcock’s already considerable fame and fueled even greater critical scrutiny. French filmmaker François Truffaut famously requested an extensive interview with Hitchcock in 1962, proposing some five hundred questions about his entire career; a transcript of their fifty hours of conversation was later published in 1966. This heightened critical focus on Hitchcock, and on film in general, indirectly spurred the development of film programs within universities. Cause and effect are complex here, but it can be generally stated that much like 19th-century university courses on William Shakespeare evolved into the discipline of literary studies, the critical attention devoted to Hitchcock’s films played a crucial role in establishing film studies as an academic field.
Some of Psycho‘s other influences proved less positive. Although William Castle’s earlier films had given Hitchcock ideas, Castle and other filmmakers now followed in the wake of Psycho‘s immense popularity. Castle’s first clear imitation was Homicidal (1961), a black-and-white feature based on a real case, featuring an old house, themes of transvestitism, and a publicity gimmick (a “fright break” before the climax allowing terrified viewers to leave the theater). Numerous other films followed from Castle and other directors: Robert Aldrich’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), Castle’s Straight-Jacket (1964, from a script by Robert Bloch), Silvio Narizzano’s British production Die! Die! My Darling! (1965), and Aldrich’s Hush . . . Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1965). During this period, Hitchcock, once again seeking to avoid repetition, ventured in a new direction by making The Birds (1963), a film that predated and influenced a genre later known as “disaster movies.” The wave of exploitation films continued, giving rise to enduring series like the Friday the Thirteenth and Nightmare on Elm Street franchises, establishing a profitable, if often critically derided, genre known as “splatter movies.”
The increasing explicitness of horror and violence in films like Psycho also contributed to the erosion of the Production Code, the industry’s self-censorship system that had been in place since the 1930s. Psycho‘s popularity clearly illustrated that the filmgoing public was not a single, monolithic audience but rather comprised various smaller segments with diverse tastes. Films from the classical Hollywood era of the 1930s and 1940s typically aimed for a broad mass audience. However, movies such as A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), On the Waterfront (1954), and Baby Doll (1956)—all directed by Elia Kazan—demonstrated a clear intention to appeal to a more select audience of adult viewers. The mature subject matter and naturalistic style of these films gradually loosened other restrictions. Greater sexual permissiveness began appearing in films like Lolita (1962), The Pawnbroker (1965), and The Graduate (1967). By 1968, the motion-picture industry officially abandoned the Production Code entirely, opting instead for a rating system to classify films based on their content.
Remarkably, almost all these far-reaching influences were unintentional on the part of Alfred Hitchcock, whose primary aim was to use his talent to craft a cinematic style capable of intensely arousing emotion in the audience. Hitchcock’s own remarks about Psycho underscore his preoccupation with style and could be seen as a manifesto for formalist filmmakers: “I feel it’s tremendously satisfying for us to be able to use the cinematic art to achieve something of a mass emotion. And with Psycho we most definitely achieved this. It wasn’t a message that stirred the audiences, nor was it a great performance or their enjoyment of the novel. They were aroused by pure film.” Indeed, in Psycho, Hitchcock daringly experimented with minimizing traditional musical scoring to emphasize natural sounds, heightening the sense of horror, such as the famous shrieking violins mimicking the violence of the murder scene. Later, in The Birds, he took another bold step by dispensing with musical score altogether, further demonstrating his innovative approach.
In conclusion, Psycho‘s journey from a low-budget, independently financed film project, initially met with studio reluctance, to becoming Alfred Hitchcock’s most financially successful and perhaps The Most Famous Film of his career is a testament to its groundbreaking nature. By defying industry norms, embracing elements from emerging horror trends, and employing innovative cinematic techniques and marketing strategies, Psycho not only shocked audiences but also profoundly impacted film financing, critical study, genre development, and the very system of industry censorship. Its enduring legacy ensures its place as a monumental work in the history of cinema.
References
Anobile, Richard J., ed. Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.” New York: Avon Books, 1974. Presents a photographic reproduction of the film in more than 1,300 frame enlargements, with the complete dialogue printed below the accompanying shots. Although the book does not indicate camera pans, voice inflections, and the presence of music, it is useful for examining the visual design and editing of the film.
Deutelbaum, Marshall, and Leland Poague, eds. A Hitchcock Reader. Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1986. Designed as a text for college courses on Hitchcock, this collection of essays is intended for film devotees as well as for students. Each topical grouping has its own introduction; the fifth unit, “A Psycho Dossier,” collects three essays and includes a bibliography.
Durgnat, Raymond. A Long Hard Look at “Psycho.” London: British Film Institute, 2002. An ambitious publication, this book engages in a close reading of Psycho designed to show just how complex, sophisticated, and masterful a work of cinematic art it is, while simultaneously attempting to reinvent the discipline of film studies in the process. An important book for Hitchcock fans and film scholars alike. Bibliographic references and index.
Kendrick, Walter. The Thrill of Fear: 250 Years of Scary Entertainment. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1991. A lively survey of the history of horror as entertainment. Kendrick theorizes that the more society attempts to distance death, the more prominently horror appears in popular culture. His final two chapters are devoted to film horror, Psycho, and its formative influence on “splatter” films.
Kolker, Robert, ed. Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”: A Casebook. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Compilation of essays on Psycho designed both to illuminate the film itself and to serve as tools for teaching cinematic analysis in general. Bibliographic references.
Naremore, James. Filmguide to “Psycho.” Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1973. Short (eighty-seven-page) but thoughtful companion to the film. Chapter of analysis provides a running commentary on the film, with many worthwhile insights on Hitchcock’s visual artistry and skill at story construction.
Rebello, Stephen. Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of “Psycho.” New York: Dembner Books, 1990. Drawing on interviews with Hitchcock and others as well as on the director’s private papers, this is the most thorough and authoritative book on the creation of the film. Especially informative and useful on the two screenplays for the project and on the filming of the murder scenes.
Rothman, William. Hitchcock: The Murderous Gaze. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982. A detailed, scene-by-scene (sometimes shot-by-shot) analysis of five Hitchcock films, The Lodger (1927), Murder! (1930), The Thirty-nine Steps (1935), Shadow of a Doubt (1943), and Psycho, with hundreds of frame enlargements. Rothman’s discerning insights, free from academic jargon, may be appreciated by general readers, film students, and scholars.
Spoto, Donald. The Art of Alfred Hitchcock. 2d ed. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Valuable for the breadth of its film-by-film approach. Virtually a complete rewrite of the 1976 edition, with revised judgments based on Spoto’s experience teaching the films and the research for his controversial 1983 Hitchcock biography.
Truffaut, François. Hitchcock. Rev. ed. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1984. A transcript of fifty hours of conversation with Hitchcock on his films through Torn Curtain (1966). Truffaut updated the book with comments about various tributes and honors for Hitchcock from 1966 to 1979. Includes some interviews not in the first edition.
