When you think of Psycho, you likely think of one of a handful of the film's indelible images — Norman Bates' demented smile, the desiccated corpse of his mother, or Marion Crane screaming in the shower. It's these tentpole moments of shock that make Psycho a triumph of horror. But that shock is significantly less impactful in Robert Bloch's 1959 novel of the same name, and much of the reason why lies in the differences between the book's portrayal of Norman Bates and the movie's.
Anthony Perkins' Bates seems at first to be a sweet, if stunted, young man. One can't help but feel sorry for him. Sure, his thing with his mom is creepy, but it's clear that he's never been allowed to live any other way. Moreover, he's young and handsome, which creates a one-two punch of audience sympathy and subsequent shock. He's cute, and he's tragic, so it's a mind-blowing to realize he's the killer.
In the book, however, he's an unattractive and middle-aged bachelor with a drinking problem and a nasty streak. One guesses, long before the book reveals it, that he's the titular psycho. This isn't necessarily a flaw, as the book's aims are different than the movie's, but in the end, Psycho the movie accomplishes its goals more fully than Psycho the novel. A schlubby Bates with a Marquis de Sade obsession is intriguing, but a childlike Bates, overwhelmed by incongruous bloodlust, is legendary.
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September 22, 2020 at 04:32AM
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Movies better than the book - Looper
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