When Tippi Hedren asked Alfred Hitchcock why her character in The Birds would do something as stupid as investigate an obviously dangerous room, he simply told her, “Because I tell you to.” The director of Psycho II, one of Hitchcock’s protégés, also had a lax relationship with logic. Playing loose with logic doesn’t always work, but when you learn from the master, you’ve got a shot.
This time Anthony Perkins steps into the director’s seat, turning in a movie that scores higher on believability, but earns fewer points in the entertainment category due to his marginally weaker performance. The beginning is especially strange. It’s as if it takes Perkins a while to warm up to the double duty of actor and director. Once he does, he feels more like his old self, albeit a little bit meaner. That’s the 80s for ya, though. (You’ll recall this was the same era that had Timothy Dalton fighting Columbian drug dealers in a James Bond film that was considerably more violent than anything in Daniel Craig’s run.)
The film opens when a young woman (Diana Scarwid) has a mental breakdown before taking her final vows as a nun. Climbing to the top of a bell tower in a bout of hysteria, she accidentally shoves one of the nuns to her death. The convent kicks her out and she wanders the country side until she finds herself at the Bates Motel. It seems completely obvious she should become the Bride of Psycho, considering she’s stark raving mad, but the film never goes there. It’s a massively wasted opportunity if you ask me. See, she and Norman Bates have a meet-cute when he bursts into the bathroom to murder her, only to find she’s already slashed her wrists. He takes pity on the poor thing and rushes her to the hospital where the locals laud him as a hero.
Meanwhile, a no-good traveling musician (Jeff Fahey) and an LA journalist (Roberta Maxwell) conspire to get to the bottom of the killings. The musician becomes the motel’s day manager, keeping an eye on our hero while the journalist pokes around for clues. Returning as the sheriff is Hugh Gillin, once again cheerleading for Norman’s complete rehabilitation. Even though this is due to his utter incompetence as a lawman, it’s refreshing that Gillin completely sidesteps the role of an antagonistic sheriff, which are a dime a dozen in flicks like this. Besides, his incompetence is the very reason Norman can get up to his old tricks.
I’m also glad to have Fahey and Maxwell. The two vibe well with the cast, but especially with each other. Fahey has been one of my favorite actors for literally as long as I’ve been watching movies. I mean, just the fact that I’m praising the acting in a film like this should tell you it’s atypical. For a Psycho film, it’s not great, but for a slasher film, it’s high art. I’ll probably even see it again someday.
At any rate, our boy Norman is evolving. Whereas the last film was an excuse to reset the status quo, this film aims to see the character grow, which is no doubt because the man closest to the character also served as the director. The resolution is satisfying, but not nearly as insane as the last film, which had me howling with laughter at one point. (It was the comedic timing of a shovel bonk that did me in.) I’d like a little more of that in this picture, which isn’t to say it’s not funny, and it does up the gross-out factor. I mean, just wait until you see what they do with a handful of bloody ice.
