Psycho

The metronomic repetition of "why?" directed at Gus Van Sant's remake of the horror classic is a bit futile at this point, but I'm willing to hazard my own guess: Van Sant merely wanted to remind viewers what a brilliant director Alfred Hitchcock was, and what a brilliant example of direction Psycho was in particular. Many critics folded their arms so tightly in indignation that they failed to recognize how incredibly suspenseful and tautly paced is the first hour of this Psycho. Anne Heche's interpretation of doomed embezzler Marion Crane actually tops Janet Leigh's from the original, bringing a palpable mounting guilt and fear to the role; in fact, while the film is focused on Marion's flight, it really flies. Unfortunately, inevitably, Marion must exit wrapped in a shower curtain, which exposes the fatal undoing of this Psycho: Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates. There's nothing exactly wrong with Vaughn's edgy performance, except that as a physical type he's entirely inappropriate. Towering over every other performer in the film, his good looks unsullied by a bad haircut, he's far too intimidating to play a meek, repressed basket case. He throws the entire second half out of whack, leaving the audience with nothing to do but watch Van Sant and company play out their experiment. This incarnation isn't exactly a forgery of a great work of art. It's more like a photo of a great work of art in a textbook: a bit flat, and intended primarily to get you interested in the original. Optional. (S. Renshaw)