The word ‘transition’ tends to spur the thought of that which was and that which will be––becoming a matter of discarding the former for the latter. In Psycho,1 however, it’s a matter of both aspects being simultaneously present while the transition is from something hidden to the appearance or front that conceals it, or vice versa. To those acquainted with the film, such remarks may easily evoke Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins). Yet, the theme of transition and its implicit duality is much more pervasive than a sole manifestation. And curiously, we may grasp some of this pervasiveness in a short scene: having just overheard an argument between Norman and the ostensible ‘mother’, Marion (Janet Leigh) heads concernedly outside to the motel porch where Norman soon appears bearing a dinner tray. Within these parameters it is possible to tease out various instances of the theme.
A ‘way in’ to the text:
As with any text, a ‘way in’ is critical for understanding to be grasped, and this needn’t be through the text’s beginning. Here, our ‘way in’ is through a particular piece of Bernard Herrmann’s score, which presents a moment away from its signatures of high anxiety and stabbing shrieks. It has a subtle sense of evoking curiosity, and is commonly used in moments of transition.2 The easiest point of reference is to say it is the piece that immediately follows the title sequence, which I will refer to as the ‘opening transition’. Here, the piece is heard as we are taken from the public setting of Phoenix Arizona to the private setting of Sam and Marion’s hotel suite. If we recall how I claim ‘transition’ works in Psycho, we can see it is at work in this opening transition: the public/private settings are respectively the appearance and the hidden, both existing simultaneously. What’s crucial here is the transition’s direction––from public to private. In this essay’s scene, however, we are taken from the Norman/‘mother’ argument to the porch exterior when Norman has approached Marion and we are viewing them in profile – the music here setting this parameter. It is crucial to acknowledge that this music is only similar to that of the opening transition.3 For instance, both utilise a slower, more drawn-out, and calmly engrossing timbre. Yet, the point of distinction is where the opening piece ebbs after such timbre, the music in our scene slightly intensifies up the register. Indeed it is subtle, but what we have here is, firstly, two similar pieces of music that suggest moments of transition, thus carrying this similarity of meaning from instance to instance; but secondly, both offer comparative auditory oppositions – where one falls down the register, the other moves up. This difference in our scene is strange; that is, we’ve heard the similar piece twice already4 and its differences here make the piece sound unusual to us.
The strange transition:
That our scene marks the film becoming something strange may suggest that in this ‘becoming’ the film offers a second beginning. Not only is this evident in the strange musical difference that suggests a negation of the opening transition and its privileged position as the film’s most initial moment, but it is also evident in Norman’s ‘reverse’; that is, his action of transitioning from a private place (his house) to a public one5 (the motel), thus reversing the transition direction that opened the film. This signals a second beginning since it is the moment when Norman has just become interesting to us: the argument with ‘mother’ puts his previously slight idiosyncrasies6 above those of prior male characters in the film, thus elevating him to territory where he begins to subtly rival our interest in Marion. This transition, then, is also strange because it is the beginning of a gradual transition into, as we soon see, a much stranger narrative subject––from its theft/Marion story to its psychopath/Norman story. Given that Psycho moves in this direction, we may also consider a further implication: that Marion’s story functioned as an appearance7 that veiled the film’s true subject––the Norman story, which is hidden for the first 30 minutes. From musical difference to the Marion story façade, these elements combine to form a second beginning and are the meaning of the ‘strange transition’.
We may think that Psycho is a complete embodiment of our meaning of ‘transition’, which, as a whole film, simultaneously contains the hidden and that which acts to conceal it. Beyond this, however, it is possible to locate the film’s further transitions and their possible implications if we think that this essay has provided a further ‘way in’ to do so.
Notes:
1. Alfred Hitchcock (dir.), Psycho (Universal Studios, 1960).
2. In claiming that the particular pieces of Herrmann’s score gesture towards a narrative function, I aim not to exclude other possible purposes such as its mood-setting quality.
3. Musical differences are also manifest in the film’s original soundtrack titles. For instance, the piece from the ‘opening transition’ is officially titled The City, whereas the piece from this essay’s scene is The Window.
4. The second instance of the transition music is when Marion is at the car yard. In walking between her car and those for sale, Hitchcock cuts respectively between an Arizona license plate and California license plates, which may suggest Marion transitioning between a place of appearances in the former and a place that represents hidden and true desire in the latter––Sam.
5. Norman’s house is private since it is a space of something hidden. The motel is public insofar as it being open to anyone, and it as a space of appearances; for instance, the motel is mostly where Norman’s façade of formalities, normality, and niceties exists, and Marion checks in under an alias.
6. Norman’s slight idiosyncrasies hitherto include the distinct line “12 rooms, 12 vacancies”, his curious reach for room 1’s key, and light humour about Bates Motel stationary.
7. It’s also possible to read Marion’s story as containing other appearances that, once Psycho engages its Norman story, become matters of lesser significance insofar as Norman’s motive, for instance. The stolen money is a prime example. After Marion wraps the money in a newspaper, it is discarded as if the item were irrelevant to Norman’s story. This may be reinforced by the psychiatrist’s distinction at the end of the film: “these were crimes of passion, not profit”; Marion’s story relating to the latter, while Norman’s relates to the former. Yet, despite this discarding, the transition concept this holds: the money still remains as a driving force for Arbogast. Thus, maintaining simultaneous existence as per the meaning of ‘transition’ in this essay.
Bibliography:
Hitchcock, Alfred, (dir.), Psycho (Universal Studios, 1960).
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