I consider myself a fan of movies. Granted, I’m no expert and I never went to film school, but I consider myself to be a step above the slack-jawed assholes who eat up any mindless drivel the studios produce. I think that I’m somewhere in between — not quite a cinematic snob, but certainly not a mere casual viewer.

With that being said, it is with a hint of embarrassment that I make my confession. Up until last fall, when it was required for a class, I had never seen Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. I suppose part of my disinterest was rooted in the fact that I had (through top-ten lists and pop-cultural ubiquity) already viewed the shower scene and knew of the twist-ending. My justification for not watching Psycho was the assumption that although it was probably a decent movie, its reputation had probably been inflated over time.

I was wrong — way wrong. As I learned last autumn, Psycho is a truly terrifying film. Watching it in the darkened basement viewing room of my college, I frequently found myself looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was coming for me.

Unlike most modern horror flicks, Psycho is deftly built on suspense and an embracing of the unknown. The creepiness of the movie is not in masturbatory gore, but in waiting for an act of violence you just know is coming. And when it  comes it is fast, brutal, unrelenting, and unfocused — just as I imagine being stabbed to death would be.

Additionally, I also find Bernard Hermann’s score to be an integral part of Psycho. Lifting a paragraph from a presentation I gave, I like to make the argument that Psycho’s music represents the dueling components of Norman Bateman’s unstable conscious:

Another choice of the director that facilitates Psycho’s examination of conflicting mental subdivisions is the use of Bernard Herrman’s score. As evidenced in opening credits, Herrman’s score simultaneously makes use of beautiful, sweeping melodies and hauntingly harsh, accented, staccato notes. The two distinct musical accompaniments form Psycho’s theme as a whole, just as the conscious and unconscious are two parts of the same mind. With this in mind, it seems reasonable to suggest that a lack of melody from the film’s score signifies the absence of the conscious, and therefore an ascendancy of the unconscious. In essence, it is no coincidence that short, dissonant quarter notes with no melody complement the instances in which the conscious is most obviously overwhelmed by the unconscious.

Psycho is a rad movie. And even if you know the truth about Mrs. Bates or have seen the shower scene, you should check it out.

Now for your viewing pleasure — a decent fan-made trailer: