But no woman was there and I don't believe in ghosts
I realize it would be funnier if I saw Psycho (1960) twice in one day and then got nervous of showers, but I am afraid I came out of the shower just fine and talking about Psycho II (1983) and III (1986)—sorry, Hitch. My early birthday present actually totaled seven hours of Anthony Perkins: I sat through the triple feature and then stayed for the evening re-run of Psycho. It was like a miniature marathon.
teenybuffalo came for the evening show.
spatch dropped by II on his break. The streets when I went outside between the first two movies were filled with HONK! and I count myself lucky that I managed to purchase a macaroon from the Diesel, because any place that sold actual food (or, God forbid, ice cream) I wasn't getting near without siege machinery. I didn't manage to eat dinner until eleven o'clock tonight, but I had a wonderful time. Review definitely forthcoming, albeit after I finish some major work. Unrelatedly, I promise, I wish I were in D.C. to see this exhibit on Frances Glessner Lee.

no subject
It was awesome, in retrospect, that the movie managed to do away with my sense of experiencing-the-end-before-the-middle. It wasn't quite like my cultural context for the film was removed, just that I didn't have room to think about it. And it's all down to Perkins.
It was completely plausible that, sure, he's angry and dysfunctional and has mood swings, but, hey, lots of people go through bad family stuff, and he's just trying to stay optimistic. ("We were the victims of circumstances.")
no subject
Yes. Nothing he does in his scenes with Marion is outside of intelligent, isolated, unhappy human norm. This is something I want to mention in my review: he talks about taxidermy and mental institutions and he doesn't creep her out. She's not failing to recognize the warning signs, either; there aren't any. They just click. It's part of the tragedy.