Psycho II (1983)

Now this is a legacy sequel! Psycho II (1983) was actually a box office hit, from what I’ve read, and exists nicely at this cross-section of eras and influences: obviously 1960s Hitchcock, but also 1970s Network TV Mystery Of The Week and 1980s Slasher Sequels. While an unnecessary sequel to a genre-defining classic twenty years later is a tall order, the collaborators involved included Australian director and Hitchcock acolyte Richard Franklin (Road Games, F/X 2), and screenwriter Tom Holland (director of the original Fright Night), who both pay respect to the original while telling their own story.

After the events of the first movie, Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) is released from imprisonment and deemed sane by the court, with the help of his psychiatrist (Robert Loggia). Returning to his old house and presiding over the Bates Motel – now run by a sleazy manager (Dennis Franz) – Bates reintegrates himself into society by working at a diner where he meets a downtrodden waitress (Meg Tilly). All the while, Crane (Vera Miles), sister to the murdered Marion Crane, is protesting Bates’ release, someone is calling Bates as his dead mother, people are going missing, and Bates’ own sanity is under stress.

Psycho II understands the tragic key to Anthony Perkins’ iconic performance, that boyish likability and that you want the best for him despite his past murderous deeds, and Perkins, returning to a role that no doubt he would have had trouble shaking its iconic associations, knows it thoroughly, giving another excellent performance. The relationship with Meg Tilly’s character is so well constructed and performed, remaining genuinely touching to me, even throughout all the twists and turns of the plot. The original Psycho is honoured and referenced by the sequel while finding its own memorable and often surprisingly ghoulish moments. And your sequel can’t lose with stars like Dennis Franz and Robert Loggia in them! Jerry Goldsmith provides the score, offering a haunting, melancholy theme alongside the revival of Bernard Herrmann’s music. Rented off iTunes. Recommended.

Remember My Name (1978)

I am a fan of director Alan Rudolph, the Robert Altman protege who carved out his own singular style with several noir-ish romances, my all time favourite being Choose Me. I always love how Rudolph will pick a singer as the ‘voice’ of his movie – such as Teddy Pendergrass for Choose Me, or Tom Waits for Afterglow. In his hard-to-find take on the Women’s Melodrama, Remember My Name (1978), he uses jazz and blues singer Alberta Hunter who contributes several songs including the title track and sets the tone for the movie’s unique, oddball main character, Emily (Geraldine Chaplin). Driving out of a mountainous fog into California, Emily sets her sights on a person of interest, a construction worker (Anthony Perkins), following him from a distance and stalking his relationship with his wife, Barbara (Berry Berenson, Perkins’ actual wife at the time), even making anonymous phone-calls to their suburban home. The movie keeps things mysterious and draws you through intrigue into its characters. Even when the reasons for Emily’s obsession are revealed, they are only obliquely divulged, keeping some things still unknown. Geraldine Chaplin is so good in the lead performance, investing the character with a sense of self-possession and careful deliberation in actions, gesture, and utterences. She remains off-kilter and indeterminate in her interactions and the way she takes up space, as she moves into a flop-house with a stern yet giving security guard (Moses Gunn) and finds work as a cashier in a thrift-store (run by a young Jeff Goldblum). Perkins as well is a suitable match in that you get a better read on his dubious qualities, yet he remains in between villain and victim, a sense of ordinariness on the surface, papering over pain and regrets caused to others. I really got into Remember My Name, how it keeps the characters spinning like plates and even if the concluding actions didn’t quite convince me as potential revenge, it remains aloof and strange in its resolution. While not as neon bar noirish as Choose Me or Trouble In Mind, it does luxuriate in a late-1970s vibe of bars and hotel rooms and back rooms. Recommended.

The Last Of Sheila (1973)

When Rian Johnson was doing the press rounds for Knives Out and discussing “Whodunnit” influences, one title he would offer, which I’d never even heard of before, was The Last Of Sheila (1973). It has the distinction of being written by actor Anthony Perkins and musical composer Stephen Sondheim, and apparently based on Sondheim’s love of parlour games and staging mysteries for celebrity friends. The plot concerns a successful Hollywood producer (James Coburn with his toothy grin at full devilish beam) inviting his less than successful Hollywood friends to his yacht for a week of games. It’s one year since his wife Sheila was killed in a hit and run accident, and the tragedy becomes part of the game playing. His guests – a stacked cast including Richard Benjamin, Joan Hackett, Dyan Cannon, James Mason, Raquel Welch and a young sexy Ian McShane – start to suspect there might be an element of revenge to the twisted festivities. There are lots of witty one liners, lovely seaside locations, stylish 1970s fashions, and complicated twists as things get murderous. There’s also a few strange attitudes that are either cultural artefacts of the era or represent a very cynical take on Hollywood by the writers (without spoilers, one character’s disturbing criminal past is met without comment or reaction). Directed by Herbert Ross, I had a great time watching this alongside its peculiar turns and its jaded denouement. Available to rent on iTunes (though the sound mix is a bit tinny). Recommended.