My Favorite Scary Movie: Psycho

What better way to celebrate the the second most scariest day of the year (the first being tax day, of course) than by paying tribute to my favorite scary movie?

In 1960, the master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock, did with showers what Spielberg would do with oceans a decade later: Use them to scare people out of the water!

Psycho tells the story of Marion Crane, a woman who skips town with $40,000 of her employer's money to start a new life with her lover, Sam. During her journey, a torrential rain storm causes her to pull over to the side of the road and seek refuge at a creepy, vacant motel. There, she meets meek mama's boy Norman Bates - and her untimely demise.

More mystery and suspense than horror, Psycho is a tightly wound thriller directed by Hitchcock with such precision and exactness, you'd have to be blind to miss the trademark nuances - his blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo, countless bird references and innuendos - that make up this cinematic classic.

The taut screenplay, which is adapted from the book of the same name by Robert Bloch, moves right along with great succession as Sam, Marion's sister and a detective in hot pursuit retrace Marion's steps back to the motel and boasts an ending so twisted, it still stands the test of time five decades later.

The black and white cinematography - with its obscure camera angles, extreme close-ups on body parts along with the several lengthy scenes without dialogue - defined the horror genre and set the standard for the legion of films that followed it. 

In 1998, director Gus Van Sant tried his hand at a frame-by-frame remake of the film with Anne Heche in the role of Marion and Vince Vaughn as Norman.  It tanked at the box, failed to connect with audiences and critics - and doesn't hold a candle to the original.

Want a retro, certifiable thrill this Halloween? Give this vintage Oscar nominated time-honored flick a whirl. The choppy editing in the iconic shower scene is laughable, but the shrieking violins and shrill-laden score that accompanies it are not.

You may never look at showers the same way again.