Psycho (1998)

It is important for people to note that not every guy living with his dead mother is a nutjob. Some people live with a dead parent because they need the social security check to cover the big-ass ring that Mrs. Filthy demands as a dowry, and because work on their first erotic novel prevents them from full-time employment. That's just some people, though. Normal friggin' people.

Norman Bates isn't normal. He's a wacko, and I wish certain wives would stop comparing their husbands to him. You know who you are, whenever you get done watching your "stories."

Is Norman Bates wacko enough to justify a remake of "Psycho?" Eh, not really. But that's a different question than whether or not the new "Psycho" is worth seeing. To that I say, eh, not really. It's not a bad movie, because it's an exact copy of a really fucking good movie. The problem is it's as pointless as brushing your teeth with piss. There is no way to improve upon a great original by imitating it. I know this because I have never heard anyone say the Van cocksucking Gogh I did for our living room is better than the real thing. And I painted my masterpiece exactly like the numbers said.

Famous lesbian Anne Heche plays Marion Crane, an aspiring embezzler, who steals 400 large from her employer and gets the fuck out of Dodge. She wants to pay off her hillbilly boyfriend's debts and move him out of his shanty above the hardware store. In her escape, she drives until she's sleepy, and pulls off the road. The next morning, a cop rousts her. Since the one thing Heche does well is act unconvincingly, her nervousness is apparent to him and he suspects some funny business. And I don't mean ha-ha.

Heche panics and to throw the pig off, she buys a new car with some of her hot do-re-mi, but the nosy-ass cop even sees this. Still in a lather, she drives right into a bitch of a rainstorm. When it gets to be too much for her girly little eyes, she checks into the Bates Motel, and immediately refers to Norman (Vince Vaughn) as "Mr. Bates." Next time I go on a vacation I'll be sure to call the desk clerk Mr. Motel 6.

Then all hell breaks loose. Heche overhears Norman fighting with his mother. Next thing you know, she's stabbed to death in the shower by some cheap blondie. Norman knows his mother did it, and to save her ass, he sinks Heche, her car, and, unknowingly, the moolah in the swamp. Before long a private investigator, played by William H. Macy, comes snooping around and is slaughtered by the same blondie.

Finally, Heche's sister, played by the booby-exposing Julianne Moore (she doesn't show them here, but I got the memory of an elephant for that shit) gets on the case with Heche's dopey boyfriend. Like Shag and Scoob, they unravel the whole Goddamn mystery. Turns out "Mother" has been dead and Vaughn gets a kick out of hauling her decomposing ass all over the house and pretending she's still alive. He also puts on a blonde wig and kills whoever he thinks she wouldn't like, which is anybody who comes near the dump.

No surprises there. In fact, if I just spoiled this movie for you, you really should try to take your head out of your ass more than once every thirty years. When I pay good money to see a suspense movie, I expect a little bit of Goddamn suspense. Some movies might work as a shot-for-shot remake. Imagine "The Bodyguard" with Mariah Carey instead of that sweaty cow Whitney Houston. That story wouldn't be ruined because you know she'll wind up in love with hairless Kevin Costner. But knowing Norman Bates' mother is actually Norman Bates makes the surprise revelation that Norman Bates' mother is actually Norman Bates a hell of a lot less frightening.

Having fewer scares than "Leprechaun 2: The Secret of Lucky Charms," all Psycho can hope to do is look cool, be well acted and show us some tits. One and a half out of three ain't bad, but too bad it's the critical titty category where "Psycho" comes up empty-handed. While there are a few shots that would have never made it past the prudes in Hitchcock's day, they mostly seem unappetizing and awkward.

Vince Vaughn's candy-munching Norman is a more convincing crackpot than even my neighbor who thinks the birds are listening to his phone calls. Unlike the rest of the stiffs in this movie, who ape the original actors instead of playing their characters, he really fills the shoes of Norman Bates, not Tony Perkins. In fact, I bet Vaughn understands all too well what it's like to share a house with a corpse that argues with him. Vaughn is either a fucking wiz of an actor or one hell of a scary guy.

Heche, on the other hand, stinks up the screen like a long-dead, sun-baked carp. She can't even do the simple things, like look sleepy. The broad should stop spending so much time worrying about the public thinking badly of her, and spend a little learning how to act. And no I'm not picking on her because she's gay, the truth is I'm a huge supporter of the lesbian community, at least the red-hot two girl action part of it, anyway.

That leaves looking cool, the one thing it does very well. Director Gus Van Sant makes a timeless warp, with the movie taking place in the present, but smoothly blending in touches of 1960. Bates' big old creepy house still looks out-of-place enough to give the willies to anyone walking up its steps. And some of Hitchcock's old camera tricks still look pretty swell, proving that Van Sant spent the time to copy a master properly.

If "Psycho" didn't rip off such a great story it would be a pretty shitty movie with only the look and Vaughn to save it. Even still, this barely three finger production probably is no reason to rush to the mall. You're better off saving your money for Mariah Carey's "Bodyguard." And remember, Hollywood, I thought of it first.