It’s hard to know where to begin when discussingWilliam Castle. Master of the gimmick and shunner of finesse, his combination of marketing prowess and Giallo-like horror would become synonymous with his name. Castle’s first film,Macabre(1958) saw a father’s frantic search for his daughter play out in front of patrons who were provided life insurance certificates from Lloyds of London, covering against heart attacks during the screening.House On Haunted Hill(1959) hasVincent Priceoffer five people $10,000 to spend the night with him and his wife (no, not inthatway) in a haunted house, while Castle added value to the proceedings by flying a red-eyed skeleton (Emergo) through the cinema at the opportune moment. The same yearThe Tinglerreached campy cult status by attaching buzzers to the cinema seats for that extra dose of immersive realism. In case unsolicited electrocution wasn’t memorable enough, actors were hired to patrol foyers dressed as nurses, while others were tasked with screaming and the occasional fainting spell throughout the film. By the time Hitchcock had been lavished with box office praise forPsycho(1960), Castle was looking toward a gimmick-free future, but not before one final pick at the scab withHomicidal(1961). Replete with Hitchcock iconography, the film was an obvious rip-off/homage to his colleague’s magnum opus — camp, transgressive, violent, and ripe for gender-bending analysis.
In the case ofHomicidal, Castle’s preoccupation with throwing a bit extra into the bargain resulted in less of a stunt and more of a production: a “fright break”, consisting of a clock appearing on the screen and Castle’s booming voice offering the audience 45 seconds to leave, should their nerves be shredded. However, those who opted for an early departure and in turn, a refund, were forced to spend the remaining minutes congregating in “Coward’s Corner,” sign a yellow card stating “I am a bona fide coward” and wait for braver patrons to file past with judgmental looks. It was displays such as these, as well as Castle’s penchant for arriving at events in a hearse, which saw filmmaker and cultural iconJohn Waterslament the lack of similar imagination in modern directors who consider a Q&A and red carpet photo to be the extent of their role.
Hitchcock, having witnessed the success of Castle’s brand of marketing, decided to include his own bit of shtick in thePsychopress, with taglines like “If you can’t keep a secret, please stay away from people after you seePsycho” and “After you seePsycho, don’t give away the ending, it’s the only one we have.” Not the most pithy slogans, but when combined with the decree that latecomers were not to be admitted into the cinema, and the fact Hitch had attempted to buy up all copies ofRobert Bloch’s novel, there was undeniable anticipation.
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As for the films themselves, the similarities are enough to warrant a court case.Homicidal’scast look like B-grade versions ofPsycho’smain players, with leading lady Emily (Jean Arless/ Joan Marshall), the beneficiary of Marion Crane-esque close-ups, long and intense driving scenes, and, in this case, the purveyor of knife-happy moments that mimic those ofPsychoin both technique and tone. Both women are single, preparing to commit a crime, and carrying a substantial amount of cash. Emily’s crime, however, is premeditated, involving bribery, a cast of inadvertent enablers, and a motive that speaks to both greed and trauma. Castle also has her bring the cray-cray from the get-go: kitted out in a cheap wig and wide-eyed, there is something immediately odd in her appearance and unhinged in her behavior. Hitchcock’s protagonist Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) commits her crime on a whim, and is incapable of an atrocity on par with murder. He also affords her a handful of delicate and revealing scenes, creating a far more likable character before she makes the mistake of practicing good hygiene.
In terms of design, without a Hitchcock budget, Castle’s set makes do with the pieces probably left for curbside collection, but manages to evoke aPsycho-like eeriness with similar use of an old manor house and the aforementioned black and white photography (shot by Oscar winnerBurnett Guffey). Both films help clear the air with the yesteryear technique of wrapping it all up nicely with the help of an authority figure to explain what went on from go to whoa. In the case ofHomicidal…it’s complicated.Sleepaway Campcomplicated. That is to say, yes, we have a case of “transploitation” or whatEdward J. Ingebretzencalls “the popular link between homicide and gender-deviancy.”
InPsycho, Norman Bates is a character raised by a domineering and cruel mother who refused to allow him friends or experiences. To Mrs. Bates, sex was a sin, and women were whores. Upon discovering a man in her life, Norman enacted his revenge for her hypocrisy, (and perhaps his own jealousy if we’re feeling particularly Freudian) by poisoning the lovers. But the guilt kicked in and Norman saw fit to dig up her body, preserve it with his Taxidermy-For-Dummies kit, and make amends by remaining downtrodden and dutiful once more. He comes to believe in “the cruel eyes watching,” and begins speaking to her, convinced of her presence, and taking on her personality. The emergence of Marion, an attractive woman and therefore an object of sin, fills Norman with feelings of lust and guilt, necessitating Mrs. Bates to emerge from within and put an end to his urges.
Homicidalgoes in a different direction. Emily must destroy her past in order to have a future — and an inheritance. A flashback opens the film, with the child version of Miriam (Patricia Breslin) and her half-brother, Warren (Arless) fighting over a doll. This proves to be one of the few clues to the twist — a reveal that Emily and Warren are in fact the same person. Born a female, Emily was raised a male in order to satisfy a deeply misogynistic and violent father. The soon-to-perish Justice Of The Peace (James Westerfield), soon-to-be-decapitated elderly housekeeper(Eugenie Leontovich), and last-one-standing step-sister, are the only living records of the past, those who can speak to his time in Denmark where, in reality, the first gender reassignment surgery had taken place, and stand as potential obstacles to Warren inheriting the $10 million family fortune.
A surface reading of both films would invariably lead to accusations of transphobia, homophobia, misogyny, and countless problematic interpretations of sexuality and gender identity. However, setting aside the obvious “they are films of different time” argument, there are two alternate viewpoints that may reassure the modern audience. The first is the importance of maintaining historical records. AsEric Grigsargues, “allowing (these films) to exist in their time, to experience them again later, and to learn from them” can be beneficial, useful yardsticks, rather than impediments to inclusivity. Equally, it is important to note that in bothHomicidalandPsycho, acts of evil occur when individuals are forced to betray their nature. In the case of Norman Bates, an oppressive mother who denied her son his own identity, while Emily has a personality (and potentially body) thrust upon her as a means of protection from a violent father. In other words, the films could suggest a denial of the self is at the essence of transgression.
