Hitchcock and De Palma's Transgendered Studies

In an attempt to archive some academic papers I've written over the past few years (relying on the hard drives of sometimes faulty PCs has left me tired and frustrated), I will be uploading some of my old work to this blog over the next few weeks. Here is one I wrote for a class called Sexual Personae in the Spring of 2012.

 

There are those who claim Alfred Hitchcock started the slasher genre craze in 1960 with his highly influential, intensely secretive hit-film Psycho, a work that introduced Oedipal gender-bending to mainstream American audiences. The performances by Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins – along with one of the most famous second act twists of all time – have become the stuff of legend, and as per usual within the lucrative horror genre, sequels and remakes followed (a film about the making of Psycho, with Sir Anthony Hopkins as the famed director, is due out next year). Much has been written in various auteur studies on the film's themes and narrative risks: In his original review for The Village Voice, Andrew Sarris recommended that “Psycho should be seen at least three times by any discerning filmgoer, the first time for the sheer terror of the experience, and on this occasion I fully agree with Hitchcock that only a congenial spoil-sport would reveal the plot; the second time for the macabre comedy inherent in the conception of the film; and the third for all the hidden meaning and symbols lurking beneath the surface....” (210) The film would go on to receive four Academy Award nominations in 1961.

      What gives Psycho's backbone multiple layers of endless subtext is its fascinating perspective on gender roles and gender normality. Sexually oppressed, socially awkward, and living like a hermit just off the main road, the character of Norman Bates represents a male figure desperately wrestling with the newness of his developed sexuality. While he is heterosexual, lusting after women who pull over to rest at the Bates Motel, one gets the sense that Norman has been raised believing that intercourse serves as an act more troublesome than pleasurable. Hitchcock takes it further: Not only is sex considered impure, but so too are any sexual thoughts that may lead to an improper state of arousal. Once he becomes attracted to the opposite sex, Norman's erectness equates to his definition of badness. By being infatuated with a beautiful woman, Norman's attention dwindles away from the still very much alive, if not in flesh than in spirit, body of his demanding mother. Any female outsider representing a considerable threat to the stability of the home and the family unit must immediately be removed from the equation.

      More than just a weak-willed “mama's boy,” Norman's personal connection with Mrs. Bates proves fatal as it is announced at the film's conclusion that he murdered both his mother and her new male lover. This indicates that Norman is not only intimidated by women, but predatorial of them as well. No man could dare come between mother and son (indicating Freud's belief that young male children view their fathers as a threat), and when Norman's role as man of the house is threatened, he retaliates by punishing both the female (mother) and male (her boyfriend) sexes. Sexual attraction doesn't seem to have been a factor shared between the two of them (although one could make the argument that it is implied), but sexual attraction to a person outside of the family structure leads to forceful actions by the offended family patriarch. Could Norman's reason for murdering his mother have had something to do with getting aroused by her? Psycho deliberately leaves this unclear.

      

     Norman goes one step further in his fear of the opposite sex, choosing to dress in wig and gown, by attempting to become one, if not physically than by adopting a temporary gender. Tall and slim, Norman's body structure is vastly different than his mother's, allowing Hitchcock to raise the stakes for his in-the-dark audience; mother, as the killer we believe her to be for the first ninety minutes of the film, is an abnormal imposing force, hyper-physicalized and possessing maleness. Always democratic in his killings, Norman dresses as the feared maternal figure to off both his male and female victims, demonstrating a threatened reaction that allows Norman to hide behind his gender. Using the alias of his deceased mother, he blames her for heartlessly carrying out these crimes, mentally painting himself as the unwilling victim. As he blurs the line between the two genders, attempting to mimic her rather nagging, elderly-sounding voice, Norman allows himself to be figuratively castrated by the idea of his mother, of her memory. Since she has obviously passed away some years ago, Norman is then portrayed as castrating himself, putting a stop to the urges before his sexuality enables him to make love to a woman and thus destroy the union between mother and son. He remains chaste, pure even, by being a good boy. Only when he emerges from the Bates Motel to conduct an evil act does he hide behind his transgenderism.

 

      In her canonical book, “Men, Women, and Chainsaws,” author Carol Clover writes, “on the face of it, the relation between the sexes in slasher films could hardly be clearer. The killer is with few exceptions recognizably human and distinctly male; his fury is unmistakeably sexual in both roots and expression; his victims are mostly women, often sexually free and always young and beautiful.” (42) Hitchcock adheres to this concept of cinematic predictability (partly because he was one of the first to demonstrate it so shockingly) by introducing us to Norman's most notable victim – and the assumed Final Girl of the piece – Marion Crane, in her underwear in a hotel room with her lover, Sam. All Marion wants is Sam's constant affection, and so the two often meet up for quick sexual encounters in the middle of the day in Phoenix (Sam travels in from California). Marion implies that she's tired of these brief reunions and wants more. Hitchcock allows the character to be both vulnerable, physically and emotionally, and strong-minded and clear-headed in the same scene. Her body is sexualized for the audience's pleasure, of course, but she also seems in control of her destiny.

      This is further proven when Marion decides to steal thousands of dollars from a customer at her place of work, the local bank. Marion plans to use the money to help Sam pay off the alimony he owes to his ex-wife and to start a new life together. It is somewhat uncommon to have a woman take the initiative in such a way in a genre film, making the attractive body we first laid eyes on a guilty and at times morally reprehensible victim of love. This event is also notable given that the two men she double-crosses are considerably older, her boss an on-the-clock drinker and the abrasive customer a rich old man simultaneously flirtatious and arrogant. Since they revel in this masculinity, Marion takes from them to empower herself and engage in lucrative self-fulfillment.

      When she meets Norman, he seems to be of a different breed, a kind, unconfident man who appears tame in his sexuality. Neither rude nor a threat, Norman's admitted role as child makes Marion feel somewhat safer – as overheard from the arguing back-and-forth at the Bates Motel with his displeased mother, Norman also sticks up for Marion. Strange as he may be, Norman ironically represents at first glance one of the few men who appears to be somewhat moral and decent; the nosy sunglasses-wearing police officer often seen earlier in the film is a pursuing threat that Norman's motel can protect and shield her from. As a man, Norman tries to do what's undoubtedly right, while as a woman he is given free range to act out and terminate.

      As a nice visual link between her entrance and exit from Psycho, Marion's final scene in the film leaves her very much the same way we met her; in a hotel room, without clothes on (this time fully nude) and exposed to a man. Murdered in the shower, this moment represents Marion at her most vulnerable state, and stops her future plans with Sam dead in their tracks. Somewhat humorously, when Norman disposes of Marion's body and personal items, he also, unbeknownst to him, disposes of the stolen money, allowing Hitchcock to admit that he has been leading us on the entire time; the MacGuffin is always recognized in retrospect. This is not a film about a crime of theft, but rather a thrilling tale about an unhinged mental illness: violent transgender role-playing makes Norman a freak of society and a freak onto himself.

Twenty years after the release of Psycho, famed filmmaker Brian De Palma wrote and directed a tale possessing similar themes and story traits, this time with the added benefit of highly explicit, vulgar, and erotic content. Dressed To Kill, a film since labeled as both Hitchcock homage and Hitchcock pastiche, represents the East Coast section of transgender serial killers, taking place in the lives of middle and lower class residents of New York City. The director has often been compared to Hitchcock, if not in quality than in fandom excess (De Palma has admitted as much), and Dressed To Kill may very well represent his most clear example of auteur worship. And yet, this is not reason enough to downplay the film's clever visuals and playful mean streak; Dressed To Kill could be seen as could be seen as Psycho's younger brother, or is it sister.... Set in a more liberally changing culture, the film takes full advantage of what Psycho could only hint at, for better and for worse, by incorporating not just transgendered individuals, but the desire to transform into a new sex by means of sexual operation. Dr. Elliott, the murderous psychiatrist the film follows, kills because he is denied the right of transsexuality.

      While the similarities to Psycho are numerous, the best way to break them down is to first note comparisons and then see how one differs. As both Norman and Elliott murders those they are attracted and/or those represent danger to their secret, Elliott is much more vocal about his feelings. After all, his work in the medical profession allows him the phrases and techniques necessary to express internal emotional responses. When speaking with Kate, an attractive, sexually oppressed house wife, Elliott inquires about her attraction to him. When they both admit that they are interested in one another, Elliott stops by noting that neither person's marriage is worth jeopardizing for a minor sexual affair. By admitting that he is interested in his female patient, Elliott is indicating a sense of weakness, letting his guard down and opening himself up to disappointment. Unable to contend with these feelings, Elliott suppresses his feminine side and subsequently murders his patient. While Norman Bates dresses up as a woman, Elliott wants to emerge himself in a full-on transformation. When the intended surgery is denied, Elliott dresses up in drag and turns against women, taking out his frustration on not being able to become one by ending the lives of those who already are.

Dressed To Kill also mirrors Psycho's plot via Kate's introduction, the woman who we assume to be our main character due to her abundance of screen time. As we get to know and thus identify with her, Dressed To Kill pulls the rug out from under its audience by having Kate get slashed to death in a very enclosed space (the shower in Psycho, an apartment elevator in De Palma's film). While at her most defenseless (not nude like Marion Crane, but without a piece of jewelry that defines her cliched womanhood: her wedding ring), Kate is brutally slaughtered at the hands of a razor blade. If we were focusing on gender enforcement from the very beginning we would have detected this tragic consequence from the start.

     When the film opens, the viewer is treated to a sexually explicit dream sequence: as her husband obliviously shaves his face in the bathroom mirror, Kate masturbates in the shower – the unrated cut on the 2001 DVD release at times resembles the atmosphere of a soft-core porn film. As this continues, a man suddenly jumps out from behind and grabs her, using one hand to cover her mouth and the other to lift her up from between her legs. Needless to say, Kate's husband doesn't notice her attempting to reach out for help. We then cut to reality, the couple making early morning love, reaching a satisfyingly quick climax for her husband; Kate just lies there and takes it. The husband then leaves for work as usual. Was Kate's vivid dream a fantasy or nightmare? Judging by her desire for something sexually exciting and new, the answer is two-fold, and because she craves something more, she must be punished. When she eventually decides to act on these urges with a mysteriously suave man she meets one day at a museum, De Palma decides that she must be punished twice.

      

     The first thematic slap on the wrist plays as equal part parody and soap opera cautionary tale. After she has sex in the apartment of this nameless man, Kate looks through desk drawers for a piece of paper to leave a goodbye note on as he sleeps (but of course... when Kate finally gets the great sex she's been hoping for, the gentleman obviously tires out). Snooping around, Kate comes across a letter from the health department claiming that the man had contacted a venereal disease. This moment is played for mass dramatic effect, the random severity of the reveal providing an admittedly odd-ball notion of bad luck and negative karma. Her dream man has now left her with a marked trace, ridding her with his sexual disease. This serves as her first punishment for being unfaithful if not to her husband than to the compliant stereotype of her gender.

      Her second offense for achieving passion outside of the home is her death, an act which seemingly could have been avoided had she remembered to keep her jewelry on while engaged in her affair. Because she goes back up the elevator, having unknowingly avoided Dr. Elliott the first time, fate intervenes and the murder takes place. As in Psycho, a determined family member will search for their relatives' killer – Marion's sister in Hitchcock's, Kate's son in De Palma's – while a private investigator (Psycho) or cop (Dressed To Kill) works on the case in one of their film's subplots. Dressed To Kill ups the ante by having a call-girl witness Kate's death, giving Elliott a new belle to obsesses over and seek to destroy. Whereas Kate was older with child and a second husband, Liz Blake is young, single, and on the wrong side of the law. She serves as a more complex obstacle for Elliott to face; she is neither his patient nor, on the surface, his type. 

 

      As Liz was the only one who saw Elliott's feminine exterior commit the crime, her previous John running away in fear, she becomes the focal point of the film's second half, building up to a scene where she comes on to Elliott scantily clad in his office. Desperate for clues that could eliminate herself as a suspect, Liz's exchange with Elliott parallels the one he earlier had with Kate. When Liz leaves for a moment to powder her nose (although her real intentions are to go through the doctor's appointment book), Elliott goes into full attack mode, dressing himself in his sleek feminine attire. That Liz is ultimately saved by a surprise decoy outside the office makes for considerable importance the notion of a literal gender doppelganger. Made up like Elliot's female half, this police decoy, hot on Liz's trail since the film's second half, is the ideal side of Elliot's self: a transvestite working for a just and righteous cause. 

      Fascinating to both films is a burning desire to understand the two transgendered serial killers' distinct reason for being. In expository moments strangely similar, Hitchcock and De Palma employ dialogue-heavy scenes of transgender description that do much of the heavy lifting for their viewers. As Roger Ebert wrote in his original review for The Chicago Sun-Times, “Some people are going to object to certain plot details in Dressed to Kill, particularly the cavalier way it explains a homicidal maniac's behavior by lumping together transsexuality and schizophrenia. But I doubt that DePalma wants us to take his explanations very seriously; the pseudoscientific jargon used to "explain" the case reminds me of that terrible psychiatric explanation at the end of Psycho, a movie DePalma has been quoting from all along.....Dressed to Kill is an exercise in style, not narrative; it would rather look and feel like a thriller than make sense.”

      Petty analysis or psychiatric dissertation? One gets the feeling that both directors felt outside pressure to sum up and normalize the horrific events they had displayed, and a tacked on “plea bargain” helped calm the storm of audience discomfort and outrage. If you can identify the killer as an other, then you are safe in your societal conformity. How to comprehend the act of murder? By featuring two taboos at the same time (on-screen killing and a transgendered antagonist), Hitchcock implied that his villain was less a freak than an insecure personality struggling with childhood insecurities. The title of the film is at least halfway ironic, and the titles of both films possess, much like their villainous characters, more than a single meaning. Dressed To Kill is as sexually liberating as it is damning, relishing in complex adult characterizations (America's looking down on intelligent, sexually-active women) and genre excess (sex, blood, and distraught women). He muddies the concept of sexual politics by merging the genders and crafting a progressive film which plays with sexually-strict conservative values. 

     Sex and murder are perhaps two events closely linked and often filmed side-by-side in the modern horror film, and these two directors must be credited with its perseverance. In other words, no chainsaws, but lots of men and women.