Dear me, what a mess. The least Universal could have done is to hire De Palma to accomplish a near-honest job - who else? As it is, this premature ejaculation that passes itself for a sequel suffers terminally from an unforgivably pedestrian dialogue and lousy, almost amateurish and heartless actor guidance by the director. Admittedly, Meg Tilly attempts to breathe some life into her character - the decent actress that she is - but is suppressed to a standstill by a dismal script. Anthony Perkins meanders between reasonably good and overtly cartoonish in his delivery, a far, far cry from his original portrayal of Norman Bates - and who can blame him, given what he was presented to work with. Loggia does a half-hearted run of the mill job, as does the typecast Dennis Franz in his short-lived appearance, whereas Vera Miles - the supposedly pivotal character of Lila Loomis, nee Crane - is simply awful, totally failing to convince in a potentially grateful role of the conniving Crane sister who bullies her own daughter into the conspiracy against Bates. She lets out a great scream as she dies, though - provided it's really her own - her murder scene bearing all the moronic OTT hallmarks of the eighties slasher-by-numbers flicks.
What could (and imperatively should) have been a studious, serious, carefully written and dark sequel to one of the most famous films in movie history immediately descends into a cheap Friday the 13th-style popcorn throwaway yarn (and apparently much worse was to come). It lacks any of the atmosphere of it's predecessor, any distinct atmosphere of it's own and indeed any suspense to begin with - every plot advancement and every murder is trumpeted to us well ahead, peppered by over explanatory dialogue and constrained by a sluggish mis-en-scene, with the possible exception of the stabbing of the dope-smoking kid, seen through a dusty cellar window and well accentuated by out of character music as the camera withdraws. There is another scene worth noting - the sound of the hoover obliterating the argument between mother and daughter in the hotel lobby (almost a Hitchcockian moment, most probably lifted from elsewhere) - but even that is only there for decoration as it has absolutely no bearing on the actual plot. Not even the always reliable Jerry Goldsmith manages to save this - his score is elaborate, nicely orchestrated and competently put together, even commendably attempting to re-route the atmosphere by adding a shade of melancholy and sadness to the proceedings - but there's precious little else to look for in the film, apart from a handful of showy camera movements and angles. People who swear by the original "Psycho" will absolutely hate this, and rightly so. Drab, insipid, unintelligent and constipated, this was the first step towards the total degradation of the Psycho franchise which was to follow. Arguably Hitchcock's finest hour should have been left alone or re-approached seriously. Terrible.
What could (and imperatively should) have been a studious, serious, carefully written and dark sequel to one of the most famous films in movie history immediately descends into a cheap Friday the 13th-style popcorn throwaway yarn (and apparently much worse was to come). It lacks any of the atmosphere of it's predecessor, any distinct atmosphere of it's own and indeed any suspense to begin with - every plot advancement and every murder is trumpeted to us well ahead, peppered by over explanatory dialogue and constrained by a sluggish mis-en-scene, with the possible exception of the stabbing of the dope-smoking kid, seen through a dusty cellar window and well accentuated by out of character music as the camera withdraws. There is another scene worth noting - the sound of the hoover obliterating the argument between mother and daughter in the hotel lobby (almost a Hitchcockian moment, most probably lifted from elsewhere) - but even that is only there for decoration as it has absolutely no bearing on the actual plot. Not even the always reliable Jerry Goldsmith manages to save this - his score is elaborate, nicely orchestrated and competently put together, even commendably attempting to re-route the atmosphere by adding a shade of melancholy and sadness to the proceedings - but there's precious little else to look for in the film, apart from a handful of showy camera movements and angles. People who swear by the original "Psycho" will absolutely hate this, and rightly so. Drab, insipid, unintelligent and constipated, this was the first step towards the total degradation of the Psycho franchise which was to follow. Arguably Hitchcock's finest hour should have been left alone or re-approached seriously. Terrible.