The Visual Dynamics of the California Charlie Scene

Sometimes, when I compare Psycho to other thrillers of the early/mid sixties -- movies like the original Cape Fear, Charade, and Mirage -- it seems almost a bit child-like compared to them, a bit primitive. Though Psycho has great and memorable dialogue by screenwriter Joseph Stefano, it plays with a certain "simplicity" -- Marion sees the money. Scene over. Marion steals the money. Scene over. Cop menaces Marion. Scene over. Those other thrillers have to rely more on plot, more on talk, more on character. Hitchcock's movie is something more sparse, formalized, "heavy."

And that's because -- I think -- Hitchcock himself had other things on his mind in his movie-making. He was expressing his particular talent as an artist: the creative organization and manipulation of the cinema itself ...whether in individual shots, composition, or complex camera moves.

Case in point: the California Charlie scene.

As a dramatic scene in the Psycho narrative, it has a few functions. First, in Robert Bloch's novel, Marion switches cars, too. TWICE. This is related to in brief fashion -- Marion flashbacks to doing this and Arbogast later tells Sam and Lila that he traced those sales.
So function one: "film the book."

Function two: "Suspense for suspense's sake." Hitchcock set upon a strategy of getting the audience "totally involved in Marion's plight," and evidently after having had her menaced by the cop(will he see the money? Is there an APB FOR the money?), Hitchcock wanted another scene of jeopardy to Marion's theft scheme. (Indeed, the cop is IN this second scene, across the street for most of it, it is a continuation of his own scene.)

Function three: filler. That's a bad word to use, but face it, Psycho is already a fairly short movie(less than two hours) and without this scene it would be shorter still. Once Marion reaches the Bates Motel, there isn't much more than an hour left in the movie. Scenes like this one extend the running time.

Still, the care and consideration that Hitchcock, his writer, and his actors put into this scene make sure that it doesn't PLAY like filler.

And part of the reason for that is the magic of Hitchcock's filmmaking here.

As a matter of "plot," its a weird scene to start with. Marion decides to get a new car with California plates because her old car with Arizona plates will surely be on the police charts soon. (Great: nothing has to be said or discussed about all this; we simply see Marion drive onto the "California Charlie" lot and we KNOW.)

But dammit-- the cop has FOLLOWED her - -and just leans against his car across the street(and remember, he doesn't look like just any old cop: he's not a young man, and he's more like a robot with insect eyes and Frankenstein's physical build.) How the cop is positioned: long shot across the street, his car and body centering the frame -- is pure visual Hitchcock right there.

Marion decides she must continue with the transaction(which continues to make this theft doomed; if she had skipped the Bates Motel this incident would help get her arrested.)

So what Hitchcock has set up here is another great scene about guilt and paranoia. We can FEEL Marion's unease and distress. She's got that stolen cash in her purse and as far as she's concerned, she's radioactive.

And now here comes California Charlie -- a stern-faced father figure with a Lincolnesque brow and a judgmental tone (note in passing: this part was massively miscast in the Van Sant with a young surfer dude type.) He has a sexist insult up front ("You can do anything you want, and being a woman-- you will.") He gets more and more judgmental as the scene goes along, he legitimately mistrusts how quickly Marion wants to get the car and make the deal. (And hey, if you've ever bought a car on a car lot, isn't it ALWAYS something you want to escape?)

But that's the "drama" part. The Hitchcockian visuals have their own power:

Marion walks down the row of cars -- the POV travelling shot is of all those CALIFORNIA license plates. This is a profound decision that Marion is making -- she's renouncing her home.

When she pushes to buy a certain car, Charlie reluctantly agrees, and we get a travelling shot on the two of them making their way to his office, with first Marion, and then Charlie, looking back at the cop across the street. Marion is worried, but Charlie is even MORE worried -- the guilt has transferred.) And of course we SEE the cop across the street, receding away from us as the camera keeps moving.

Marion asks to use the bathroom before the deal is made. Charlie brutishly says "over there." He's not a friendly salesman anymore. We enter the bathroom -- this movie has a few bathrooms, but we don't see the toilet in this one. What we DO see is Marion opening her purse and the money and counting out the seven hundred dollar bills -- all with the kind of detail that Hitchcock was famous for. We are being drawn further into the theft.