Decades of silver-screen premieres and blockbuster opening weekends may separate the film Psycho, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, from The Witch, directed by Robert Eggers, but what connects them is their ability to engage audiences through artful screenwriting and cinematographic tricks that evoke internal terrors. Each film threatens the viewer with the knowledge that the real monster they fear dwells within the darkness of one’s own mind. In Psycho, we follow on the lam Marion Crane, who through a series of poor decisions comes in contact with Norman Bates, a pathological serial killer afflicted with a split personality. In The Witch, we meet Thomasin, whose circumstance is to follow the misfortunes of her Puritan family into the wilderness where we witness her mental deterioration during the palpable absence of any observable villain. Both Psycho and The Witch are low-budget psychological thrillers, equally successful in their screen count and critical praise due to their similar narratives. Each conjures tension and apprehension via a stylized combination of photography and visual arts, presenting hair-raising aesthetic imagery though lighting, colour and sound techniques. It is these aspects of filmmaking which have attracted a myriad of theatregoers who seek out their jump-scare tactics over traditional blood and gore, thus contributing to their box office successes which span over fifty-six years of cinematic excellence.
The art of lighting in filmmaking is a technique that formalist film directors such as Hitchcock utilize in order to create suspense and mystery in their pictures and is popular within the genre as it provides the ability to illuminate the environment yet maneuver shadows within the mise en scène. Psycho was shot on a soundstage on the backlot of Universal Studios in Hollywood, California which means that Hitchcock and cinematographer John L. Russell had the ability to manipulate the low-key, high-key and edge lighting throughout the film’s theatrics. For example, during the parlour scene with Marion and Norman, Hitchcock uses low-key lighting as his dominant source because it creates a densely ominous mood, adding a subtle ambience to the scene and a disconcerting impression regarding Norman’s true identity (0:35:00). To emphasize the dangerous scenario Marion is entering upon, bright key and fill lights are positioned on the floor of the motel office and pointed upward toward the various taxidermic birds of prey mounted on the walls (0:35:07). This illumination method casts lofty shadows on the facades, increasing the perceptual fear-factor of the feathered creatures, in addition to pointing out the subliminal relationship they have with Norman. During their conversation, Hitchcock utilizes a three-point technique that provides Marion with the key light, the principle point of brightness, and Norman with back and fill lights which boost the scene’s dimension (0:35:35). Arranging Marion in front of this direct light source spotlights her naiveté and dramatizes her position as Norman’s predatory objective. While simultaneously positioning Norman near the fill light and selectively darkening one half of his profile helps to signify his duplicity, foreshadow his intentions, and contribute to the uneasy atmosphere. Hitchcock is not vague in his representation of Norman’s psyche and uses the three-point technique to further exploit his homicidal motives; it casts a perilous shadow behind Norman as he leans back in his chair during the verbal exchange, blatantly offering audiences a direct view of Norman’s internal workings and split personality (0:36:43).
The creation of shadow and the manipulation of light and dark allows Hitchcock and Russell to coincide with the symbolic psychological undertones found within the script crafted by screenwriter Joseph Stefano. Darkness suggests the unknown, generating tension and suspicion, and works well with Hitchcock’s overall objective in creating ambiguity, confusion, and drawing attention to the various characters’ personalities and underlying intentions. Take for instance the scene in which Milton Arbogast first interrogates Norman Bates, Hitchcock skirts each silhouette with a low-key light which illustrates the complexity and depth of each persona (1:05:15). However as the scene progresses, Hitchcock maneuvers the light source to cast deeper and larger shadows across their faces; a broad dark shade envelopes one half of Arbogast’s complexion while he points out Norman’s fabrications pertaining to Marion’s whereabouts (1:07:30). This lighting approach adds character dimension, in addition to highlighting his ulterior motives and arcane intentions. During the cross-examination, the film cuts to close up shots of Norman who is the dominant focus of the key and fill light sources (1:08:31). The fill light positioned beneath Norman adds foreboding facial obscurities and contributes to scriptural elements as to Norman’s misleading statements. The key light adds an intense contrast which fully engulfs Norman within the frame, constructing a near entirely blacked-out background thus revealing his diabolical internal temperament.
However, director Robert Eggers and cinematographer Jarin Blaschke utilized a completely different lighting methodology when filming The Witch. Filmed on location in Northern Ontario and parts of Massachusetts instead of a Hollywood soundstage, the production team had no practical lighting to utilize at their advantage. The realists opted for the simple and direct light that would have been possible during the time period, resulting in its careful pursuit and implementation. The use of natural light is a very specialized skill which requires meticulous thought and planning and can limit a directors’ cinematographic choices. Even though this method may be complicated, the upside to this lighting style is its ability to bounce reflections off walls which manifests believable shadows across character profiles. For example, during the scene where Thomasin’s family accuses her of witchcraft, a dark facade overcasts half of William’s face while the incoming sunlight from a lone window illuminates the other side (0:55:37). The splitting of his profile between light and dark symbolizes his internal turmoil; torn between parental adoration and cagy suspicion of occultism caused by his extremist Christian beliefs. Thomasin receives little direct light and is shot within the murkiness produced by the home’s overhead beams and sharp partitions (0:55:40). Adding any unnatural fluorescence would decrease the scene’s tense friction and weaken the gloomy, distilled effect of its context. Therefore, her silhouette is purposefully kept in the darkness to signify the nefarious disposition lying dormant within her. Moving to the centre of the room with the window as the primary light source, William puts Thomasin’s sincerity through a fierce inquisition (0:56:03). Recreating sunlight through the supplementation of minimal keys, beams are reflected off their bodies which create pleasant vignettes over the cast; adding a perceived sharpness to their complexions and contributing to the overall contrast. William’s face gathers most of the direct light, suggesting God’s powerful assistance during the interrogation while Thomasin’s complexion is half exposed, conveying her divided soul (0:56:08). As the family settles down to pray for Thomasin’s redemption and Caleb’s salvation, the brilliance shining through the opening adds a heavenly glow to the claustrophobic setting (0:56:38). Now Thomasin captures the full splendour of the light, declaring her momentary cleansing, while Jonas and Mercy become thrust into a dusk corner. Writhing on the floor, the dim rays coincide with their diabolical possession (0:57:15).
Apart from using organic sun and moonlight, the production team took advantage of the era’s other available light source: fire and candlelight. During the time period, a Puritan family such as this would meagrely burn beeswax candles due to financial constraints. Therefore, to maintain authenticity the crew rejected high-tech lighting instruments and opted for a minimal amount of 3-wick candles to supplement the symmetrical compositions produced by a solitary flame. During the dinner scene, two small candles reside in the centre of the table, casting trickles of light in multiple trajectories, while various shadows gracefully sheath the characters’ profiles (0:26:46). Candlelight amplifies the oppressive psychological effect required for the scene and this is shown as William completes the blessing. The glowing candles dimly feature the family’s bowed temples and scatters flickers of light on the surfaces behind them (0:27:21). The minimal shine swallows up the dimensions of the room while darkness levels are pushed; intensifying the feeling of desolation. Candlelight is delicate, unstable and potentially fatal conveying the family’s ambiguous unity. These contextual details are shown as Katherine questions Thomasin about her grandfather’s missing silver wine cup (0:28:03). The faint light flows from one direction making the background behind Thomasin and Katherine nearly disappear, displaying both Thomasin’s insecurity and Katherine’s mistrust (0:28:45). This same incandescence burnishes the scenery behind William, revealing it is he who stole the chalice (0:28:57). Filled with mistrust yet resolute in their faith, the exposed flame tells the audience about the family’s distressed and unexposed circumstances. It is these savvy lighting devices that add peril to the ominous scenes, allowing The Witch shrewdly frighten its audience.
Clever lighting is not the only approach used to spike psychological dimension in films. It is arguable that the element which adds that extra je ne sais quoi to Psycho is Hitchcock’s choice in shooting the film in black and white. The lack of colour not only allowed Hitchcock to emphasize shadows and manipulate contrast, but it provided him with even greater technical control over the film’s complex storyline. Chosen for its symbolic representations, black and white are opposites making this choice a clever reference toward the main characters’ alternating personalities; primarily referring to the binary between purity and madness. As a visual medium, darkness adds elements of intrigue and mystery, therefore, this carefully constructed colour selection intensified the mood of each scene while escalating narrative complexities such as secrecy and danger.
A lack of colour can further increase a character’s depth. For instance, in the beginning of the film we meet Marion Crane who is involved in a torrid love affair with Sam Loomis (0:03:14). We discover that their romance often takes place in sleazy motels with the passion kept secret from judgemental eyes. Despite implying that their rendezvous are scandalous, Marion is shown wearing a white bra and slip hinting at her presumably chaste demeanour and respectability (0:03:14). This innuendo is further implied as Marion puts on a lighted coloured dress and belt, and carries a white handbag (0:04:31). Later on we see Marion changing clothing again, except at this point in time she has stolen forty-thousand dollars from her workplace (0:11:05). No longer wearing white, Marion is outfitted in a black bra and slip, followed by a dark coloured dress, and accessorized with a black handbag (0:12:40). This costume colour change alludes to her thievery and the devious cognitive shift which has occurred in her mind.
The Witch is shot in colour, but the film is not Psycho’s antithesis since the Egger’s choice of pigment and composition contains similar rationale as Hitchcock’s logic for Psycho. To summon a naturalistic gloom to invoke anxiety and dread, they preferred to shoot in overcast weather over sunny days; it displays the accuracy of the families cramped and dreary landscape while contributing to the film’s monochromatic impressions. Through the hiring of a good colourist, they pushed calibration points and analyzed how the subjective differences of the multiple shades of cyan would affect the film’s believability. It is the application of this monotone tint which assisted in underexposing costumes, enhanced the texture of the film’s compressed palette, and fostered the creation of an open and vulnerable dreamlike space.
As in Psycho, The Witch similarly utilizes colour to enhance character dimension. In film, colour has an enormous influence on human perception and emotion and the colour red contains symbolic representations such as rage, malice, and passion. For instance, by principally applying the red throughout the film the director can metaphorically reference to Thomasin’s mental and moral decay, in addition to her budding femininity. The allegory begins in the scene where Thomasin gathers eggs from the farm’s chicken coup (0:17:18). After dropping an egg, she discovers an undeveloped baby chick covered in red albumin and membrane. The red blood and incubating bird represent Satin’s demonic impregnation of Thomasin and her parturition into witchcraft. Further along we examine her physical and psychological decent into the black arts when milking the one of the nannies (0:49:15). Instead of extracting milk, blood exits the goat’s udder illustrating her menstrual coming of age and burgeoning sexuality. Nearing the end of The Witch, Thomasin’s hands and clothes splattered with blood as she wakes on ground beneath the destroyed goat shed; her siblings are missing and the goats disemboweled (1:15:31). Shortly thereafter, an outpouring of blood covers Thomasin’s face, neck and hands after slashing Katherine’s face with a billhook (1:18:27). These two scenes testify on the power of the female archetype and the manifestation of Thomasin’s self-determination when suppressed by patriarchy. The film’s ending recapitulates Puritan proverbial portrayals of fertility without any prototypical narration. Blemished with dried blood, Thomasin speaks to Black Phillip who offers her a life lived “deliciously” (1:23:06). Now cognitively and erotically independent, the dried crimson blood signifies her maturation into womanhood, the freeing of her oppressed soul, and entrance into a new sinful existence.
Finally we have sound, which can provide pivotal information regarding a film’s plot line and characters, and when used effectively can increase theatregoers perceptions and emotions. In Psycho, Hitchcock takes the highly abstract art of music to an entirely new level; amplifying the visceral fear-factor and apprehension within the nightmarish script. Written by Bernard Herrmann, Psycho’s score plays an integral part within the film because its juxtaposition with the script discloses significant meaning concerning context and is a literal equivalent to what viewers see on the big screen (Giannetti, 2014). Herrmann opted for string instruments only and called upon the orchestra to repeatedly hit the same chord; resulting in the score’s labelling as “black-and-white music” the soundtrack chillingly coincides with the “bump-bump-bump” stabbing motion carried out by a knife wielding psychopath (Siegel, 2000). This point is visually penetrated during the film’s shower scene as the cutting-edge violins communicate the moment’s horrific frenzy (0:47:40). Without these eerie acoustics, the scene would not be quite as disturbing; lacking that edgy infiltration which apprehends viewers. Another example in which Psycho’s ominous music makes one’s hair stand on end is during Arbogast’s entrance into the Bates’ home (1:16:30). At first the major and minor intervals are discomfortingly slow creating apprehension regarding what lies ahead for the character. Through gradual increments, the range of the strings becomes dryer and more shrill as Arbogast climbs the staircase, initiating goosebumps and greater anxiety (1:17:00). Suddenly, the music cuts to the cold jarring strings previously heard during the shower scene as Arbogast reaches the top of the stairs (1:17:24). The abstract string music startles the viewer and exhibits Arboasts lack of control as Norman Bates exits the bedroom and butchers him. Describing the score as “pure ice water,” Herrmann’s effective departure from traditional horror film music is strikingly accurate; the spine-tingling slicing of the strings stimulates goosebumps as it slices the listeners eardrums.
Comparable to Psycho’s musical framework, The Witch effectively conveys tension with its cacophonous musical composition. Seeking a symphonic method to arouse psychological discomfort, Canadian composes Mark Korven composed an earthy and organic score to add texture to the film’s narrative. Korven obtained the film’s aqueous shrieking sounds by utilizing various stringed instruments such as the Swedish Nyckelharpa, a three stringed Finnish Jouhikko, the hand-cranked Hurdy-Gurdy and the inharmonic Waterphone. We are introduced to these concentrated shrills from the get-go of the picture when the Puritan family is ostracized from the commonwealth, trotting away on horse-drawn buggy (0:03:12). The music grows in intensity throughout forty-five seconds of film, coming to a slight halt when the director cuts to a shot of the expansive forested land where they plan to build their new shelter (0:04:00). As the family gives thanks to the Lord for the seemingly plentiful land they happened upon, the music abruptly begins again, albeit with the inclusion of an all female choir incorporated into the score (0:04:30). The antiquated string orchestra combined with the Element Choir is meant to be unsettling and tense, to signify the fragility and vulnerability of the family within their new surroundings. We are introduced to the violas and vocal ensemble many times throughout the film. For instance, after stealing Samuel the Forest Witch sacrifices his entrails and grinds them into an unguent (0:08:22). In this scene the string music attacks mankind's deeply emotional concerns over the safety of innocents and every elemental phobia pertaining to the occult’s cryptic rituals. When Caleb comes in contact with the seductive young Forest Witch, the choir’s dissonant cacophony sends chills up one’s backbone while epitomizing the jeopardy Caleb is in (0:41:00). Nearing the film’s finale, the musical instruments and the choir are united in completing the director’s desire in visually producing a bad dream instead of a pleasant fable. Having sold her soul to the Devil, Thomasin approaches a clearing and joins a sextuplet of chanting and gallivanting blood-soaked witches (1:26:03). Extraordinarily scary, The Witch’s musical score merged the film’s fiendish imagery implies Thomasin’s metaphysical descent into the underworld without ambiguity.
In conclusion, Psycho and The Witch are not your atypical thrillers. Looking at the surface of the plot lines, each film appears vastly different, yet they are erringly similar. Both films offer stylized experiences that combine suspense, tension and confusion, moving beyond psychological and emotional sanity and eclipsing reality. Hitchcock and Eggers masterfully utilize movie-making aesthetics, each constructing inherently frightening dreamlike spaces keeping audiences engaged while at the same time shielding their eyes from the bloodcurdling imagery. Shot via Hitchcock’s formalist viewpoint, Psycho’s colour and lighting techniques and vanguard musical score distort the material world and manipulate the subconscious. The Witch follows a more realist route to moviemaking and shows spectators the deliciously hidden evils that reside within the depths the woods, and within one’s psyche, through its progressive version of lighting, sound and musical score. The Witch may be no where near as avant-guard as Hitchcock’s Psycho, however each film presents their character’s horrifyingly limited and claustrophobic experiences as realities that no single theatregoer wishes to encounter. Hitchcock and Eggers dug deep into the crevices of their imaginations and produced two equally groundbreaking, radically unique films that are sure to be reviewed, analyzed and adored by horror genre lovers for centuries.