As the sun sets Tuesday nights at Grant Park in downtown Chicago, hundreds gather to relax, converse, AND catch a good old-fashioned movie.
I have been an aficionado of going to these since
A. I am completely broke and this event is free
B. The people I go with generally possess some sort of edible goods
Tonight, the featured film was none other than Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpiece, Psycho. I had been fortunate enough to see the film with my UChicago dorm buddies earlier in the year, but was grateful to re-watch it. I remember what struck me originally about the film the first time I watched it was the dashing good looks of none other than the insane-murderer-guy. When I mentioned this patent fact to my predominately male companions, I was laughed at. After receiving various jabs throughout the week about my observations, I, discouraged and downtrodden, put my Psycho yearnings on the back shelf.
The movie in Grant Park was projected onto a huge white screen. My heart skipped a beat whilst munching on popcorn when that lovely, dark visage graced the screen. With this amplified view, I frankly fell back into love with the antagonist: deranged, introverted, mentally disturbed and oh-so-dreamy, Norman Bates.
Have such a crush on Normy. That black sweater. That gripping gaze. That deft movement by which he impinges Marion Crane’s abdomen with a butcher knife.
Some men are just to die for.