FILM FRENZY

Wallace Ford, Victor McLaglen, and Boris Karloff in The Lost Patrol (Photo: Warner Archive)

By Matt Brunson

(View From The Couch is a weekly column that reviews what’s new on Blu-ray, 4K, and DVD. Ratings are on a four-star scale.)

AUNTIE MAME (1958). Admittedly, I’m not always a fan of films in which a larger-than-life, busybody blowhard proceeds in a condescending manner to inform everyone else on the planet how they can improve their comparatively drab lives. Auntie Mame always struck me as such a property, which is why I’ve taken my sweet time — oh, three or four decades — getting around to seeing it. Color me imbecilic. Auntie Mame is wonderful entertainment, with a finely chosen cast, some emotional moments that really connect, and a climactic set-piece that ranks as one of the funniest bits of movie business I’ve seen all year. Adapted from the 1956 Broadway hit (itself based on Patrick Dennis’ 1955 novel), this finds Rosalind Russell repeating her stage triumph as the vivacious Mame Dennis, who’s only too happy to take care of her 10-year-old nephew Patrick (Jan Handzlik) after his widowed father unexpectedly dies. She wants to provide Patrick with as liberal an upbringing as possible, so that he may be compassionate toward others and open to all experiences — this doesn’t fly with the boy’s appointed trustee Dwight Babcock (Fred Clark), who wants to fill him with conservative ideals and keep him away from anyone not deemed the cream of society. As Patrick gets older (and now played by Roger Smith) and becomes more heavily influenced by Babcock, Mame continues to hang out with various oddballs, including her perpetually drunk BFF Vera (Coral Browne) and the awkward and unhip secretary Agnes Gooch (Peggy Cass, also from B’way). Auntie Mame was second only to South Pacific as the top-grossing film of 1958 and earned six Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, Best Actress, and Best Supporting Actress (Cass).

Extras in the 4K + Blu-ray edition include a 2026 conversation with Handzlik (now 81) and a restoration comparison.

Movie: ★★★½

BRIDGET LOVES BERNIE (1972-1973). These past couple of years, it’s been sickening watching far too many television networks and national newspapers cowardly employing self-censorship in an attempt to appease a fascistic and abhorrent president. Of course, this hasn’t been the first time that the supposed defenders of freedom and free speech have debased themselves in such a manner; as a major-league example, witness the fate of the CBS sitcom Bridget Loves Bernie. Positioned in the drool-worthy spot between the previous year’s #1 show, All in the Family, and the #10 finisher The Mary Tyler Moore Show, the new series was an instant hit and concluded its debut season at #5 in the Nielsen ratings (AitF repeated at #1 while TMTMS climbed up to #7). But just like that, the show was cancelled, and it retains the unenviable record as the highest rated series to be cancelled after just one season. It would seem innocuous to most, as it detailed the marriage between a working-class cab driver and a schoolteacher from a wealthy family. But the cabbie, Bernie Steinberg (David Birney), was Jewish while the teacher, Bridget Fitzgerald (Meredith Baxter), was Irish Catholic, which led to an outcry from the nation’s Conservative and Orthodox rabbis. Rabbi Balfour Brickner spoke for many when he stated, “The program treats intermarriage, one of the gravest problems facing Jews today, not only as an existent phenomenon but one that should be totally accepted.” Boycotts were organized against the network, bomb threats were made against the cast members, and a member of the Jewish Defense League was even arrested after promoting violence against one of the producers. Rather than tell the bigots to go fuck themselves, gutless CBS executives decided to cancel the show. All of this furor overshadowed what was basically a modest sitcom that drew its strength from its appealing and perfectly matched leads (who later married — and divorced — in real life).

The Blu-ray contains all 24 episodes. There are no extras.

Series: ★★★

CHARLIE WILSON’S WAR (2007). It never helps when films about wartime politics are promoted with all the appeal of a plate of vegetables being plopped in front of an 8-year-old — i.e. “It’s Good For You” cinema, rendered flavorless through the likes of Lions for Lambs, Green Zone, and Rendition — so trust canny old lion Mike Nichols to do it right. Charlie Wilson’s War is solid entertainment punched across with enough glitz to sell it but not too much to bury it. Working from a sharp script by Aaron Sorkin (from George Crile’s nonfiction book), Nichols has crafted a winning if occasionally facile work whose level of intelligence is measured by how much each viewer wants to put into it. Minimum-effort audiences, therefore, will be happy to roll with the engaging performances by Tom Hanks and a strong supporting cast (including Amy Adams, Emily Blunt, and Ned Beatty), but those digging a little deeper will recognize its merit in sniffing out that snatch of history that possibly might serve as the missing link between the fall of Communism and the rise of Middle Eastern terrorism. Kicking off in the 1980s, it follows blustery Democratic Congressman Charlie Wilson (Hanks) as he becomes interested in Afghanistan’s ineffectual attempts to oust the invading Soviet army. Charlie’s spurred to get involved at the insistence of his politically savvy friend (Julia Roberts, little more than serviceable), but it isn’t until he teams up with a prickly CIA operative (a hilarious Philip Seymour Hoffman, earning a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination) that the ball gets rolling and the Afghans are able to defend themselves. But at what cost to the future? The film doesn’t answer its own question, preferring instead to let viewers mull over the response. While they do so, they can enjoy a sparkling film that manages to be part satire and part screwball comedy.

Extras in the 4K Ultra HD edition consist of a making-of featurette and a look at the real Charlie Wilson.

Movie: ★★★

GO (1999). Director Doug Liman’s follow-up to 1996’s attention-grabbing Swingers is a clever, fast-paced yet naggingly Tarantino-esque look at one day in the lives of various Los Angeles denizens. In fact, was there any critic upon the film’s original release who didn’t end up describing this as Pulp Fiction Lite? (And, hey, who was I to break the chain?) Written by John August and set over a 24-hour period, Go uses the PF style of whiplashing back and forth over time and between locations, showing how the misadventures of its cast of wide-eyed kids are ultimately all connected. In one story strand, a sharp-witted supermarket clerk (Sarah Polley) and her naïve friend (Katie Holmes) get mixed up with a dangerous drug dealer (Timothy Oliphant); in another, four rowdy pals (Desmond Askew, Taye Diggs, Breckin Meyer, and James Duval) head to Las Vegas, where they find more excitement than they had expected; and in yet another, two soap opera stars (Scott Wolf and Jay Mohr) inadvertently encounter a particularly creepy cop (William Fichtner). Go is a lot of fun as far as it, uh, goes, but don’t expect it to linger in the memory — unlike Pulp Fiction, this one doesn’t vibrate beyond the screen. Out of a finely tuned cast, Polley takes top acting honors.

Extras in the 4K edition include audio commentary by Liman and editor Stephen Mirrione; new interviews with August and Askew; an archival making-of featurette; deleted scenes; and August’s 1998 short film God, featuring Melissa McCarthy (who appears in a small role in Go).

Movie: ★★★

THE HUMAN COMEDY (1943). Too often a human whirligig on screen, Mickey Rooney tones it down and delivers his finest performance in The Human Comedy, an original story by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright William Saroyan (The Time of Your Life) that the wordship turned into a bestselling novel just as this film version was coming out. With echoes of Our Town (The Human Comedy appeared five years after Thornton Wilder’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play and just three years after its film adaptation), this focuses on the lives of the various citizens in a small American town. Rooney is Homer Macauley, a teenager who assumes more responsibilities since his father (Ray Collins in ethereal form) passed away a couple of years ago and his older brother Marcus (Van Johnson) is off serving during World War II. Homer lands a job at a telegraph office as a telegram delivery boy, a gig that becomes unbearable on those occasions when he must pass along the message to parents that their son has been killed in action. There are many fine vignettes dotting the picture — one memorable interlude finds Homer and Marcus’ sister Bess (Donna Reed) and Marcus’ fiancée Mary (Dorothy Morris) taking pity on three soldiers on leave (one played by an uncredited Robert Mitchum in his film debut) and accompanying them to the movies — but the sentimental approach that came naturally to many other wartime dramas comes off as syrupy overkill here, thanks in no small part to several heavy-handed monologues. Nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Actor for Rooney, this won Saroyan the statue for Best Original Story.

Blu-ray extras include a pair of radio adaptations (1943 and 1949), both starring Rooney; the Oscar-nominated 1942 cartoon Blitz Wolf; and the 1943 live-action short Don’t You Believe It.

Movie: ★★★

LOONEY TUNES COLLECTOR’S VAULT: VOLUME 3 (1930-1960). Here are 50 more examples of Looney Tunes / Merry Melodies madness, with the set’s historic worth elevated by the fact that it houses both the first Looney Tunes cartoon and the first Merry Melodies cartoon. The LT offering is 1930’s Sinkin’ in the Bathtub, starring the controversial character of the (as per Warner Bros.’s original copyright description) “Negro boy” Bosko; the MM cartoon is 1931’s Lady, Play Your Mandolin!, featuring Foxy, a mouse who looked so much like Mickey that Walt Disney immediately got on the phone and requested a cease and desist. On the other end of the timeline, the set closes with 1960’s controversial Horse Hare, with Cavalry officer Bugs Bunny squaring off against a Native American Yosemite Sam, and the same year’s far more benign Goldimouse and the Three Cats, showcasing Sylvester and his son Sylvester Jr., and Mice Follies, a sendup of The Honeymooners. With so many cartoons on tap, half of them never before seen on Blu-ray or DVD, it’s hard to imagine animation fans being disappointed, even if the overall content doesn’t quite reach the giddy levels of the other volumes. Among the gems are 1951’s Ballot Box Bunny, which finds Yosemite Sam running for office and finding a feisty opponent in Bugs, 1956’s Tweet and Sour, in which Granny promises to send Sylvester to the violin string factory (what a grisly prospect!) if any harm comes to Tweety, and 1956’s hilarious A Star Is Bored, in which Daffy demands to be a star and is instead given assignments as Bugs’ stunt double. And I’m generally a sucker for toons in which fascists get slapped around, which happens to the Nazis (including Adolph) in 1943’s Daffy — The Commando and 1945’s Herr Meets Hare.

Blu-ray extras consist of audio commentaries by animation experts on five of the cartoons.

Collection: ★★★

THE LOST PATROL (1934). John Ford had already directed approximately 80 motion pictures (including dozens of silents dating back to 1917) by the time he helmed The Lost Patrol, which, while not as famous as his subsequent classics, is nonetheless considered one of the key films from his early sound period. The story, set during World War I, immediately grabs the viewer by the collar: A British officer, mounted on his horse while perusing the vast Mesopotamian desert surrounding him, is shot dead by a single bullet, fired by an unseen Arab sniper. The victim, the leader of a 12-man army patrol, was the only one who knew the outfit’s mission or even the way out of this sand-swept hellhole, leaving his second-in-command, a gruff sergeant (Victor McLaglen), in an impossible predicament. Nevertheless, he does his best to take control of the situation, a tall order since some of the men under him are coming apart at the seams as the heat beats them down and the snipers continue picking them off one by one. Ford’s brisk direction, Max Steiner’s Oscar-nominated score, and a suitably manic performance by Boris Karloff as the group’s religious fanatic all work in tandem to create an exciting (if relentlessly grim) adventure yarn. Ford, McLaglen, and others would reteam the very next year for The Informer (see From Screen To Stream below).

The only Blu-ray extras are two 1934 Popeye cartoons, Axe Me Another and The Man on the Flying Trapeze.

Movie: ★★★½

MOTHER! (2017). On the critical compilation site Rotten Tomatoes, where mother! enjoys a 68% Fresh rating, the consensus blurb reads in part that the film “may be too unwieldy for mainstream tastes.” That’s putting it mildly, to say the least. (Apparently, it’s also too unwieldy for Rex Reed, whose hysterical — in both senses of the word — blurb on the site states that it might be “the worst movie of the century.”) Upon its theatrical release, mother! became only the 19th film to ever receive an F grade from CinemaScore opening-day audiences — even keeping in mind that these folks routinely give A grades to Alvin and the Chipmunks entries (see From Screen To Stream below), that registers as incomprehensible overkill. Writer-director Darren Aronofsky, responsible for such dazzling if downbeat achievements as 2000’s Requiem for a Dream and 2010’s Black Swan (both of which topped my 10 Best lists in their respective years), is behind this one-of-a-kind oddity in which an earthy woman (Jennifer Lawrence) who’s happily married to an often aloof poet (Javier Bardem) finds her life disrupted by the arrival of a pair of guests (Michelle Pfeiffer and Ed Harris). Counting Luis Buñuel, Ingmar Bergman, and 1960s-era Polanski among its apparent influences, mother! is ugly, disturbing, and not for everyone (certainly not for nitwit Razzie voters, who threw “Worst” nominations at Aronofsky, Lawrence, and Bardem) — it’s also fascinating, thought-provoking, and rich with religious allegories. Lawrence is phenomenal in a difficult role, ably assisted by Bardem and the other players.

Extras in the 4K + Blu-ray + Digital Code edition consist of a making-of featurette and a piece on the makeup effects.

Movie: ★★★

ROLLERCOASTER (1977). One of the most interesting of all theatrical fads was Sensurround, created and commissioned by Universal to accompany its motion pictures in the mid-1970s. Basically an aural assault that could be felt as well as heard, it was impressive enough to earn its makers a special Academy Award in 1974. But the added expense to theaters combined with the structural damage it sometimes caused led to its rapid demise, and, ultimately, only four films were released employing the format. I caught all four during my youth, and while the additional rumbling wasn’t very noticeable in 1976’s Midway or the 1978 international theatrical cut of TV’s Battlestar: Galactica, it absolutely rocked the auditorium via 1974’s Earthquake and also worked wonderfully in 1977’s Rollercoaster. This enjoyable thriller casts an ingratiating George Segal as a safety inspector who finds himself matching wits with a blackmailer (Timothy Bottoms) who’s been blowing up prominent rollercoasters. Co-written by Richard Levinson and William Link, the team behind TV’s Columbo, the film co-stars such luminaries as Richard Widmark and Henry Fonda, although more fun can be found in spotting the up-and-comers tucked away in the margins, including 13-year-old Helen Hunt as Segal’s daughter, Body Double’s Craig Wasson as a park visitor, and an unbilled Steve Guttenberg as a messenger boy.

The 4K + Blu-ray edition not only offers Sensurround as one of the aural options but also includes an uncut version of the film, which is actually the original theatrical version that had a few gory seconds removed after its initial run. Extras consist of two audio commentaries by film historians; an interview with Tommy Cook, who served as executive producer and also first suggested the story; and a 2018 featurette on the disaster flicks of the 1970s.

Movie: ★★★

FILM CLIPS

QUICK, LET’S GET MARRIED (1964). This fairly wretched comedy stars Ray Milland as a con man who spends his time in Italy searching for hidden treasure, wooing a local brothel owner (Rogers, atypically terrible), and convincing a pregnant prostitute (Barbara Eden, a year before I Dream of Jeannie fame) that miracles do occur. Quick, Let’s Get Married was shot in 1964 under the title The Confession, but it didn’t receive any sort of release until 1971, presumably because Elliott Gould, making his film debut here as a deaf mute, was poker-hot following the success of 1970’s M*A*S*H. This was the final screen credit for William Dieterle, who in better days had directed the Cagney A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Laughton The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the Best Picture Oscar winner The Life of Emile Zola.

Blu-ray extras consist of film historian audio commentary and poster and photo galleries.

Movie: ★½

SING STREET (2016). Writer-director John Carney, who enjoyed a sleeper hit with 2007’s Once, returns to the streets of Dublin for another music-minded gem that’s even better. By setting his film in the 1980s, Carney is able to inject some amusing asides into his tale about a 14-year-old lad (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, the CODA and Vikings actor in his film debut) who attempts to put together a band. This was one of the top 10 films of 2016 (see my complete Best & Worst here), and bonus points for including the best (and most accurate?) movie line of that year: “No woman can truly love a man who listens to Phil Collins.”

Extras in the 4K + Blu-ray + Digital Code edition include a making-of featurette; a discussion of the film with Carney and Maroon 5’s Adam Levine; cast auditions; and the music video for the catchy ditty “Drive It Like You Stole It.”

Movie: ★★★½

FROM SCREEN TO STREAM

ALVIN AND THE CHIPMUNKS (2007). Considering that my family owned the 45 single for “The Chipmunk Song,” I must have listened to that novelty hit dozens of times during my formative years. Decades later, I haven’t really felt a burning desire to revisit the tune, and certainly not when it’s played in the service of something as lamentable as the live-action screen version of Alvin and the Chipmunks. About the best one can say about this occasionally rancid but mostly just dull film is that it’s not as excruciating as 2004’s Garfield: The Movie (reviewed here), another ill-conceived project that placed CGI animals in the real world. Here, Jason Lee is the hapless human who serves as the sacrificial-career lamb: He plays Dave, a failed songwriter who has trouble getting close to anyone, including a predictably va-va-voomish girlfriend (Cameron Richardson). But along come our all-talking, all-singing chipmunk siblings — Alvin, Simon, and Theodore — to not only help him produce a smash single but also teach him the importance of friendship and family. The requisite villainy rears its head in the form of Dave’s old college chum Ian (David Cross), now a record company mogul who decides to work the ‘munks into the ground via world tours and the like. The three rodents’ lines are spoken by Justin Long, Matthew Gray Gubler, and Jesse McCartney, but their voices are so digitally altered that they might as well have been lip-synched by Barack, Mitt, and Hillary. Then again, that speaks to the whole impersonal tone of the project, which has so little regard for the brand name’s nostalgic factor that it updates the concept by briefly putting the trio in rappers’ outfits in one scene and allowing Simon to eat Theodore’s turd in another. Desperately conceived on every level, this forlorn family film amounts to little more than celluloid roadkill. Naturally, it was successful enough to lead to three sequels.

Movie: ★

THE INFORMER (1935). The Informer reunited the key personnel from the previous year’s The Lost Patrol — director John Ford, star Victor McLaglen, scripter Dudley Nichols, and composer Max Steiner — and the result earned all four men Academy Awards. Ford’s Oscar was particularly noteworthy: It marked the first of his four career wins for Best Director — interestingly, none for a Western, the genre with which he’s most identified. Set during the Irish Civil War in 1922, the film stars McLaglen (in a tremendous performance) as Gypo Nolan, a brawling, hard-drinking lug who betrays his best friend, an insurgent (Wallace Ford, also from The Lost Patrol), to the British authorities for 20 pounds. Chewed up by guilt, Gypo continues to drink heavily, spends the money freely, and sweats it out once he realizes that members of the underground (including, shades of Fritz Lang’s M, a blind man) have begun to suspect that he’s the traitor in their ranks. The marvel of Ford’s film is that Gypo Nolan, clearly no hero, never quite comes across as a villain, either. Despite his shocking betrayal, he’s merely an ignorant oaf too dim to grasp the ramifications of his actions, and McLaglen plays the part as if Gypo were a distant cousin to Of Mice and Men‘s Lennie. In addition to its four victories, The Informer also earned nominations for Best Picture and Best Film Editing.

Movie: ★★★½

PSYCHO (1960) / PSYCHO II (1983) / PSYCHO III (1986) / PSYCHO IV: THE BEGINNING (1990). When it comes to Psycho, it seems that Anthony Perkins is always with us even when he’s not. His performance as Norman Bates is so legendary that his shadow hangs over every related project. There was the 1987 TV movie Bates Motel, starring Bud Cort as a friend of Norman Bates. There was Gus van Sant’s atrocious 1998 remake, featuring a laughable Norman from Vince Vaughn. And there was the A&E series Bates Motel (2013-2017), which starred Freddie Highmore as Norman and earned decent reviews. But there were only four features actually starring Perkins, all reviewed here.

For better or worse, Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is considered in many circles to be the granddaddy of the modern slasher flick. But whereas the contemporary crop too often revels in death and dismemberment, Hitchcock’s audacious masterpiece preferred to explore the recesses of the mind rather than the excesses of the flesh, and in doing so gave us one of the screen’s all-time great characters. That would of course be the aforementioned Norman Bates, the shy hotel manager and part-time taxidermist who explains to the aptly named Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) that “Mother’s not herself today.” Working from a script by Joseph Stefano (adapting Robert Bloch’s novel), Hitchcock broke so many established rules back in 1960 that it’s no wonder the film itself became a cause célèbre. There’s certainly no shortage of superb scenes — there’s of course Marion taking the most famous shower in film history, but another keeper is the overhead shot of the encounter between “Mother” and Martin Balsam’s investigator, literally an example of Hitch lording over the proceedings. As for Bernard Herrmann’s nerve-jangling score, it’s easily one of the best soundtracks to ever accompany a motion picture. (The AFI’s 100 Years of Film Scores list placed it at #4, under only Star Wars, Gone With the Wind, and Lawrence of Arabia.) Vertigo generally makes the lists of the all-time greatest movies, and while I’m a fan (see the review here), it’s Psycho that earns my vote as Hitchcock’s masterpiece. The film earned four Oscar nominations for Best Director, Supporting Actress (Leigh), Black-and-White Cinematography, and Black-and-White Art Direction-Set Decoration — while there was no way Academy members would have even considered nominating it for Best Picture, it’s a shame that Perkins, Herrmann, and film editor George Tomasini were denied richly deserved nods.

A person would have to be as crazy as Norman Bates to even think about helming a sequel to Psycho, but the shocking discovery when Psycho II was originally released in 1983 was that director Richard Franklin and screenwriter Tom Holland had managed to craft an intelligent follow-up that in no way soiled the memory of its classic predecessor. Viewed today, the film still works better than the vast majority of horror sequels, wielding as its main selling point the return of Anthony Perkins in the role of a lifetime. Perkins resurrects his twitchy mannerisms and stuttering speech as Norman Bates, who has just been released from an insane asylum after 22 years. Back in the day, Norman was of course known for dressing up as his deceased mother and murdering people, but his psychiatrist (Robert Loggia) has convinced the courts that Norman is now completely normal. Not so, insists Marion’s sister Lila (Vera Miles, also returning from the 1960 original), who’s adamant that he will resume his killing spree. Norman heads back to the family home on the hill, only to discover that the motel has been turned into a den of sex and drugs by the sleazy manager (who else but Dennis Franz). He also lands a job at the local diner, where his positive friendship with a young waitress (Meg Tilly) is overshadowed by evidence that Mother might still be controlling him. The dead bodies start piling up, but that’s about the only expected development in this enjoyable yarn that keeps the twists coming up until the very end.

The success of Psycho II prompted Universal Studios to follow up with Psycho III, but this one turned out to be a non-event during the summer of 1986, when audiences were more interested in catching sequels to more recent hits like The Karate Kid and Alien than once again traveling down memory lane with Norman Bates. The problem with this outing, which marked Perkins’ directorial debut, is that it largely plays like a run-of-the-mill slasher flick, with the Bates Motel again the site of a series of gory murders. This time, the potential victims include a suicidal nun (Diana Scarwid) who reminds Norman of Marion Crane, a horny redneck (Jeff Fahey) who becomes his assistant manager, and a nosy journalist (Roberta Maxwell) who elects to do some research on the Bates family. There are a few nice touches sprinkled throughout the film — the opening scene can’t help but stir memories of Vertigo, and I love the quick shot of In the Belly of the Beast (the book Tilly’s character was reading in Psycho II) discarded in the dirt — but there’s little imagination to be found in either Perkins’ staging or Charles Edward Pogue’s script, the attempts at black humor are fairly lame, and Scarwid (Christina Crawford in Mommie Dearest) is typically terrible in a key role.

Even though Psycho III revealed that the thrill was gone, a fourth picture nevertheless appeared a mere four years later. Wisely, Psycho IV: The Beginning was relegated to premiering on Showtime, where it scared up decent ratings, rather than bombing in theaters. Opting to ignore much of what transpired in the second and third installments, director Mick Garris and scripter Joseph Stefano place Norman Bates in the unusual position of husband, having married one of the doctors (Donna Mitchell) who took care of him while he was being treated in a mental asylum. But Norman places an on-air call to radio show host Fran Ambrose (CCH Pounder) to inform her that he plans to kill again; during their lengthy chat, he reveals how he grew up under the thumb of a hateful and domineering mom, keying ample flashbacks in which we see the young Norman (Henry Thomas) having to contend with “Mother” (Olivia Hussey). Stefano also wrote the 1960 original, but lightning unfortunately didn’t strike twice: This is a feeble addition to the Norman Bates canon, with little in the way of interesting character development and even less in the way of genuine thrills. The cast is OK, although it’s startling to see Thomas (the wholesome Elliott in E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial) as Norman and Hussey (the Virgin Mary in Jesus of Nazareth) as Mother.

Psycho: ★★★★

Psycho II: ★★★

Psycho III: ★★

Psycho IV: The Beginning: ★★