35 books like Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho

We believe you can learn more from failure than success. Misfires don’t come much bigger than the 1990 adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s blockbuster novel The Bonfire of the Vanities. The movie busted nary a block, which only makes director Brian De Palma’s willingness to open up the process to reporter/critic Salamon more remarkable.

This visits every department—including our favorite, costume design—and underscores that no one knows if a movie will be a smash or a flop while they’re making it, so cast and crew work just as hard on both. We love the story of second-unit director Eric Schwab seizing the opportunity to prove himself.

We’re film noir fanatics, so naturally, we’d be interested in an exhaustive history of the greatest modern example of the form. But Wasson sets his sights even higher. As the subtitle indicates, he also documents the end of multiple eras in the movie business.

Chinatown (1974) marked the close of the “New Hollywood” period when artists called the shots, as well as serving as a lush final example of big studio filmmaking, with all of Paramount’s resources in service of what’s universally acknowledged as one of the finest screenplays ever written. Wasson makes the action behind the scenes as compelling as the mystery on the screen.

We’ll be honest. We don’t really remember the romantic drama Up Close & Personal (1996), starring Robert Redford and Michelle Pfeiffer. But we won’t forget this book by Dunne, who wrote the film with his wife, Joan Didion. This is a forthright look at the writer’s lot in Hollywood. It’s a manual for massaging egos and dealing with conflicting notes, told with bracing honesty.

Sometimes, you take a job because you need health insurance. Sometimes, a movie that starts out based on the tragic true story of newscaster Jessica Savitch becomes a glossy sudser in which she lives. Sometimes, a troubled project becomes a hit despite itself. That’s always show business.

We had to go back to the 1952 book that essentially invented this format. Lillian Ross was a writer on staff at The New Yorker when she received the opportunity to be a fly on the wall during the production of The Red Badge of Courage (1951), writer/director John Huston’s adaptation of Stephen Crane’s novel of the American Civil War.

She tracked the film from start to finish, explaining how the two-hour version that Huston regarded as his best work became a sixty-nine-minute afterthought. Ross’s depiction of MGM mogul Louis B. Mayer clearly influenced the studio kingpin in one of our favorite movies about movies, the Coen Brothers’ brilliant Barton Fink (1991).

This book is an absolute classic, and spawned an equally classic movie directed by Alfred Hitchcock. The reason why I love Psycho so much is that it brought horror away from the traditional Gothic haunted house and castle settings right into the modern world. And if you add the aspect of mental illness in the chilling form of the Norman Bates character, then you have a horror story that becomes all too real, all too unsettling. We are not dealing with ghoulies and ghosties here, but with a deranged killer harbouring a split personality, whose warped mentality has often been mirrored in real-life crime cases. For example, Bloch based Norman Bates on an actual killer, Ed Gein. Psycho is a novel that every horror fan must read.

If one wants to learn about Hitchcock’s complex relation with women, one can turn to Donald Spoto’s The Dark Side of Genius or Laurence Leamer’s recent Hitchcock’s Blondes, but if one wants to contemplate the aesthetic question, how are women portrayed in Hitchcock, Modleski is far more rewarding.

I learned much from her weighing of Hitchcock’s ambivalence toward women. The book offers a strong feminist account of seven films, and I have consistently recommended it to my students as one of the best books on Hitchcock. 

If one wants to hear Hitchcock’s voice, this set of interviews provides the gold standard. The book, which was also important for Hitchcock’s reception, includes discussions of every major film.

Hitchcock talks informally about what his intentions were, how he created individual scenes, and what kinds of meanings lie hidden in the works. Most readers are drawn to Hitchcock criticism after being engaged by an individual film, and they will find welcome orientation here.

This is the first book I read that confirmed my own intuition—that Hitchcock’s works are as rich and complex as great literary works.

Brill’s book was a relatively early work of Hitchcock criticism, but an enduring one, a humanistic study with considerable attention paid to the films’ aesthetic and religious dimensions. The latter is fitting because Hitchcock was a deeply Catholic director.

The book offers excellent analyses, with good attention to cinematic and artistic features.

Sheila Kohler, a mentor of mine whose work is featured in this thrilling collection, is fond of saying that suspense arises from putting a vulnerable character in a dangerous situation. A literary writer of the highest caliber, Sheila knows how to generate the suspense that keeps the page turning. Crime fiction has a long history going back to Dostoevsky and beyond, to the great tragedians—the commission of a crime entails motive, means, and is inherently dramatic. This eclectic selection of mystery and female noir, edited by Joyce Carol Oates, features superstar writers like Edwidge Danticat, Margaret Atwood, Sheila Kohler, Elizabeth McCracken, and Joyce Carol Oates herself. The writing is luminous, the themes are varied—from domestic horror to the erotic to dark fairy tales—and the tales keep the reader turning the page.

These stories were picked out by the master of suspense, himself, Alfred Hitchcock. These stories are both horrific and suspenseful. With tales involving a flesh-eating troll, something creepy lurking about in the woods that kills anything that comes into its path, and an uninvited odd boy that comes to a party with evil intentions, one will not be able to put this book down. It might even make you want to leave the lights on during the night.