`PSYCHO' ANALYSIS: DOESN'T CUT IT.

Byline: Bob Strauss Daily News Film Critic

Gus Van Sant's pathologically faithful remake of Alfred Hitchcock's classic ``Psycho'' is an interesting, usually respectful, even quite playful formal exercise.

But like the academic effort it very much is, the film is mainly good for imparting lessons succeeding generations of filmgoers never seem to learn. Like black and white is better than color, no one can mask abnormality as brilliantly as Tony Perkins could, and, of course, Hitchcock still is the master of suspense.

Ironically, Van Sant fails at the one task he most wanted to accomplish - making ``Psycho'' accessible to today's younger, graphic shock-weaned fright-film fans - and succeeds better at making something that will amuse the audience segment most dead set against seeing it: lovers of the original who consider the remake a sacrilege.

Even with red blood, a few extra knife thrusts and a bit more skin, the violence here is tame compared to the mortifications and body counts of any recent ``Halloween'' or ``Scream'' entry. Which would probably be OK if Van Sant had managed to copy, like he does so many memorable shots and montages, that most elusive but essential of Hitchcockian qualities: the palpable sense of dread. The remake just doesn't generate the kind of tension the 1960 original still does on the 20th viewing.

Van Sant and his collaborators - cinematographer Chris Doyle, production designer Tom Foden and editor Amy Duddleston prime among them - achieve any number of small successes, though. One of the biggest is the opening shot across Phoenix and into the cruddy hotel room where Marion Crane and Sam Loomis (now a credible Anne Heche and a hokily cowboy-ified Viggo Mortensen) have just finished making love. It's now a smooth helicopter job that Hitchcock himself regretted being unable to pull off.

But their pillow talk already sounds a little museum-ish, a minor problem that, perhaps unavoidably, persists throughout the production (although references to Walkmans and such things that weren't discussed in 1960 find their way in later). To let you know you're in a Van Sant movie, however, there's a good shot of Mortensen's naked butt.

The thing gets more gussied up as it goes along. This is especially evident in the two great murder sequences, when Marion is stabbed to death in the shower and the private eye searching for her gets ambushed at the top of a staircase.

Hitchcock made these scenes tight masterpieces of perspective and montage, and Van Sant more or less follows his framing and editing plans while judiciously upping the gore factors just a notch. Less judicious, though, was Van Sant's decision to insert shots of passing clouds in the bathroom, and flashes of a nude reclining and cows crossing a highway as detective Arbogast (a very good, very '60s hard-boiled William H. Macy) falls backward.

Needless to say, these personal touches do nothing to alleviate the sequel's suspense problem.

Making the film seem even more like Van Sant's ``Own Private Idapsycho'' is Vince Vaughn's interpretation of everybody's favorite mama's boy, Norman Bates. There was always something queer, to say the least, about Norman, but Vaughn plays him more effeminate than Perkins did (although, in the film's most 1998 moment, Norman masturbates vigorously while peeping at Marion undressing).

That's not fatal to Vaughn's work, although it does reveal the ultimate secret too soon for any Martians out there who don't know about Mother. What is almost fatal, though, is how Vaughn telegraphs Norman's imbalance. It is, of course, wildly unfair to compare the actor's work to one of the greatest film performances of all time; let's just say this one makes you appreciate Perkins' subtlety and control more than ever.

Other comparisons between ``Psychos'' are more fun. Getting into the spirit of things, Julianne Moore does a tarter and tougher rendition of Marion's bulldog sister than Vera Miles did. The infamous Bates Motel and house have undergone brick makeovers. Mother is, well, state-of-the-art. Danny Elfman's re-orchestration of Bernard Herrmann's string-sawing score is slightly more manic but very respectful; ditto Saul Bass' now colorized title designs.

Indeed, Van Sant films most of the movie as authentically as possible, right down to the stuffed birds and the weird way drivers exit cars through the right-side door.

It's intriguing. It's more than watchable. But it's only scary when you think about other projects these talents might have put their efforts toward.

THE FACTS

The film: ``Psycho'' (R; violence, nudity).

The stars: Vince Vaughn, Anne Heche, Julianne Moore, Viggo Mortensen, William H. Macy.

Behind the scenes: Directed by Gus Van Sant. Written by Joseph Stefano, based on Robert Bloch's novel. Produced by Brian Grazer and Van Sant. Released by Universal Pictures.

Running time: One hour, 49 minutes.

Playing: Citywide

Our rating: Two and one half stars.

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Photo

Photo: Anne Heche and Vince Vaughn star in the the remake of the Hitchcock classic thriller ``Psycho.''