Norman Bates’ origins are the antithesis of television. Television demands your interest be piqued as much as it can. As soon as you don’t excite the audience, you’re making a trip behind the barn, friend. And Norman Bates’ history — the Norman I’m spellbound by — demands dissatisfaction, ennui, and apathy. He demands boredom. Without it, there is no Norman Bates.

The Norman Bates from PSYCHO is the result of too much time on his hands. Whether or not he’s the product of matriarchal rape, physical or mental abuse is inconsequential. The only thing that matters — the only thing that seemed chiseled in stone — is that he’s cursed with invisibility. He’s a hermit that owns a dying business. He’s quiet. Alone and lonely. Day in and day out, performing his own rituals (turning on the sign, resetting vacant rooms, eating sandwiches). Monotony is his prison sentence. There is no sexual release, there are no friends, there isn’t a social pastime he can click into (taxidermy doesn’t count!). Norman is a background extra to the rest of us living our lives. That’s what makes him fascinating and dangerous. That’s why when I saw the first few episodes of BATES MOTEL, I couldn’t gel with it. Watching Norman Bates embroiled in cliffhangers and love interests felt about as right as watching STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS and seeing Spock emotionally scream “KHAAAANNN” — and then start pounding Benedict Cumberbatch’s face into hamburger.

But you know what? Whatever. If you’re a fan of BATES MOTEL, you’ve got a version of Norman that makes you happy. Me, I’ve got dark shadows in black & white, Bernard Herman’s score and a late-night exchange between two strangers about personal traps and loneliness that becomes more and more compelling, sad and sinister every time I watch it.

Norman: “It’s not like my mother is a maniac or a raving thing. She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven’t you?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VP5jEAP3K4