High Tensile knows that humans are an odd bunch. Under controlled conditions, you’ve found a way to enjoy the fear response. Nothing seems out of the ordinary about going to watch the new cinematic murderfest.  But just apply a biologist’s eye and what happens in that movie theatre becomes very unusual. A herd of mammals with tight muscles and frayed nerves. Fight or flight responses trigger, unconscious instinct screams to get away, and we do...nothing. Perhaps it’s the survival strategy of the small creature, the tried and tested freeze-and-hope-it-doesn’t-eat-me manoeuvre. But then a panicked laugh breaks the silence and smashes that theory.

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To see approaching danger- even if false- and to face it head on with nothing but a knowing smile, to hijack adrenaline for a simple joyride, seems unnatural, but it’s a quirk of modern media. There’s an entire industry built for the needs of these biological freaks; it’s one that we at High Tensile love and cherish. That industry, psychological thriller, has achieved meteoric success through provoking this psychotic response. From Turn of the Screw, to Psycho to High Tensile’s Ice Picks, the centuries old genre shows few signs of stopping...or changing.

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Of course, we can’t talk about psychological thriller without talking about our hitherto un-introduced star of the genre. Give a warm welcome for our eponymous, hardworking “psycho”. He’s a bloodstained figure of horror that has stolen the hearts of many, sometimes literally. No doubt he’s a source of confused nostalgia for many of us, as we delight in the discomfort he brings. However, it would be wrong to pretend he doesn’t have some issues.

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The psycho is responsible for many of the problems present in psychological thriller. His strong work ethic alone is the cause of one of the biggest: horrific stagnation. See, once you’ve met Norman Bates, he becomes awfully clingy.  He’d never admit it, but suddenly you feel as if you run into him everywhere, in every novel. Sure, sometimes he’s wearing different costumes or a different name, but really, what’s in a name? Does it matter if he goes by Norman or Norma, Samuel or Jessica, Louise or Martin? Does his daytime career matter when he’s beating a hapless victim to a bloody pulp after dark? No. The psycho’s base motives remain the same. His propensity to commit evil acts and his willingness to skin cats is a constant. All Norman Bates is, despite occasional claims to Multiple Personality Disorder or other trendy mental illnesses, is a monster in human skin. A formless cloud of evil with googly eyes, just like all fictional “psychos”.

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Except, sometimes they aren’t that. Broadly speaking, two distinct categories of fictional psychos can be identified. The aforementioned monster is the one with the baggage. Criticisms are so easy to level against our “psycho monster” as to be laughable – and in many cases it has become so. The monster has ironically become a victim, of ridicule. Even the iconic Norman Bates has become the target of an irreverent marketing campaign. The advert, as I’m sure you’ll agree, is the opposite of thrilling.

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If the monster’s ability to scare has been compromised, is there anything left to redeem him? Certainly not his complexity. This type of psycho is crude caricature, for whom any characterisation is only present to show or contrast with the psycho’s numerous mental deformities. This approach, the creating of a monster just to serve as an object of disgust, was outdated even in the nineteenth century. Frankenstein’s homunculus of patchwork flesh may be an object of disgust for the Italian populace, but his character arc reveals the true ugliness, that of ambition and prejudice of ordinary individuals.  But the monstrous psycho is only given life so it can be imprisoned behind words, for the audience to sneer and throw peanuts at. It’s a Victorian freak-show, made portable through the magic of the printing press.

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Contrariwise, the other kind of fictional psycho can be a hearty celebration of complexity. They provide the nuance that the wanton slasher lacks. This is made possible by this psycho’s core nature.  You see, rather than the tired out monster in human skin, this psycho is a human whose actions are monstrous.

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The brilliance of this is that the human is hard to hate entirely. They’re the same as one of those mammals in the movie theatre, creatures torn between unconscious instinct and conscious desires. They’re a little selfish, but well intentioned at the core (or so we like to think). However, as we learn during our formative years, humans can and often do truly despicable things. This disconnect is at the core of every fictional drama, be it on the television, print or in song. The psycho human is a relatable character, that doesn’t require any suspension of disbelief.  More importantly, the psycho human is a character we can understand.

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To write a psycho human merely requires that the author have different intentions to the author of the monster. This author wants to dive into the deep, unfathomable depths of the human mind, and sprint the marathon length of human capability. With this expedition, the writer can build something absolutely thrilling, something that is high tensile to the extreme. Thankfully, this human psycho has enjoyed a particular prevalence in contemporary thriller. The recent French thriller, Lullaby, paints the picture of a Mary Poppins suffering from extreme psychosis, while the wonderful A Ladder to the Sky features its own Victor Frankenstein figure, who’ll do anything to fulfil the lengths of his dark ambitions. Look to The Talented Mr.Ripley for an older, but incredibly compelling portrait of a pathological liar. I must stress that these dysfunctions aren’t their only character traits! The human psycho is creature that possesses myriad desires, everyday grumbles, romantic relationships, favourite colours, cherished memories or petty rivalries. When those traits are built up into a convincing portrait of humanity, only to have that quite likeable human do something awful, it leaves a lasting, valuable impression.

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What’s the value of all of this dithering over value? Why can’t a reader just shriek at the silliness of a cannibalistic axe-murdering outcast, and not have to worry about petty humanity?

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You certainly can. Despite what some critics might say, I don’t believe that the monstrous psycho is actively harmful trope. When it comes to cultural issues such as mental health representations, writers of the Norman Bates types could be accused of Othering a vulnerable community. However, I believe the reader is already complicit in a central suspension of disbelief merely by engaging with such an overdramatic character. In other words, if readers don’t take the psycho’s central purpose as a scare seriously, how could they possibly derive any meaningful ideas from it?

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So, no. The monstrous psycho isn’t bad. It’s just that the alternative is so much better.  The human psycho that commits monstrous actions doesn’t avoid important questions by putting on clown shoes.  This psycho actively confronts contemporary issues, and attempts to add something important to the discussion. To return to Lullaby, its own psycho is based on a real world counterpart. This counterpart was convicted for a perceived irresponsibility for her own mental health problems, blamed for not seeking adequate treatment. There are myriad problems with this judgement, not the least of which being that it assumes a universal desire for self-care that simply isn’t present in healthy humans, let alone the mentally ill. With many avoiding healthcare consultations for even serious physical problems, how can we expect better diligence for those dealing with much more stigmatised issues?

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Psychos like Lullaby’s Louise can dance around questions of blame, or right and wrong, and instead promote nuanced understanding. Done correctly, the psycho can be a case study of a pertinent human issue. It can be a thorough and sensitive exploration of psychosis and psychopathy.  

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Why is this important?

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Elements of psychopathy are present in commonly diagnosed mental illnesses. While psychosis is not only commonly diagnosed, it is a broad enough definition that it could be said to be affecting anybody with a radical belief.  What this shows is that mental illness is a fact of living, as much as physical ailments. And what makes the human psycho so compelling? They’re an honest reflection of this uncomfortable fact of life. Acceptance of unsettling realities like these is necessary not only for a better genre, but for future social progress. 

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In the words of the charming Mr. Norman Bates:

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“We all go a little mad sometimes.”