by Rosalie Kicks, Old Sport & Editor in Chief

I have always had a soft spot for Anthony Perkins. Any time I see him on the sliver screen, I want to embrace him in a hug. This may seem odd (especially coming from me as I am notorious for not giving out hugs). Every movie I see him in, I feel he has an aura of sadness. I want to reach into the screen, clutch him, and tell him that everything is going to be OK.

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) is one of the reasons for my love of Perkins and it is also the reason for my love of cinema. It is a motion picture that I have watched countless times and always find necessary to pop into my DVD player when it is raining outside. Sometimes I mix it up and play a VHS tape. A few years back at a flea market I procured a film lot and discovered a tape that someone recorded Psycho on when it aired on TV, complete with late eighties commercials. I treasure this little time capsule. Maybe it is the familiarity with the movie due to viewing it so much, but I find it to be especially comforting. The main reason for this is Anthony Perkins.

It may seem peculiar to find a movie about a murderous motel proprietor that slays people while dressed as his mother soothing… but to each their own. Some people have Star Wars, I have Psycho. For me, the reason it has provided solace is because it is one of my first real connections to my fondness of movies. It is one of the first films I recall watching and having that aha moment: Well, now that is cinema! After reading Alonso Duralde’s wonderful book, “Hollywood Pride” I did find myself thinking about Psycho in a new light. After learning of Alfred Hitchcock’s exploitative tactics in utilizing Anthony’s sexuality for the gains of his film, I could not help but be overcome with sadness. At the time of filming, Anthony’s bisexuality was hidden. This was mainly due to his contract with Paramount Studios, whom he had signed with in 1955. Upon entering this agreement, Paramount had the goal to transform Perkins into what they referred to as their “last matinee idol”. They cast him in a series of teeny bopper flicks, when in reality he pined for serious roles.

Perkins often sparred with the president of Paramount over his sexuality and the relationship he had with fellow actor, Tab Hunter. The president abhorred Perkins’s gayness and even tried to convince him to enter into conversion therapy. Within the pages of “Hollywood Pride” Duralde provides hard truths about the toll it takes on an individual to be “in the closet” and the idea of essentially living two lives. To be forced to exist in this manner is not only exhausting, but demeaning. Eventually Perkins would buy himself out of his contract with Paramount, which took him overseas to France. During the early 1960s he starred in several European films.

It was not until a few years ago though that I learned that Anthony had dipped his toe into writing and directing. He directed two films, Psycho III (1986) and Lucky Stiff (1988). I have not seen Lucky Stiff, but am able to speak for Psycho III and feel it is a valiant effort. Apparently, Anthony was not too pleased with the results. However, for a first outing in the director’s chair, I find it to be quite impressive. It makes me wish that Anthony would have helmed more pictures. I will be bold in saying that the Psycho franchise is somewhat of a diamond in the rough that many people seem content with remaining ignorant of. Although, once uncovered, it is a series that makes you wish you found it sooner.

Similar sentiments could be said for Anthony’s lone writing effort with famed Broadway composer Stephen Sondheim entitled, The Last of Sheila (1973). I finally watched the film this month thanks to Duralde’s mention of it in “Hollywood Pride”. This flick tells the tale of a well-off film producer that invites a gaggle of his friends for a pleasure cruise and mystery game of sorts aboard his yacht one year after his wife (Sheila) was killed in a hit and run accident. All the invitees were present during Sheila’s demise as it occurred at a house party that she and her husband were hosting. The guests aboard the yacht include an actress, her talent-manager husband, talent agent, a screenwriter and his wife, and a director. This is a stacked cast of Hollywood legends including Richard Benjamin, Dyan Cannon, James Coburn, Joan Hackett, James Mason, Ian McShane, and Raquel Welch. Based on the ensemble alone, it is kind of incredible that it took me this long to watch (Don’t make the same mistake I did).

The Last of Sheila, was inspired by Perkins and Sondheim’s affinity for murder mystery parlor games and scavenger hunts. Apparently, the duo were known to host parties in the late 1960s and early 1970s inviting their friends to partake in these games of deception and subterfuge. After attending one of the parties, Herbert Ross (who would go on to direct The Last of Sheila) encouraged Perkins and Sondheim to pen a screenplay based on their antics. Together they managed to write a witty script complete with a queer spin. Inevitably the game the friends are playing turns dark, as secrets are revealed about each of them, including someone’s sexuality.

The most thrilling part about watching The Last of Sheila is experiencing the story as it plays out. This is such an inventive and creative whodunit that had me guessing through the entire runtime. For those that have watched and enjoyed Rian Johnson’s Knives Out films, it is not hard to see the inspiration he derived from The Last of Sheila while making his pictures. Anthony and Stephen won the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Motion Picture Screenplay for The Last of Sheila and had plans to collaborate again, but sadly the projects never came to fruition. Even with all the barriers and the control of his personal lifestyle by the studios, Perkins managed to achieve many accolades. I can’t help but think how much more Anthony Perkins would have accomplished if he would have been able to simply exist as himself.