Utmost envy washed over me after seeing an interview with Joseph Stefano, the scriptwriter for Psycho (1960). I think this is one of the better anecdotes I've heard about artistic creation. He recalled the film's immediate post-production phase as they began to sort through the film stock. Shortly thereafter they screened a first run-through as Stefano sat in great anticipation next to the great director. When it was finished, Hitchcock looked at the young writer and asked him what he thought. Stefano, disappointed and not wanting to lie to the man, told him it was "awful." Hitch smiled and said "I know, but it's only a rough cut." So they synchronized a few things in, touched-up a few other details and gave it a second run-through. Stefano felt that it was better, but still just an OK picture. At that point he started to sweat and wondered if the film was going to be a failure. For a fourth screening, this time Hitchcock played the film for him with music. This changed everything. "When I heard it, I nearly fell out of my chair," he said. At that precise moment in the interview, it cut to a shot of Marion Crane's rain-soaked car speeding in the night to Herrmann's chilling string-score. It was a thrilling little chain of events, particularly the way Stefano remembered it. It should be seen, though, and not explained.
I imagine such a feeling would be tough to beat. We see our kids born; we meet lovers; we might get drunk at a bar mitzvah. All exciting rites of life, to be sure. But how does one prepare for a moment of real creation?
