Psycho is now a long-established name in the horror movie Hall of Fame, but, as Hitchcock reveals, it was not seamless in the making. Hitchcock details the life and love interests of the eponymous protagonist, the ever-mysterious and moody Alfred Hitchcock, and his battles on and off set to see his visions come to life. From having spats with producers to playing Peeping Tom around his infamous blondes, Hitchcock’s personal and professional struggles as the ultimate sinister puppeteer are brought to life in a way that is neither entirely convincing nor truly resonant of Hitchcock’s unique and bold style.

Both the portrayal of long-suffering Alma Reville (Helen Mirren) and the ultimate enigma, Hitch himself (Anthony Hopkins) were disappointingly one-dimensional. Very little about their characters was anything more than explicit or crude. The depiction of Hitchcock as an obsessive, misogynistic, self-satisfied alcoholic felt like the result a series of very lazily-made decisions. This monotonous, predictable characterisation was made all the more painful by its striking contrast with the film’s concern with Hitch’s own movie-making, which was only constrained by the ambition and boldness of its ideas versus the creative freedom available at the time. As such, the bland Alma and Quasimodo-like caricature of Hitchcock were shown up by the potential for what they could have been – every bit as dynamic, complex and dark as Hitchcock’s output.

Hitchcock suffers greatly from its lack of clear focus. Whether its intention was to reveal the domestic dramas chez Hitchcock, the ironic struggle for funding for Psycho, Hitchcock’s unhealthy preoccupation with his leading ladies or simply to act as some kind of celebration for this renowned figure was not signposted with any boldness. The personal inflections of the closing sequences arguably suggest the film was aimed to reveal the romantic, intimate side of Hitchcock – yet this seems a trite, incongruous, throwaway ending against a film otherwise preoccupied with a myriad of problems and difficult personalities. It is also problematic given the film’s obsession with its demonic picture of Hitchcock, which leaves little room for Hopkins’s character to believably show any selflessness.

The broad, clumsy brushstrokes used to depict Hitchcock’s life leave a lack of nuance and intrigue in many aspects of the film. Many features and characteristics seem overtly and infuriatingly explicit. Various hints are already made at Hitchcock being self-congratulating and flamboyant before a personalised towel set is shown flapping above his head in his bathroom; making this detail seem gauche and unnecessary. In a similar way, dressing Hitchcock in monochrome outfits for the entirety of the film makes his choice of a Van Gogh tie needlessly obvious – this moment ceases to become a subtle hint at his self-destructive nature as a troubled artist, and instead exposes the film’s tendency to miss the mark of creating mystique and suspense.

While attempting to tackle both a knotty, sinister subject and protagonist, Hitchcock seems nevertheless intent on presenting itself as a fairy-tale. His life seems worthy of a biopic, and his tangled love life definitely warrants enquiry, but no aspect seems adequately approached in this film. Although Hitchcock is watchable and sporadically quite entertaining, its main offence is to be excessively bland. This seems mainly to be the result of its lack of purpose, meaning Hitchcock’s characterisation seems half-hearted, and its structure is disappointingly watery. Perpetuating the film’s sluggish and superficial nature are stinging undercurrents of Hitchcock’s own film-making mastery – would this vague, glossy presentation of the Master of Suspense be a film he would be willing to put his name to? Given at least two women live until the end, probably not.