“Psycho.” Directed by Gus Van Sant. Written by Joseph Stefano, based on a novel by Robert Bloch. Running time: 100 minutes. Rated R (for brief nudity and bloody violence).

So, then, let’s dispense with the Gus work: Gus Van Sant’s shot-for-shot, line-by-line retread of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho” is hardly a cut above the original. If anything, the experience is surreal, confounding, not exactly terrible, mind you, but also not unlike Beatlemania in its inept attempt to recreate the work of genius.

Indeed, it is precisely the Gus work that bogs down what never should have been mimicked, but instead interpreted to reflect the passing of 38 years and the changing tastes of film audiences.

Unfortunately, this new “Psycho,” which Van Sant says he made in homage to Hitchcock, is essentially 100 minutes of non-stop mimicry. But there can be no looseness in such mimicry, no spontaneity or freshness, which hurts acting that comes off as being staged because it is staged (Van Sant and his actors watched scenes from the original immediately before recreating those scenes).

There are other problems, most of which stem from Van Sant’s insistence on using Hitchcock’s original script, while nevertheless choosing to set his film in 1998. As a result, the actors are forced to speak dialogue that sounds ridiculously dated.

No one talks like these people, which Anne Heche, who plays Marion Crane, apparently understands only too well; during pivotal scenes, she wears a thin, ironic smile that seems to suggest her discomfort. It can be so difficult to watch, you actually feel for her even before she gets butchered in that shower — which, for Heche, must have come as something of a relief.

The film, naturally, has its share of psychotic elements, none of which is more disturbing than the casting of Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates. Vaughn, a large man, has none of the birdlike charm, none of the restraint and certainly none of the immediate likability of the man who made the character famous: Anthony Perkins. The problem isn’t just Vaughn’s size, which can be jarring in a role that demands delicacy on all levels, but that he doesn’t fully understand Norman’s madness, which shows in his portrayal of the man as giggling caricature.

The few liberties Van Sant took with the script seem to suggest that he himself doesn’t fully understand Hitchcock, as his changes are manufactured not to give added psychological depth or complexity to the story, but to reach a core audience of teens: Norman masturbates noisily before killing Marion (an unnecessary inclusion that destroys the intended tension); the shower scene, while well done, is more graphic; and Heche does a fleeting nude scene.

The film is shot in color, but it should surprise no one that Hitchcock’s original, in spite of having been filmed in stark black and white, remains colorful in ways that Van Sant could only dream.

Grade: D

Video of the Week

“Psycho.” Directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Written by Joseph Stefano, based on a novel by Robert Bloch. Running time: 109 minutes. No rating.

In Hitchcock’s hands, “Psycho” was precisely the jolt audiences needed in 1960 to prepare for less timid times. It appeared in theaters during a period when Doris Day was considered sexy in bubble-bath repose, “Father Knows Best” was popular on television, and the idea of flushing a toilet on screen — as “Psycho” was the first film to do — was more cause for concern with censors than the brutal butchering of a naked woman by a psychotic’s unsteady hand.

Still, art has always found ways to press against the boundaries, to shake the foundation with a firmly pushed envelope. Hitchcock’s film pushed by taking risks — both thematically and stylistically. His film isn’t great because of that shower scene, but because of these risks — and his close attention to character.

Indeed, “Psycho” is about disconnected individuals trying to connect. There is struggle here, pain beneath the surface. Marion Crane is desperate to connect with a married man who cannot commit because he himself is disconnected from his marriage, his life, his moral ground. Norman Bates, the most disconnected of all, has literally split from himself; yet when he meets Marion, instinct has him reach out. He offers her food, conversation, only to viciously murder her when she rejects him.

In the film world, the fatal cost of the disconnect has rarely been so powerful.

Grade: A

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear each Monday in the NEWS. Each Thursday on WLBZ’s “News Center 5:30 Today,” he reviews what’s new and worth renting in video stores.