The All-American Psycho
A Review of American Psycho (2000)
By Mark Slade
In this column, “From the Grave,” we talk quite a bit about the 1980s. Review movies from the yesteryears of the VCR and boom box, the days of Phil Collins straining his vocal chords and Alex Keaton appearing on our small screens on the TV show “Family Ties.” We discuss films made in that time period, but this is a first: a film set in the 1980s. Yeah, we’re going dive into the bloody and seedy world of Patrick Bateman, a wealthy stock exchange trader and mass murderer.
American Psycho (2000) is Mary Harron’s masterpiece (she directed I Shot Andy Warhol and The Notorious Betty Page) and I bet she never intended it to be more than a campy horror flick with buckets of blood. Instead she drives home a great satire about shallow, witless people who only care about money and “fitting in.” Yeah, that pretty much sums up the ‘80s.
The film begins with Bateman (Christian Bale, Batman/Dark Knight trilogy, Empire of the Sun) and his buddies having lunch at one of many exclusive restaurants, talking about people they know, or barely know, and laying down credit cards to pay five-hundred-dollar meals. Bateman is all about the visage, and cares less about the inner beauty. He narrates the film from time to time, letting audience know he cares about Patrick Bateman more than any other human being. He has a girlfriend Evelyn (Reese Witherspoon, Freeway, Walk the Line) who annoys him with talk of wedding plans and other useless nonsense. Bateman rarely listens to her and to drown her out, he makes sure he has his Walkman playing Robert Palmer.
Later, we meet the man that Bateman and his buddies most want to be when they grow up: Paul Allen (Jared Leto, Requiem for a Dream, Fight Club). At one point, they all sit around and admire each other’s business cards until they see Allen’s. Bateman nearly has a mental breakdown looking at the off-white and stern bold black type on the flimsy card stock. After that episode, we see Bateman’s utter disgust for the poor and needy, when he accosts a homeless man and his dog. Offering him money, job market advice as well as informing the down and out fella that he stinks and has a bad attitude, before stabbing him several times. Then turning to the dog and kicking it to death.
It was already established that Bateman was a piece of shit because of outlook on being an individual, but that scene was the exclamation point on sadly what you read or hear about most serial killers; their lack of humanity.
When this movie is up and funny and satirical to the bone, Harron has to shift to the darkness and boy, does it get dark.
You find yourself laughing at the wrong times as well. Such as when Bateman kills Paul Allen with an axe while listening to “Hip To Be Square” by Huey Lewis and the News, babbling on about the significance of the lyrics and complaining that most people don’t listen to the, because it’s such a catchy tune. Bateman throws the body in an overnight bag and is dragging it to a taxi when one of his colleagues shows up, the dreaded Luis, who seems to be everywhere Bateman doesn’t want him to be. “Where did you get that bag!?” Luis has an orgasm. Bateman is annoyed and replies, “Jean Paul Gottier!” He goes to Paul Allen’s apartment and is impressed and jealous by the fact it overlooks central park. He packs a suitcase for Allen, and creates a message for his phone machine telling anyone who calls that he’s gone to London.
The story cuts to Bateman exercising to a woman screaming. We already know Bateman has a porn addiction and naturally assume that’s what’s on TV. The camera pulls back and reveals that he is exercising to Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Detective Kimball (Willem Defoe, Last Temptation of Christ, To Live and Die in L.A.) appears. Allen’s family and girlfriend has hired Kimball to investigate Allen’s disappearance. During an uncomfortable interrogation, we see areas where Bateman makes mistakes and even through his cool exterior, his nervous exchange with Kimball would have to set off alarms.
The next scene has Bateman buying a prostitute. He takes her to his apartment, has her bathe in expensive soaps and gives her expensive champagne. Bateman calls an escort service to buy another girl for his threesome, even going so far as order a blonde. “I can’t express enough: blonde, I want a blonde.” When the second girl arrives, Bateman is disappointed that she wasn’t “Blonde enough and more of a dirty blonde.” He calls the first girl into the living room and he wants them to ask him what he does for a living. They don’t want care, but soon realize its part of his fantasy and asks how much he makes, where he curtly tells them both, “That’s none of your business.” He takes them both to the bedroom, and gives them a dissertation on Phil Collins and Genesis. Minutes later he breaks out the video camera and makes his own porn with the prostitutes. Bateman is all about himself. Mugging for the camera while having sex, kissing his muscles when he flexes them, telling the girls to wave at the camera. It’s as close to Patrick Bateman having sex with Patrick Bateman.
We have to talk about another scene. It’s stuck in my head years after I first saw it. Bateman wearing a flesh mask and chasing a prostitute down a flight of stairs wielding a chainsaw. Not only is that a tremendous scene, but it is also the most chilling scene, as well as the end of that part where he aims the chainsaw (while it’s still running) and drops it on target, killing the prostitute.
This film is a who’s who of 1990s-2000s independent film actors, including Josh Lucas, Chloë Sevigny, Samantha Mathis, Cara Seymour, Justin Theroux. It was chosen out of three scripts, one which was written by Brett Easton Ellis, which is based on his book. I read that book and this is one of the few cases that the movie is better than the book—much, much, much better. There’s more depth and humor and pulls the story together. When the book was released, it caused tons of controversy, none of which was needed, nor warranted the attention, but now I am glad it did—cause Hollywood came knocking. If it didn’t, Harron would not have come up with such a terrific film. The ending is not Hollywood-esque at all. I won’t tell you much more to because I don’t want to spoil things for those who have not seen this film. Harron is a competent writer/director (except for I Shot Andy Warhol, not a big fan of it) and makes choice decisions on subject matter along with her writing partner Guinevere Turner. The soundtrack was scored by the great John Cale with songs by David Bowie, New Order, The Cure and of course Mr. Phil Collins. A special edition was released in 2005, and a terrible sequel starring Mila Kunis, and there’s talk the FX will develop a TV series with Patrick Bateman in his 50s. Not sure how well that will turn out. My have times changed when a good part of the industry wouldn’t touch the material with a ten-foot pole.
