American Psycho 2000
by
Mary Harron
26 years after the film was released and 35 years after
Bret Easton Ellis’ novel was published, Christian Bale’s Patrick Bateman played
still gives the creeps. The film mercilessly trolled consumerism like David
Fincher’s Fight Club, written by Chuck Palahniuk did, but while Ed Norton’s
yuppie evoked a bit of sympathy, Bale does not allow Bateman any soft landing
or chance at redemption. No sir, he’s going straight to hell. A villain who is
disappointed on finding out that the man he had supposedly murdered still lives.
Bale, and the director, Marry Harron, were ousted from the film at one point, even
as Leonardo DiCaprio and Oliver got attached to it, but looking back, Bale commands
a sort of natural meanness and risk-taking ability that DiCaprio with his boyish
charm and huge fan following cannot match.
Patrick Bateman, a top corporate executive, wore a carefully-curated
consumerist mask over a savage killer’s face.
“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of
abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And
though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh
gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably
comparable... I simply am not there.”
He might have been too far gone, but he was not an island
of unrest in an ocean of sanity. Yuppies (young urban professionals of 80s) were
pretty jealous of each other’s fancy possessions and new acquisitions. A friend’s
increased relevance or a rival’s raised level of access filled them with
anxiety. A colleague’s gold embossed executive card printed in finer font was
an object of envy! The thought of a competitor landing a reservation in a
lounge that you could not was unbearable? An acquaintance’s park-facing apartment,
obviously more expensive, gave Bateman momentary panic! Drawing inspiration
from Tom Cruise, Bale portrayed a man who conveyed ‘very intense friendliness with
nothing behind the eyes’.
He had a fiancé, but they had no real connection. Resse
Witherspoon was as self-centred and materialistic as he was. They did get
together occasionally, even made some conversation, but did not actually talk
to each other. She habitually nagged about marriage until he casually evaded the
topic by pretending to be irritated at which point she put it off with casual
abandon. It was not just that they’re not serious about it, rather marriage did
not hold any meaning for these slick operators. Imagine trying to break up with
a confession about murderous tendencies, telling your fiancé that she was not
terribly important to you and finally rushing out with an excuse like “I have
to return some videotapes”.
That’s a cold line about videotapes. Throughout the film,
Bateman talked about various music labels, videotapes and albums, whenever
bloodlust took over him, describing Huey Lewis’, Phil Collins’ and Whitney
Houston’s discography in great detail with fervent passion. Gourmet food, spic-span
dressing, quality music juxtaposed with beautiful faces, glowing flesh and lots
of blood and violence, with complete lack of empathy is what American Psycho is
all about.
Was Patrick Bateman actually a killer, or did he merely wish
to cause bloodbath around himself? Was he schizophrenic in the extreme? This
theory assumes importance since he was often addressed with other names. All empathy within him had
died, despite him claiming that ‘he was in touch with humanity’. There was no
catharsis, no anodyne, no redemption for him. Even his confessional had no utility
for anyone. He bowed out with the following words which expressed the horror of
his existential condition-
“There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the
uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have
caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is
constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I
want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after
admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and
I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my
telling. This confession has meant nothing.”
After watching American Psycho multiple times (no one can watch it once.
It is either left midway during the first viewing or is watched now and then,
as per taste), it is no longer possible to ignore the murmur of murders and executions
when someone utters mergers and acquisitions. Every time I visit an ATM
machine, I check the screen for ‘Feed me a Stray Cat’ message. Then I jut out
my mouth to mimic Patrick Bateman’s jaw-cut. A mean smile escapes my eyes. I’m
no different, then, from the man who confessed “I like to dissect
girls. Do you know I’m utterly insane”.
Marry Harron, the director did a wonderful job on the
script too, with Guinevere Turner, to turn an unfilmable sort of novel into a
fine film. Of course, the material was strong, and Christian Bale bared it all
to become the American Psycho, yet a lot of credit must go to the screenplay. The
ever-reliable William Dafoe, wonderful Jared Leto, Justin Theroux, Josh Lucas
and Resse Witherspoon have done their bit. There is ‘no one way’ of watching and
comprehending this film. It is at once a celebration of western luxury and an
indictment of western self-centredness. It sells, yet mocks, consumerism, debauchery
and violence, and can be considered as a documentation of man’s loneliness and
death of his feelings, and his cry for help.
#netflix #christianbale #ressewitherspoon #jaredleto
#williamdafoe #ameanpsycho #breteastonellis #consumerism #cultfilm #hollywood
#maryharron #confessional #violence #serialkiller #yuppie #loneliness
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