American Psycho

I sit in bed and stare at my laptop screen, a pencil in my hand and a blanket up to my chin. Drops of blood plink down as credits flash by, accentuated by an orchestral strum. American Psycho, released in 2000, was directed by Mary Harron. Christian Bale, Reese Witherspoon, and Willam Defoe star in this (what I now realize) statement on American consumerism. As I watch the drops of blood turn into paint, the credits flash by. I realize that this is one of the few movies I've ever gone into knowing absolutely nothing about the plot. All I have to go on is the image of the DVD cover--an angry Christian Bale face next to a knife which reflects a rather slutty looking woman. What I did not expect was the horror I would feel simply by listening to Bale's voice, the shock that held my pencil unmoving for the entirety of the movie. Nor did I expect the confusion that tilted my head the last five minutes of the film. What began as a tedious narrative from Patrick Bateman (Bale) quickly turned into a nightmare of realization--this wasn't a normal man who went crazy. This was a man who understood his blood lust, his lack of human emotion and was able to control the release of his desires. It was the attempt at being "normal" that drove him into the arms of random killing.

American Psycho is narrated by Patrick Bateman, a yuppie in the middle of New York who relishes the 1980's culture that surrounds him. When the film begins, Batemen is seen in the shower as he depicts his morning exfoliating routine. The nice image of Bale's naked bum is ruined by the cocky, monotonous drone of the narrative--just a few sentences into the scene and I have this man pegged as a rich jackass. It isn't until he proclaims, "I am simply not there," that I become intrigued. I try to keep this statement in the back of my mind through the first 20 minutes of the film as I struggle to suppress the feeling of disappointment. . . until I realize Bale isn't actually doing a bad job of acting--he's doing a very good job of acting like a man who feels no emotion but is attempting to appear normal. Bateman goes through life as though playing a video game: to succeed at being normal, to succeed at life, he obsesses over the smallest details. He becomes enraged over having a business card that is just 'okay.' Having an apartment that is not as nice as the one belonging to his next victim causes him extreme stress. As he tells his 'supposed' fiance (Witherspoon), "I just want to fit in." To be, or have, less than the best means that he has lost. In order to continue with his extra curricular activities (you know, killing people), he must win at convincing people of his normality. After murdering a coworker and having violent sex with two prostitutes, Bateman appears to spiral into a violent depression. An investigator, Donald Kimbull (Dafoe) pokes around Bateman, investigating the death of the coworker--his appearance alone seems to begin to unhinge the killer. He loses control of his violent impulses, and after breaking up with his fiance, beings shooting people on the street. After blowing up a couple cop cars, he calls his lawyer and confesses; "I've killed 20, no, maybe 40 people. . . I've lost count!" Despite this confession made in hysterics, Bateman runs into his lawyer the next day who appears to believe it all some kind of a joke. I'll leave the ending as a bit of a surprise. . . because I'm not entirely sure what happens. What does seem to happen is this: Bateman confesses not only to the lawyer, but to others throughout the film of his violent intentions...but no one believes him. If that's not a comment on the self centered society of America, I don't know what is. Bateman ends the movie stating that none of it meant...anything.

And there in lies the big plot hole. I didn't discuss Dafoe's character much, but the fact is this: if Bateman had really wanted to be caught, telling the private detective would have been the way to go. His confession sure would have meant something at that point.

This movie far exceeded my expectations (mostly because I didn't really have any to begin with). Bale, who from the Batman movies has convinced me that he does have some talent, blew me away. Of course, it was all a matter of prospective. It took me understanding the character he was conveying--one without a handle on actual human emotion--to get that he wasn't sounding like a man who didn't know his way around a movie script. He was trying to sound exactly that. Witherspoon's roll paled in comparison as she rarely exceeds the bounds of her acting skill: the typical blonde, egocentric woman about to succeed...at getting married. Dafoe is always a delight, though it did strike me that he has played the roll of detective quite a lot in his acting career.

As for the other aspects of the film, music in particular, I barely noticed. The acting and the plot held me in such raptures that it was difficult to focus on the 80's music Bateman loved to review or the orchestral intervals. I think that the music did what it was supposed to do: stay out of the way. I didn't catch any editing or filming techniques that could have captured a scene in any particular way, those aspects were unremarkable. Again, the plot is what kept me riveted. It did not need the help of inventive camera angles.

In conclusion...this is a brilliant movie, and I definitely recommend it, though I may never watch it again. The uncomfortable feeling that gripped me throughout the film is not something I want to experience anytime soon, but in this case, that is a good thing. The movie conveyed Bateman's lack of feeling, his fascination with killing so well, that I have no desire to subject myself to that experience again. Being in the mind of a serial killer is like sitting through a documentary on concentration camps. You know it happened, you are sympathetic, but you don't want to feel like you are standing in line for your turn on the train.