American Psycho is a film I like to use to test people with: Either someone likes it or they don’t. If they say they don’t care for the movie, they’re disqualified on general principle. However, if they give it a thumbs up, they still haven’t passed, they have to tell me why. The “A” answer is “It was funny.” This means that if they understood the black humor, more likely than not, they got the meaning of the work as a whole and agree with it as such.
I cannot consent to anyone who doesn’t see the beauty in the work for what it is (regardless if they like it or not, some, I’ve heard, call this appreciation). American Psycho is a great satire in the vein of Dr. Strangelove which whose main tract is megalomania set during its representative peak–The “Me” decade of the 1980’s.
But the cunning nature of the film is putting forth a man whose professional front is such a superficial facade that, in order to relieve the stress of being perfect at all times by society’s decree, he must kill at night. And, as far as plot goes, that’s the gist of the film but how the director, Mary Harron, goes about bringing Bret Easton Ellis’s novel of the same name to the screen is an entirely different matter altogether.
Now, I will state that the ending (and trust me, there’s no way I’m ruining anything for you here due to how the plot unravels) however ambiguous it may be to some, is a work of genius in that it creates, for the first time in my recollection, an unreliable narrator on film (just think, by the end of the movie you realize you watched a horror movie where no one actually got killed!). Yes, what Patrick Bateman (insert a modern date Bates without hesitation and you’re on the right path) will not acknowledge is that he doesn’t have the spine to take out his aggressions on those whom he is jealous. (The buffered ego, not only of Bateman but of all the cast–thus all members of society, is well symbolized via the hideous shoulder pads in all the designer suits throughout.) Hell, I even had someone put forth the notion that Bateman, due to his knowledge of the firm is actually a janitor only able to see the other side of the pasture. Perhaps . . .
For those who dissent, many fall off the train when it takes a sharp turn to the left when four members of the firm produce their business cards during a meeting. These nay sayers miss the humor of Bateman being so concerned over their social persona and reputation that he has a nervous breakdown (I read where Bale sweat on command–now that’s talent) merely because Luis Carruthers (Matt Ross) declares his card has a watermark even though there is no discernable difference between any of the cards. (I swear I cannot see a watermark!) Never mind the fact that the job titles of all four read Vice President. At this point, if the humor is lost, the subtle question of “Hey now, something’s not right here,” is a moot point.
Other flashing lights that scream not everything’s in its place as it should be (which are all humorous in their contexts) include the faux pas that most every character in the film refers to Bateman by a different name. Bateman, when chasing a prostitute, Elizabeth (Guinevere Turner–also co-writer of the screenplay), through the hallways of a high-rise apartment complex (the former nude with the exception of exceptionally white tennis shoes¾killing is athletic, after all) with a running chainsaw in tow, fails to arouse attention of anyone in the building. When Carruthers spots Bateman dragging a bag obviously containing a corpse (complete with blood trail) through the apartment building, he inquires about who the designer of the bag is, not its glaring contents (the threat of bodily harm comes second only to being seen in the right threads–I suppose it would be taboo then to be “caught dead” in something unfashionable). And, if nothing else, the theme of illusion and narrative deceit is the first thing we see during the opening credits: A dripping red fluid passes the screen as a butcher knife descends. The camera pans down to reveal a plate of delicately prepared sliced beef in a raspberry sauce.
I suppose the true horror is not the fact that people like Bateman surround us everyday because, as we are assured, they lack the will power to act upon their convictions. What is scary is the nature to which consumerism controls society, making it the superficial playground for the “haves” while the “have nots” are left to either drool in wanton admiration or be forced into a state of apathy due to perpetual yawning. Some horrors will never go out of style . . .
-Egregious Gurnow
- Interview with Director David DeFalco (Chaos) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actor Nathan Baesel (Behind the Mask: ROLV) - January 22, 2015
- An Interview with Bentley Little - January 22, 2015
- So You Want to Be a Movie Critic, Heh? - January 22, 2015
- Fearful Meditations: An Annotated Bibliography of Studies in Horror Cinema - January 22, 2015
- I Can’t Discuss Glen Morgan’s New Film, [Censored] [Censored], Because Liberty Counsel Says It’s Rude: Race, Religious Tolerance, Ethics, and Aesthetics and the 21st Century Holiday Horror Film - January 22, 2015
- Roger Ebert’s Bloody Ax: An Examination of the Film Critic’s Elitist Dismissal of the Horror Film by Michael “Egregious” Gurnow - January 22, 2015
- Defending the King: An Examination of Academia’s Reaction to Stephen King Being Awarded the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters - January 22, 2015
- Zarathustra . . . Cthulhu . Meursault: Existential Futility in H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Call of Cthulhu” - January 22, 2015
- The Evil - January 18, 2015
