Reclaiming American Psycho
American Psycho (2000) has been immortalised in popular culture, claiming cult film status since its release. Co-writer and director Mary Harron is without a doubt the unsung hero of what has become a staple and a criticism of modern masculinity from both sides of the political spectrum. The tale of Patrick Bateman (played by Christian Bale) and his murderous misogyny were originally adapted from the novel of the same name, written by Bret Easton Ellis and published in 1991.
The film and book follow Patrick Bateman, a serial killer and Wall Street Investment Banker, constantly relishing in his own upper class comfort, specialising in murders and executions. The book contains far more in-depth and violent scenes of rapes, molestation and necrophilia amongst other things. Harron and co-writer Guinevere Turner (who stars as Elizabeth in the film) took Ellis’ Bateman and over 300 pages of his internal monologue’s constant, obsessive ramblings, and crafted them into a hilarious satirical commentary of vapid capitalistic masculinity that only grows more relevant with time.
The film, and thus by proxy the book, have become a staple of ‘film bro’ culture. Recognised as a cornerstone of its own sub-category of film bro, American Psycho is paired with Fight Club (1999) and A Clock Work Orange (1971) under the category of “cause-for-concern” film bro: A dude who idolises the controversial and often misogynistic protagonists of these cult classics, entirely missing the criticism that is quite clearly offered within the films. It is only fitting a film crafted by a self-proclaimed feminist writer and director, who has consistently stated her own intention of the material - is naturally and bitterly stripped of its original intention as feminist art and criticism, to be rebranded as a toxic masculinity guide book by the very thing it critiques, still 20 years after its release. The patriarchy operating as it has been designed has allowed for the work of Harron to be forgotten or simply ignored, not by men and mainstream culture, but by feminist critics, academics and film fans.
The lens in which the film is viewed has blurred the lines of recognition, causing one of the greatest horror films ever made to become disconnected from its intended audience. It’s not to say that Harron didn’t intend for American Psycho to be viewed by the masses or acclaim cult status, although it cannot be ignored that her perspective lead to an adaptation entirely filtered through a feminist perspective, Harron’s own female gaze. Who is to say what kind of American Psycho would have spawned if Harron didn’t take the wheel? It might not be one with such supreme satirical execution, providing the book with a layer of depth entirely inaccessible to the reader.
Turner and Harron wrote a script that was selected over a script written by Ellis himself, but Harron also fought for the film she wanted to be made, reviving the project twice. Lionsgate proved difficult and removed her from the project, seeking to replace Christian Bale with Leonardo DiCaprio, who quickly dropped the project in order to film The Beach (2000). Harron was once again approached to direct the project, and with Bale back on board, a feminist masterpiece was created.
The sheer care and attention to detail the film displays is beyond what many notable male directors have achieved after years of auteurship. The visual manifestation of Patrick Bateman was crafted through Harron’s vision and Bale’s impeccable execution of a hollow, closeted maniac. The Patrick we are shown on screen matches perfectly the corporate killer kid capitalism loves to birth to this day. The commentary Harron and Turner provide in the film directly combats and criticises the work of Ellis and his depiction of women, as well as imperceptibly adjusting Bateman in a way that becomes enjoyable to consume, even as women are hacked to pieces in front of our eyes.
Harron didn’t just bring her own aesthetic and gaze to the adaptation, Turner and herself filtered through the words of Ellis’ novel, refining Patrick Bateman and purifying aspects of his character whilst retaining the essence of pure consumerist soul rot that Bale encapsulates on screen. The underlying homoeroticism is far less aggressive than the book, providing an acute commentary on masculinity and its suppressive performances. Scenes of Patrick entirely not amused, blasting lesbian porn in the background as he pays no attention what so ever offer subtle glimpses into how masculinity operates as a never ending performance, one Harron’s Bateman performs and practises visually, and with far less vocal homophobia. This, paired with scenes of Patrick only checking himself out in the mirror as he has a threesome with two blonde sex workers, the constant use of ‘faggot’ and the utter fear when Luis Carruthers (known as P.B’s in the closet coworker) confesses his attraction for him, showcase that Patrick Bateman is so deeply in the closet, he is afraid of his own reality underneath the facade of his humanity. Everything in his life is consumable, expendable and replaceable, especially people. The only people he doesn’t murder are the ones who see him (Jean his secretary and Luis).
When filming scenes with Bateman and Detective Kimball (Willem Dafoe) Harron asked for the Detective to be portrayed in three different ways; the first as if Kimball knows Bateman killed his associate Paul Allen (Jared Leto), the second as if Kimball has no clue about the murder, and the final being as if Kimball was unsure whether Bateman chopped up his colleague. Harron then edited together multiple takes to ensure it was impossible for the audience to gauge the Detectives level of suspicion. Its personal tailoring such as this provoked the liberation of American Psycho from its own patriarchal constraints. Constructing a consuming atmosphere is the key to some of the film’s most influential scenes. The business card scene is an arguably unparalleled critique of vacuous capitalism, with seldom any films comparing in such comically absurd timing, camp imagery and tension.
Now, the overall point being made here isn’t necessarily new or groundbreaking. It’s a statement which has been uttered time and time again by Harron and co-writer Turner - much to the dismissal and disinterest of the media cycle. Harron and Turner redeem the whole story as a work of art and as a piece of social commentary. As proclaimed by great feminist writer Audre Lord, it is our responsibility to declare and proudly claim the works of women, however they artistically transpire. One of the most powerful things we can do as feminist critics, writers and film lovers, is consume, share and examine our own works. Mary Harron and Guinevere Turner have long been marginalised when acknowledging the legacy and influence of American Psycho. No longer do film bros lay claim to a work that criticises aspects of their own existence. Harron and Turner did what Ellis did not; transformed Patrick Bateman from a ridiculous, grim shell of a human being, into a queerly beloved anti-hero, a beacon of comical horrific relief under the constant rain of commercial capitalism and the inescapable oppressions it drenches us in.
Kelsie Dickinson (She/Her) is a super gay freelance film critic and staff writer for Screen-Queens. She loves horror films but hates capitalism. She recently obtained her masters in Film & TV Studies from the University of Glasgow. You can find her Twitter here.
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