The film of Brett Easton Ellis's infamous novel finally hit the silver screen in Oxford last Friday. The Ultimate Picture Palace, usually has to play second fiddle to The Phoenix when it comes to independent and art films, but this time pulled off quite a coup by gazumping its rival. Healthy competition between movie theatres can only be good for film fans if it leads to a greater diversity of films on offer each week.
Perhaps a little uncanny, then, that the film in question attempts to satirise the worst excesses of consumer capitalism through its 'protagonist', Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale). As readers of Ellis's novel will remember, Bateman is a thoroughly nasty piece of work, a Wall Street financier who entertains sadistic fantasies of physical and sexual violence, whilst wearing designer labels, working out and socialising with his frat-pack buddies.
The novel, despite its sustained imaginative recounting of the inner life of an archetypal '80s uber-yuppie, never quite got enough grip on its milieu to effectively function as satire. The director, Mary Hannon (I Shot Andy Warhol), and co-writer, Guinevere Turner (Go Fish), have astutely cherry picked from the novel and in the process have downplayed Ellis's obsession with gore whilst fore-grounding the black comedy inherent in their narcissistic lead. Christian Bale's blank performance oscillates perfectly between the psychotic and pathetic poles of the character. In a similar way, the writer/director retains the intimacy of a first person narrative whilst dropping the novel's obsession with fashion labels and graphic violence.
Hannon adopts a commendably restrained approach, refusing the novel's suspect voyeurism, without leaving us in any doubt as to the casual sadism and rampant misogyny of our narrator. American Psycho is certainly not for the squeamish but, rather like the infamous Driller Killer, its appeal cannot be reduced to the dubious charms of the 'nasty' sub-genre. The supporting performances are excellent, including Chloe Sevigny (Kids) as Bateman's innocent secretary who somehow escapes his clutches and Willem Dafoe as the detective on his tail. The set design effectively recreates 1980s interiors, whilst the sound track romps through some dire classics of the decade (Lady in Red, Hip to be Square and Sussudio deserve a mention). Most importantly, American Psycho, like most of Bateman's victims, is very well cut. If you live in East Oxford, catch it at the Ultimate Picture Palace this week to lessen the disquieting walk home.
Perhaps a little uncanny, then, that the film in question attempts to satirise the worst excesses of consumer capitalism through its 'protagonist', Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale). As readers of Ellis's novel will remember, Bateman is a thoroughly nasty piece of work, a Wall Street financier who entertains sadistic fantasies of physical and sexual violence, whilst wearing designer labels, working out and socialising with his frat-pack buddies.
The novel, despite its sustained imaginative recounting of the inner life of an archetypal '80s uber-yuppie, never quite got enough grip on its milieu to effectively function as satire. The director, Mary Hannon (I Shot Andy Warhol), and co-writer, Guinevere Turner (Go Fish), have astutely cherry picked from the novel and in the process have downplayed Ellis's obsession with gore whilst fore-grounding the black comedy inherent in their narcissistic lead. Christian Bale's blank performance oscillates perfectly between the psychotic and pathetic poles of the character. In a similar way, the writer/director retains the intimacy of a first person narrative whilst dropping the novel's obsession with fashion labels and graphic violence.
Hannon adopts a commendably restrained approach, refusing the novel's suspect voyeurism, without leaving us in any doubt as to the casual sadism and rampant misogyny of our narrator. American Psycho is certainly not for the squeamish but, rather like the infamous Driller Killer, its appeal cannot be reduced to the dubious charms of the 'nasty' sub-genre. The supporting performances are excellent, including Chloe Sevigny (Kids) as Bateman's innocent secretary who somehow escapes his clutches and Willem Dafoe as the detective on his tail. The set design effectively recreates 1980s interiors, whilst the sound track romps through some dire classics of the decade (Lady in Red, Hip to be Square and Sussudio deserve a mention). Most importantly, American Psycho, like most of Bateman's victims, is very well cut. If you live in East Oxford, catch it at the Ultimate Picture Palace this week to lessen the disquieting walk home.