5 out of 5

Directed by: Mary Harron

Less Than Zero was my jam. It was my first Bret Easton Ellis book, and still the one I’d consider his best, though it’s been a long while since I’ve traveled down those roads.

I found it, very fittingly, in a used book store near a college campus, and was drawn in by its garish rad 90s cover (an updated version of the 3D-bespectacled cover of the original) and surely some latent awareness of BEE being transgressive. While folks around me were getting groovy to Tom Robbins, I turned up my nose in a cool kid sneer and went searching for books that made me feel like shit. Less Than Zero very much fit that bill.

American Psycho was absolutely next. I got a copy that had a sticker mentioning an upcoming film… and I’ll skip over the bit where I of course claimed to have read every Bret Easton Ellis book way before I’d finished Less Than Zero (“oh, it’s a great book; I’m reading it again”), then feigned familiarity when someone who had read American Psycho recounted a scene – I was an idiot then, and arguably still am – but the real race was to finish the book before seeing the movie, and I did without much time to spare, going on opening night, and… I was conflicted.

The book did its duty of transgression, but it didn’t hit me as much as Less Than Zero. LTZ’s graphic moments actually gave me pause; American Psycho just kinda felt like – yeah, I get it. Conceptually, I loved it, but the execution felt acceptable. I’d be curious to reread it now, a couple+ decades older, mind you.

But anyway: the movie was phenomenal. And that’s tough. Because Bret Easton Ellis was floating about in the me-o-sphere as one of my favorite writers, and surely American Psycho was one of his masterpieces (it wasn’t really clear to me how to effectively negatively critique one thing and like another from a single author at that point), and yet this film – which changed some things, for shame! – seemed to nail all of the themes of the book and then some. It was the concept, and the execution, and then additive elements from co-writer / director Mary Harron that felt kind of pulled out of the novel as opposed to tacked on to it, as though this was how the story was intended to be written the whole time. Whoops.

I have managed to reread Less Than Zero since then, and some of Ellis’ later works at a time when I could better absorb them, and, y’know, they’re okay. LTZ still felt / feels the most pure. American Psycho the movie, meanwhile, has never lost its impact; has never dimmed in its precision – its every shot and performance spot-on. John Cale’s soundtrack absorbingly balanced between playful and angular; 90s DP extraordinaire Andrzej Sekuła pitched the perfect sheen between slimy and shiny; the production design tells its story lock-step with the narrative; and so on. And just as Harron (alongside cowriter Guinevere Turner) brought forth other elements that weren’t inherent in the original text, the movie is such that it evolves with the times, and with times in my (and presumably others’) life: struggling with concepts of masculinity, identity, accomplishment; working for the angry 00s, the complacent 2010s, the fearful 2020s – which we’re halfway through as of this writing, and the movie’s references to Trump, combined with the character of Patrick Bateman syncing up with some modern day fitness influencers, stings in the best of ways…

A fellow movie patron remarked on needing to shield their eyes during viewing American Psycho, and that’s not an uncommon response. This is proof of its effectiveness, at least in regards to its violence: which is very much not on screen, but is implied – in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre way – by its tone, and performances. But damn, saying that undersells how goddamned funny this is, and that combo, 100% realized by Christian Bale and Harron (who fought for the actor’s casting exactly because he understood that) is why the movie works: it’s shot and scored essentially like a horror thriller, but it allows its main character to be ridiculous, while he thinks he’s being manly, and threatening. And often he is, but he’s also flexing in the mirror while doing the sex; he’s running around with his chainsaw naked, except for socks.

American Psycho is set in the 80s, focused on Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale), apparently a daytrader at Pierce & Pierce, but no work is discussed: his day is composed of making dinner plans, and being confused for other slick-haired, nice-suited white boys at his firm. Also, he’s maybe a murderer, and appears to be getting more and more flagrant with his crimes as it becomes apparent that there’s nothing much stopping him from doing so…

This could be a standard, cheapie “psychological” horror flick, as we come to question Bateman’s grasp on matters throughout, and Harron and crew surely embrace that. But cut such a movie with a keen eye on critiquing everything that 80s abundances typified and underlined – and that really just continued on into the 90s and beyond in various ways. Having female writers and director helped to smooth out the takedown of manhood that was already part of the book, by almost making it more sympathetic… by making it more pathetic. It’s not anti-male, though, if you fear for that; cringe instead at the movie being celebrated in some man circles for Bateman’s hustle-bro nature, then uncringe when you realize this was 2000 – years ahead of that term having the meaning it would in the social media years, evidence of the movie’s ongoing relevance, and why I’ll continue to revisit it time and again before I ever get back to the book.