The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans (2009)

THE ONLY CRIMINAL HE CAN'T CATCH IS HIMSELF

Some films you simply don’t think would ever really hit the remake track, and you’d certainly have to think of Bad Lieutenant as one of them. A story about the downfall of an amoral and reprehensible police officer, brought on by years of pent up religious guilt and instigated by a horrific sexual assault on a nun? Doesn’t exactly spring immediately to mind when thinking about what can bring in the box office. That said, Werner Herzog never really seemed to be one to take the easy road. Indeed, his other films are infamous for the difficulty in getting them made, involving stories of injured stuntmen, heated battles with actors, and indigenous shamans offering to murder his star… and that was just one film. Given this pedigree, he’s clearly the kind of person to accept that job.

In the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans police Sergeant Terence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) tries to rescue a prisoner from the flooded jail, but severely injures his spine in the process. For his heroism, he is promoted to Lieutenant; for his pain, he is given painkillers. He swiftly becomes addicted to both, cranking up his drug usage and abusing his position for personal gain. Only his prostitute girlfriend Frankie (Eva Mendes) offers him any kind of relief. When an African family of small-time dealers and their two children are executed, Terence is assigned to investigate, but he has some trouble in locating the one witness and building a case against those responsible.

There was a lot of controversy and caterwauling surrounding the news of an apparent sequel/remake to Bad Lieutenant, with none more viciously scathing than the creator of the original, Abel Ferrara. On hearing the plans to tackle that character again, Ferrara spoke openly to any media outlet that would listen, saying that, “I wish these people die in Hell. I hope they’re all in the same streetcar, and it blows up.” Harsh. He also took verbal swings at both Nicolas Cage and Werner Herzog, saying that they had no right to even attempt such an endeavour. Obviously, his ire was plentiful. However, when those same media folks questioned Werner Herzog about the ferocity of Ferrara’s words, his response was typical: “I have no idea who he is.” Clearly, Herzog knows that the best way to undermine the torrent of abuse from an angry person is to completely cut their legs out from under them, basically saying that they aren’t even on his radar.

Herzog always denied that the film was a remake, or a sequel, and actively fought for a name change, though without success. Apparently, he talked of it as a “rethought”, a spiritual cousin, a film that shared the same basic idea - a corrupt cop trying to stop his world from caving in - but taking it in a completely different direction. From this perspective, he’s correct. There’s little attempt to make something that bears resemblance to Ferrara’s gritty ‘Catholic guilt and redemption’ thriller. If anything, steps have been taken to distance the new film from the old. Where the original was a film slowed by the weight of religious metaphor and damnation, the new one is choked up on hallucinogens and hysterical mania.

Many critics have said that to try and compare the two is useless, as if it would like comparing a Swedish 1855 Three Skilling Banco stamp printed in yellow to an apple... and that’s pretty useless. I’m not sure I agree that it’s an entirely fruitless undertaking, although I do agree that it can get in the way of enjoying the film as is. I’ll consider this film on its own merits for now, but I’ll come back to this point later.

For The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans, the action has been shifted, as the title says, to the city of New Orleans, post-Katrina. This is a city that, in its current state, Nature seems to be trying to reclaim from its human populace. The effects of the water are still apparent, with a significant portion of residents having left for drier pastures, and the sense of a humid climate pervading the homes of those that stayed. Even the animal kingdom seems to be making its move. Iguanas are everywhere, and an alligator meets its end by being run over as it crossed the highway, all watched by a fellow reptile. In fact, the opening shot of the film sees a snake riding the waters into a waterlogged jail, kind of like it’s checking out its new digs, much to the distress of the lone prisoner they forgot to evacuate. And this is how we meet Terence McDonagh.

Because this one prisoner needed to be saved, and McDonagh was the only one willing to help, he ends up injuring himself badly. McDonagh messes his spine up, giving him a permanent hunch in his shoulders and a life-long pain problem, for which he gets medicated. You’d be tempted to think that this act of benevolence is evidence of McDonagh’s formerly good self, that he was a good man broken physically by an accident, and then corrupted by a dependence of painkillers. As it is, that’s not true. As the prisoner begs and pleads to be rescued, water already lapping around his neck, McDonagh shouts down that he doesn’t want to get his very expensive underwear dirty, and then starts making bets with his partner about how long before the water takes him. Yes, in the brief moments we see him before his accident, he’s still an amoral dick, just without the metaphorical spinal injury. He does come round and do the right thing, almost crippling himself doing so, and that would seem to be where his desire to do the right thing ends. Once burned, twice shy.

For the rest of the film, McDonagh is a hunched degenerate junkie and thoroughly abusive presence. He steals drugs from junkies, dealers and the police evidence room; he harasses a girl into masturbating him in a parking lot at gunpoint, whilst her boyfriend watches; he gets high on any drug going every chance he gets; he blackmails a local sports star to help him win; he even threatens to shoot an old woman, whilst cutting of the oxygen of another old woman, for information. He really is a nasty piece of work. However, there is some kind of balance to him. For all his corruption, he’s still a damn good cop; and he does find some solace in the arms of Frankie, his girlfriend. The fact that she’s a prostitute doesn’t bother him. She accepts him for his faults.

Throughout, Herzog’s tone in the film is one of a dark comedy, with a regular excursion into mild surrealism. Only someone like him would give a few minutes of the film to close-ups of alligators and iguanas as they stare back at us, the action having seemingly halted briefly in the background. There’s even a point later when, immediately after a shootout, McDonagh watches the soul of one of the fallen continue to breakdance until he’s shot again. It’s absurd, but hilariously so. And there’s also the feeling that he couldn’t care less about the story, which acts merely as an excuse to follow this very messed-up individual around. Nowhere is this more evident than in the giddy manner in which everything is tied up in about two minutes towards the end, every character grinning manically as they relay their news.

As Terence McDonagh, Nicolas Cage is better here than he had been in a long time. He’s always been one of the most fearless actors going, but this has often worked against him. Never one to shy away from intensity and going over the edge, this is an approach that saw him appear like some cackling maniac. However, this makes him the perfect choice for McDonagh. There are few other actors, if any that could match him for his sheer force of crazy. He really does offer a great unpredictability to proceedings, which is exactly what’s needed. In this role, for this director, Cage is outstanding.

Okay, I’ve stalled enough. I said before that I thought that there is something to be gained from a comparison. If we are going to compare the two films, what happens?

Ferrara’s film is a dark, grimy, very heavy film, driven by the torment of a bad soul shown the possibility of redemption. The concern with religion and guilt soaks the film through to the bone. The central character is so tortured primarily because he is so incredibly weak-willed, a defect that none can cure except for God. However, Herzog’s film steers clear of such concerns. His world is less dark and grimy, rather more possessed of a bright but still mottled, slightly rotten visual sensibility, almost like the damp has soaked into the lens. The use of religious iconography is still present, but to a far lesser degree, and in fact holds no sway over proceedings whatsoever. Although Herzog claims that he had never seen any of Ferrara’s work before, it’s almost as if he has consciously adopted an aspect of his film just to show how little it matters. This New Orleans is a city that God abandoned long ago, leaving it to the animals and criminals that chose to hang around. As such, any redemption experienced comes from the characters themselves, and not some deity. Just like McDonagh’s attempts to find a spoon hidden somewhere in his father’s shed, the ability to change comes from looking inward. Ferrara’s Bad Lieutenant is a moralistic film; Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant is a humanistic film. The two films don’t really rest comfortably side by side, but rather in opposition. As such, they can be considered as separate entities, but there is still an interesting exercise to be had in going over their differences.

The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans is a bracing and downright invigorating film, pervaded by a wonderfully dark humour, and holding an interesting treatise on a corrupt character that is driven by stirring and superb performance from Nicolas Cage. I tell you what, these bad cops sure make for some damn good watching.

Amores Perros (2000)

LOVE. BETRAYAL. DEATH.

Remember what Huey Lewis said about love? “It’s strong and it’s sudden and it can be cruel sometimes.” Well, Alejandro González Iñárritu would certainly seem to agree with that last bit. For his first feature film, Iñárritu would consider the stories of several different people, told along three interconnected storylines, and look at just how cruel love can be, particularly when some of those involved seem to be completely ignorant of how cruel they are actually being. Surely it works out that for one person to find happiness, another must find sadness and misery. How cruel can you really be to someone or something that you profess to love, and for what reasons would you really do that? That’s some pretty messed up power that love’s got, Huey.

The lives of three disparate individuals, each from a different social stance in society, become interconnected by a horrific car accident. Octavio (Gael García Bernal) wants to raise enough money so he can run away with his sister-in-law, and decides to enter his dog into dogfighting contests. After a fight goes bad, Octavio flees in his car, causing an accident in the process. Valeria (Goya Toledo)’s career as a model is destroyed when the accident costs her dearly. El Chivo (Emilio Echevarría) is a homeless man who cares for stray dogs and witnesses the collision.

The translation of this film’s title, Amores Perros, is ‘love’s a bitch’. For the characters in this world, it really is. The idea that love is a transcendent drive in a person, making them do bold and crazy things for the one they love, is a pretty common thing in films, particularly the aspirational fare of Hollywood. However, in this film, we look at the bad things people will do for those the supposedly love. Octavio is in love with Susana, the young wife of his brother, Ramiro. Susana already has a child by Ramiro, which is why they got married in the first place, and soon finds out that she’s pregnant again. Susana is also still in school, so relies on Ramiro and Octavio’s mother for help in raising her child. It’s clear that Susana does not get along with her mother-in-law, who rather looks down on Susana for ending up in this situation in the first place. Ramiro himself is also a rather nasty piece of work, an abusive philanderer and an armed robber. Susana can’t even rely on her own mother because she’s a drunk. The only person she can rely on, and has any kind of positive relationship with that we can see, is Octavio. The only times the either one of them seem to smile is when it’s at each other. It’s clear that Octavio likes Susana, and not just because he tells her. The question is whether or not Susana likes Octavio back. When he asks her to run away with him, she seems understandably hesitant. What about Ramiro? Where would they go? Neither of them have any money with which to do so. Octavio has a plan…

Daniel is a man with a family, wife and two young daughters. They seem happy. However, they do occasionally get phone calls from someone who hangs up when anyone answers. Well, not anyone. If Daniel answers, they stay on. We hear from one phone call that he has a mistress – Valeria. Valeria is a model, beautiful and successful, having just become the new spokesperson for a big fashion company’s ad campaign. On television shows and the like, she’s dating a famous actor, but really she’s with Daniel. After one show, Valeria is surprised with a new apartment, which she shall be sharing with Daniel, who tells her that he has now separated from his wife. The apartment could use a little work (a big hole breaks in the floorboards shortly after Valeria enters), but it’s okay because now they are together. Things are really looking up for the couple when Valeria is broadsided in a car wreck. Seriously injured, Valeria is confined to a wheelchair for a while, unable to work and in a declining physical condition, and the tension quickly begins to have a detrimental effect her relationship with Daniel, who is quietly becoming convinced of his mistake in leaving his family.

El Chivo is a homeless man who wanders the streets of Mexico City, where all of our action takes place. From our first viewing of the man, brandishing a machete, he is clearly quite dangerous. Such a view is cemented when we see him shoot a man through a restaurant window. It turns out that this is how he survives, as a killer for hire. We then watch him on two endeavours: he his hired by a business man to kill his partner; and he starts to follow a young woman that we first see at a funeral. We see El Chivo several times throughout the film before we even arrive at his story, but details are always light. We are furnished with more information about his past later on, but he remains, for the most part, a figure of some mystery.

Aside from the bone-shattering car crash we see at the film’s opening (and three more times as the film progresses), there is something else that connects our characters that I have not mentioned – they all have dogs. Indeed, how they treat their dogs tells you a lot about the characters, since the dogs are the most loving creatures in the film. Indeed, what can a dog do but love its master? Octavio’s plan to get money for himself and Susana is to enter his dog Cofi (technically his brother’s dog) into the world of dogfighting, a world in which Cofi becomes very successful. This is where some of the more difficult to watch aspects of the film come in. Indeed, it should say a lot that, like Address Unknown, the film actually opens with the disclaimer that normally comes at the end of the credits, stating that no animals were harmed in the making of this film. These contests aren’t exactly shown in as damning a light as many would like. Now, they never shy away from the aggressive, violent and bloody nature of such events, but Octavio certainly holds no moral pains in winning so much money from such cruelty. No one does. Valeria’s dog, Richie, is never near such horrors, but does suffer somewhat, too. When Valerie is recuperating in her new apartment, Richie chases a ball down the hole in the floor that Daniel doesn’t have the money to fix. The dog becomes lost down there for days, whimpering and scratching and being occasionally utterly silent, at the mercy of the darkness and the rats. Valeria wants him back, but Daniel wants her to rest, saying that Richie will be fine and he’ll come out when he’s ready. The longer Richie stays lost, the more frantic and desperate Valeria becomes. El Chivo is a keeper of several dogs, taking in one more when he finds the severely injured body of Cofi by the roadside after the car crash. Taking him and nursing him back to health, El Chivo is horrified and heartbroken when he comes back one day to see that the behaviour that has been drilled into Cofi has reared up again and been taken out on his other dogs. The dogs themselves essentially becomes direct reflections of each character by film’s end, but I’ll let you see how for yourself if you watch it.

Ultimately, this is what really comes across Amores Perros – love is a weakness, and weakness in a harsh place can get you killed. Octavio’s weakness for Susana brings him into direct conflict with Ramiro, as well as some other owners in the dogfighting circles, which costs him dearly. Valeria comes to question her love for Daniel, and his love for her, as she slowly begins to suspect him of having an eye on the door. After all, it’s not such a crazy notion to think he may be looking elsewhere since that’s exactly how they got together. El Chivo, whom you would almost think is beyond weakness, is hurt deeply when he takes in a dog that has been turned vicious by its previous owner. Consider the city in which the film is set – Mexico City. By the film’s telling, it’s a city of brutality, crime, mistrust, violence… of course weakness could kill you in a place like the one this film shows you. Hell, look back up at the film’s tagline – Love. Betrayal. Death. You get the feeling that there really should be an equals sign between each word.

Although, it is a very bleak and unsettling film, it’s some incredibly brave and vibrant filmmaking. It’s bold, ballsy, raw, shot through with ambition and held together with real power and dexterity. The scope is superb, making three stories feel so layered and rich. The acting is flawless, too. It may be a tough watch, but it’s worth it just for the sheer capability on show.

Amores Perros is a harsh film, sad, brutal and rather cynical, too. Plus, at two-and-a-half hours, it is a bit longer than some people will really be willing to give it. That said, it is also an excellent film, with involving stories and characters and a firm sense of direction from Iñárritu. I will say that, much like Address Unknown, if you’re particularly squeamish about violence to dogs (or any animal, really), you may wish to think twice before sitting down to this one. If you are willing to take it on, though, it is a worthy watch.

American Psycho (2000)

... NO INTRODUCTION NECESSARY

What can you really tell about a person from the image they project of themselves? If someone appears to be good, caring, and socially conscious, does it necessarily follow that they are? What if this is just a persona that they put on for other people? What if the reality of that person is much darker and more dangerous than you think? In the 1991 novel American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis conceived of such a person, a murderous psychotic that everyone believes to be harmless, so good that he’s actually kind of a simp. Setting it the 80s, the decade of the "Me Generation", it was also a satire on the drug-fuelled vacuity and self-absorbed nature of the upper-class elite having their heyday at the time. Nine years later, the highly controversial novel was finally brought to the big screen.

Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) is handsome, wealthy and intelligent. He’s twenty-seven years old and living the good life. He’s also a homicidal lunatic whose obsession with murder and nightly escapades see him cut a bloody swathe through the streets of New York. Lately, though, he feels like his careful mask of sanity is starting to slip…

American Psycho is a tough read. Not even really because of the incredibly graphic depictions of sex and murder, often one leading to the other, but because of the sheer density of the material. The book is told, mostly, from the perspective of its main character, Patrick Bateman, whose mind works in a very interesting way. Sure, he’s a vicious maniac, but he’s also obsessed with making sure he fits in with those around him. As such, he’s highly concerned with details. So much of his concentration is taken up with noting exactly what people are wearing that it’s almost a psychosis in itself. There’s one instance in the novel when Bateman, on seeing someone he knows enter a bar, mentally notes everything they are wearing, what the label is for each item and runs through the alphabet four times before they’ve crossed the room to meet him. This rather concisely illustrates his level of obsession with the exterior, the frankly terrifying speed at which his mind works and his pathological need to keep his mind distracted, occupied by some meaningless task. It’s this last aspect that means a great deal. What is it he needs to distract himself from? Bateman answers this in an anecdote to his friends about infamous serial killer Ed Gein. Bateman asks, “Do you know what Ed Gein said about women?… ‘When I see a pretty girl walking down the street, I think two things. One part wants me to take her out, talk to her, be real nice and sweet and treat her right.’ Bateman’s friend asks, “And what did the other part think?” His reply, “What her head would look like on a stick.” Bateman finds this very amusing, but it’s a rather telling insight into the way he himself thinks, why he needs to distract himself by noting Armani suits and Rolex watches and luggage from Dolce & Gabbana. He needs to try to fit in because, if he doesn’t, his horrifying bloodlust will completely take over.

One of the weird things about the book is that, despite all of the murders and the sex and full chapters about Phil Collins and Whitney Houston, it’s actually very funny. Bateman may be a maniac, but he’s such a goofy sonofabitch, such a pantomimic character, such a complete and utter dork that you often completely forget about his desire to mutilate and kill. In fact, many of these scenes, shocking as they may be, are so ridiculously over-the-top that they come off as darkly comic anyway. The book itself is also a very sharp and witty satire on the rampaging egotism and self-obsessed vanity of the Wall Street elite. A moment of great humour comes when Bateman and his peers compare their business cards, seeing who has the best one. Never mind the fact that they all say Vice President (echoing a theme of near God-like power, but without the full weight of responsibility). Just notice the colouring, the font stylisation, the texture, the thickness… they’re all pretty much the exact same card, but for the little details that denote the subtle shades of superiority in their circle. Others may be able to shake this off easier, but Bateman is instantly plunged into meltdown, a world of self-doubt and rage. He must kill because the guy that he hates has a business card with a watermark.

It says a lot for the film that these various details and ideas are kept gleefully intact in the transition from page to screen. Writers Mary Harron (also the director) and Guinevere Turner (also with a small role) do a fine job of locating these moments and bringing them to life onscreen. They also do an excellent job of condensing some of the denser passages of the novel down to some choice sequences. As I previously mentioned, there are some moments in the book where entire chapters are dedicated to Huey Lewis, Phil Collins, Whitney Houston or the intricate technical detail of Bateman’s new stereo (that was a tough one). They have maintained this sense of absurd detail that concerns their protagonist’s mind, but they’ve also nicely captured the tone of the piece. Yes, it’s often quite unnerving, but it’s more frequently very amusing. Like the novel, it invites you to laugh at someone that you should be scared of, mainly because he’s actually a complete tool. Christ, he wears a tuxedo and rides in a limousine to pick up a hooker. The guy actually seems to think he's James Bond. They’ve also maintained the constant play of mistaken identity very well, though it’s too much a part of the story to be left ignored. There really isn’t a wasted moment or opportunity in the script... sort of... I'll get to that later.

Harron’s direction is interesting. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s actually really very good. I just get the occasional feeling that there’s a missed opportunity here and there, moments that would have been more resonant if tweeked just slightly. One such example is near the beginning of the film, when Bateman is in a club buying some drinks. He tries to use drink tickets, but is informed that they’re no good anymore and he’ll have to pay with cash. He happily does so, but as soon as the bartender’s back is turned, he tells her “You’re a fucking ugly bitch. I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood,” most of which we can only see if the mirror above the bar. She doesn’t hear him because the music is so loud (along with some degree of the self-absorbed nature of all of the characters), so when she turns back, he’s smiling again and goes on his way. I just feel like this would have carried more weight if all of his vicious threatening were seen only in the mirror, thus better echoing the theme of duality in the piece. However, this is only a small point. I’m certainly not going to crack down on her for her work. There’s actually a scene that has only one word of dialogue, but wonderfully sums up exactly how Bateman gets away with being what he is. He sees a woman walking down the street (the streets are always virtually deserted) and follows her a little. She stops at a pedestrian crossing, he stops right beside her. From looking forward, he looks to her, smiles and says “Hello.” She curtly says hello back and they both look forward again… and then she looks back at the nice handsome polite gentleman standing next to her. The light changes and the two start walking together, wordlessly, away from us and towards the darkness. It’s subtle and elegant and tells us just how easy it is for Bateman to snare a victim. Classic territory of people like Ted Bundy, who was so nice and calm that he once managed to talk himself out of a speeding ticket, despite having the bagged remains of a cheerleader in his backseat at the time. It’s positively chilling. And the title sequence does exactly what the titles of Dexter would do six years later, finding the vicious in the mundane. Harron really has done some excellent work.

There are strong performances throughout the film, but Christian Bale dominates all of them. It’s a superb act, layered and solid. Bale is, regardless of what he may be like in his regular life, a damn good actor, approaching every role with a fierce commitment. On first note, Bale certainly captures Bateman’s physicality. Bateman is as obsessed with maintaining his physique as he is with covering it with the best clothes money can buy, and Bale fully embraces this regimen and looks every inch the muscular fitness freak that’s needed. More than this, though, Bale captures the entire raging torrent inside Bateman. Two scenes stand out on this front. The first scene is when Bateman murders a colleague in his apartment whilst giving his critique on the career of Huey Lewis. It’s important to consider that, for serial killers like Bateman, murder is a substitute for the sex act, and this scene corresponds, in a very twisted manner, to a sex scene. An equivalent moment in another film would probably see the guy giddily prepare for the evening by pouring the girl a drink, putting on some romantic music (Marvin Gaye, classic), ensuring protection and making his move. Now, look at this one… Bateman giddiliy prepares for the evening by getting his victim drunk, putting on some music (Huey Lewis, because Bateman probably has no conception of what’s romantic), ensuring protection (he’s laid down some paper and donned a plastic raincoat) and making his move (swinging an axe into his victim’s forehead). Bale is hysterical in this scene, amping up the absurdity of the piece (he even moonwalks into the room, for God’s sake) and acting like a complete cheeseball before turning on a penny, and becoming an utter monster. That is superb control. The second scene to consider is Bateman’s cackling, sobbing, unsettling confession to his lawyer. It’s mostly in a single take and runs the complete gamut of frayed emotional intensity of a quickly devolving killer, and it’s very impressive. Bale even delivers the little moments expertly, such as his regular excuse that he has to “return some videotapes.” It’s always delivered with a weird kind of self-righteous force, as if he’s making a firm and resolute declaration of status that requires his utmost attention. Bale is on absolute fire in this film.

There is one thing that is something of a cause for concern in the movie, which it turns out is something from the book as well. I’ve already said that Harron’s direction is very good and that the script from herself and Turner does a fine job of transposing the novel to the screen. However, there is something of a debate regarding how it all ends, both in the book and the film. Ellis’ books often rest on a degree of ambiguity (In Less Than Zero, it was a few chapters in before I could pin down the gender of the main character), with some lack of certainty as to whether or not the crimes of American Psycho even took place. From my understanding of the novel, and the film, I believed it to be pretty clear that all of Bateman’s murders did not happen and existed only in his head. I’m certainly not alone on this one. In fact, I have only ever met one person who thought that Bateman really did kill all those people. Since that time, though, I have come to learn that Ellis, Harron and Turner all share the same perspective… of course he did it. I find this rather disquieting. I’m not exactly stupid, and I know some very smart people, so how can we have got things so clearly wrong? It would seem that there is plenty of evidence to support our case. For the sake of simplicity, I’ll stick to the film for this bit. There is one sequence that is so often offered as evidence of the “all in his head” school, which is towards the end and begins with Bateman trying to feed a cat into an ATM. He’s at the machine, taking out some money, as he regularly does. A stray cat starts to rub against his leg, so he picks it up. The ATM screen then reads ‘FEED ME A STRAY CAT’, which he tries to do. An old woman sees him and asks him what he’s doing, so he shoots her dead. This kicks off a short police chase, which sees him kill several other people, become involved in a typical Hollywood style shootout with the cops, blowing up a car with a single shot (which surprises even him), before ducking into his office building to evade the helicopter. This all smacks of the kind of juvenile fantasy that a dork who watches too many 80s action movies would cook up to feel important and noticed (there’s actually way more to it in the book). Are we to take it that these moments actually happened? That an ATM really did tell Bateman to feed it a cat? That he really did blow up a cop car with a single shot?

Keep in mind that Bateman narrates this film, so it is all being told from his perspective, which he willingly admits is rather skewed. Given the somewhat compromised nature of this telling, can we really trust anything that we see? The only time we leave Bateman as a narrative anchor is when we see his secretary, Jean (Chloë Sevigny), discover his diary in his desk drawer, which is filled with detailed and disturbing drawings of what we have, until now, seen to be his genuine nightly activities. Is it not perfectly reasonable to think that perhaps these drawings are the beginning and end of his homicidal desires? Also, the points when one of his victims seems to still be alive, although we never seem them again, adds more to this. On the other hand, the constant points of mistaken identity throughout could just as easily cover this. Ellis has said that the reason Bateman finds it so difficult to confess or be caught is because that is part of the satire. Precisely because everyone is so self-involved and concerned with the pursuit of profit, each person a hideous personification of corporate America’s greed, that they genuinely couldn’t care less if one of their own is hacking up a bunch of whores and winos. Ellis makes the point that if Bateman didn’t kill people, this satirical point is rendered moot and the purpose of the novel made irrelevant… I’m not sure I agree with this, even if it means I’m apparently wrong. The satire does still exist within the piece, even if you disregard the “fact” that Bateman is killing people. The characters are still self-obsessed, vain, drug-crazed, profit-fuelled bastards. And whether he committed the crimes or not, the fact that they don’t even entertain Bateman’s confessions and apparent lunacy speak to this regard too. The point isn’t that Bateman has killed people. The point is that no one cares either way.

The only thing that I can really see coming mainly from this idea that he did kill these people is perhaps that the reason no one cares is because they are all the same. They are all equally possessed of the same drives and urges that Bateman feels, it’s just that they seem to handle it better than he does. This would give a degree of credence to the picture that everyone seems to have of Bateman, that he’s a wimp, a dweeb, “a lightweight.” The idea that Bateman believes that he is alone in these killer urges, whereas the “truth” is that he’s really not, seems to fly in the face of what would seem to be the popular notion amongst real serial killers and mass murderers. People like Charles Manson often make the point that they only thing that separates them from us is the final act itself. They say that inside we’re all just like them, we just haven’t got that far yet. In this case, it isn’t Bateman that’s the psycho; it’s the book, it's society. He’s the abnormal one because he seems to be the only one who thinks someone should care. The darkness of this implication is almost overwhelming, and is actually so huge that it’s difficult to believe that this is the correct reading from what we have on show. I really like the book, and the movie, but I feel somewhat unsettled by the final product not because of its message, but because of the disconnect that seems to exist between the intention and the reality. It rather says a lot that both Harron and Turner have said that they feel they failed in adequately expressing what they wanted to with the film, that their attempts to echo the ambiguity of the source rendered the film lacking in the final statement intended. For what it’s worth, the fact that, at the end of both the film and the book, I came away with the exact same conclusion surely speaks to how well they adapted the book. But then, what do I know, I thought it was all in his head…

Putting aside the disquieting ambiguity of the whole product, American Psycho is still a fine film, built around an absolutely searing performance by Christian Bale. It’s troubling, it’s funny, it’s thoroughly interesting and it really is something that can be debated endlessly. Maybe some of you can figure it out.