The Quick Explanation

American Psycho is actually easier to explain than it may initially seem. First and foremost, its about perception. From the opening credits to the very last scene, American Psycho challenges the viewer’s perception of events and people. Who is who? What is what? Did that actually happen or was it all in Patrick’s head? It’s a movie that’s actively gaslighting its audience. Why, though?

Bret Easton Ellis wrote the novel the film’s based on in order to explore an uprising of “Wall Street Bro” psychology he saw taking New York City by storm. Then director Mary Harron applied that concept but to America as a whole. As in, the country has lost inner morality and the capacity to empathize. Instead, it’s beginning to celebrate the superficiality of materialism, virtue signaling, conformity, keeping up appearances, and manipulation. As the individual loses substance, so too does the nation. And vice-versa. Two quotes summarize this. At the beginning: “I simply am not here.” And at the end: “Inside means nothing.” 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if Patrick Bateman did or didn’t take an ax to Paul Allen or drop a chainsaw on Christie or actually do any of his other violent delights. Because the story isn’t about Patrick Bateman. It’s about a culture that doesn’t even care who Patrick Bateman is, much less what he does. It’s about the way in which we begin to overlook such transgressions, distracted, as we are, by material and status-based desires. It feels just as relevant in 2022 as it did in 2000. 

Cast

• Patrick Bateman – Christian Bale
• Timothy Bryce – Justin Theroux
• Jean – Chloë Sevigny
• Donald Kimball – Willem Dafoe
• Paul Allen – Jared Leto
• Luis Carruthers – Matt Ross
• Evelyn Williams – Reese Witherspoon
• Craig McDermott – Josh Lucas
• Christie – Cara Seymour
• Courtney Rawlinson – Samanatha Mathis
• Written by: Mary Haron, Guenevere Turner
• Directed by: Mary Harron
• Original novel by: Bret Easton Ellis

Why it’s called American Psycho

Bret Easton Ellis has given two versions as to the origin of American Psycho. In 2020, he told Movie Maker Magazine, quote, I think I was watching a lot of this behavior on the sidelines, and I wanted to criticize it. And a lot of it had to do with money above all else. Greed is good, the ethos of that era—that was bothering me. And just the attitude of the cocky, young stockbroker, which really had spread among so many men. It was really apparent to me as a young man, struggling with the notion of becoming an adult, finally, and not wanting to become an adult in that society. And then where else was there to go?

But in 2010, in an interview with The Oregonian, Ellis said: [Patrick Bateman] did not come out of me sitting down and wanting to write a grand, sweeping indictment of yuppie culture. It initiated because of my own isolation and alienation at a point in my life. I was living like Patrick Bateman. I was slipping into a consumerist kind of void that was supposed to give me confidence and make me feel good about myself but just made me feel worse and worse and worse about myself. That is where the tension of American Psycho came from. It wasn’t that I was going to make up this serial killer on Wall Street. High concept. Fantastic. It came from a much more personal place, and that’s something that I’ve only been admitting in the last year or so. I was so on the defensive because of the reaction to the book that I wasn’t able to talk about it on that level.

While the answers seemingly contradict each other, there is a commonality: consumerism. In the first answer, it’s the observed consumerism of the yuppie stockbroker bro. In the second answer, it’s the internal consumerism of Ellis himself. Either way, Ellis recognizes the inherent self-loathing that’s a byproduct of deriving your personal esteem from having and spending money on stuff and experiences. He wasn’t living that Wall Street life, but the outlandish behavior was rooted in the same woe as his own. So he did what any great storyteller does—he exaggerated reality into something poignant and powerful.

In terms of the title, note Ellis saying he was, quote, “not wanting to become an adult in that society.” The word “society” is important. It conveys the scope of things. Consumerism wasn’t simply a Wall Street thing. Or a New York thing. It was larger than that. National. Hence, the “American” part of the title. 

And then “Psycho” is short for “psychopath”, which the Cambridge Dictionary defines as “a person who has no feeling for other people, does not think about the future, and does not feel bad about anything they have done in the past.” As well as, “a person who is likely to commit violent criminal acts because of a mental illness that causes the person to lack any feelings of guilt.” Those two definitions embody Patrick Bateman’s character and character arc with bulls-eye accuracy. But the story isn’t as simple as looking at some singular, unique monster. Rather, Bateman’s representative of an overall psyche, of a certain kind of rising ethos that was specifically American. Maybe it started on Wall Street. But it wasn’t contained to there. 

That’s what makes American Psycho kind of frightening. It’s not just a Michael Myers or Freddie Kruger that is special and limited. Bateman is one of many. And maybe the others hold it together better than he does. But for how long? If Bateman is the first, then he’s merely a forerunner. A herald of a dehumanization that could sweep the United States (and maybe already has). 

Themes and meaning of American Psycho

“You take everything that’s really terrible about our culture in the late 20th century and you press it into one person, and that’s Patrick Bateman.” – Mary Harron, director of American Psycho

The easiest way to understand American Psycho is to look at the scenes where Patrick Bateman regurgitates critical thoughts on musicians. The Huey and the News scene happens around the 26 minute mark. Genesis and Phil Collins around 42 minutes. And Whitney Houston at 72 minutes. American Psycho is 101 minutes. So those moments are at almost exactly 25%, 50%, and 75% through the film. 

Repeating a similar concept at spaced out intervals over the course of a narrative is a pretty common structuring technique. When employed, the technique gives the story a bit of a rhythmic quality and asks the audience to juxtapose what’s said and done in each instance. For example, a movie might start with a couple in a therapy session. Then halfway through is another session. Then the very last scene brings us back to the therapist’s office, except only one of the characters is there. Maybe it’s just the therapist because the couple figured things out and are in bed rather than seeking help. Or maybe it’s just the therapist because the couple broke up. Or maybe it’s just one-half of the couple who hasn’t yet realized the other half ran off with the therapist. 

The movie Pan’s Labyrinth takes place in civil war-era Spain. A little girl, Ofelia, is told by a magical faun, who is kind of scary, that she’s actually a princess from another world and she has to prove herself by completing three quests. Quest one, she’s uncertain and nervous. Quest two, she’s arrogant and messes up. Quest three, she’s desperate but takes a moral stand that has tragic consequences. Or the movie Blade Runner follows Rick Deckard, a police officer who hunts runaway replicants (bioengineered humanoids). Deckard’s assigned a case with four targets. Lo and behold, the film is structured in chunks related to each replicant and Deckard’s character arc progresses in tandem. 

So there’s nothing groundbreaking about American Psycho using this structure. It’s just such a bizarre film that it might be a bit more difficult to recognize. But through Bateman’s dialogue, you get the major themes. 

Huey Lewis and the News: You like Huey Lewis and the News? Their early work was a little too new wave for my taste. But when Sports came out in ‘83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He’s been compared to Evlis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor. In ‘87, Huey released this, Fore!, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is “Hip To Be Square”. The song’s so catchy, most people probably don’t listen to the lyrics. But they should! Because it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends—it’s also a personal statement about the band itself. 

Genesis and Phil Collins: Do you like Phil Collins? I’ve been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, Duke. Before that, I really didn’t understand any of their work. It was too artsy. Too intellectual. It was on Duke where Phil Collins’ presence became more apparent. I think Invisible Touch is the group’s undisputed masterpiece. It’s an epic meditation on intangibility. At the same time, it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums. Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Collins, and Rutherford. You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument. In terms of lyrical craftsmanship, sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism. Take the lyrics to “Land of Confusion”. In this song, Phil Collins addresses the problems of abusive political authority. “In Too Deep” is the most moving pop song of the 1980s about monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting. Their lyrics are as positive, affirmative, as anything I’ve heard in rock. Phil Collins’ solo career seems to be more commercial and therefore more satisfying in a narrower way. Especially songs like “In the Air Tonight” and “Against All Odds”. But I also think Phil Collins works best within the confines of the group than as a solo artist. And I stress the word “artist”. This is “Sussudio”. A great, great song. A personal favorite.

Whitney Houston: Did you know that Whitney Houston’s debut LP, called, simply, Whitney Houston, had four number-one singles on it? Did you know that, Christie? It’s hard to choose a favorite among so many great tracks. But “The Greatest Love of All” is one of the best, most powerful songs ever written. About self-preservation, dignity. Its universal message crosses all boundaries and instills one with the hope it’s not too late to better ourselves. Since, Elizabeth, it’s impossible in this world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves. It’s an important message. Crucial, really. And it’s beautifully stated on the album. 

First and foremost, it seems implied that Bateman’s monologues are just him cobbling together what critics wrote about the artists and albums. He’s repeating what he’s read in order to sound intelligent. It’s performative rather than honest. There’s a whole layer of character analysis there that’s interesting but distracting for our main point. The main point is that Bret Easton Ellis included these moments in the novel because they said something about Bateman’s character. And Mary Harron picked up and extended that point in the film. 

In case you’re wondering what the difference is: the novel versions are individual chapters, completely out of context of a scene, and are much longer. Harron cuts the speeches down to core elements and puts them into specific scenes. And what do you see? Let me cut the Harron versions down even further.

Huey Lewis: Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor. “Hip To Be Square” is a song so catchy most people don’t listen to the lyrics. But they should. It’s not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends—it’s also a personal statement about the band itself.

Genesis and Phil Collins: …an epic meditation on intangibility. Phil Collins addresses the problems of abusive political authority. “In Too Deep” is the most moving pop song of the 1980s about monogamy and commitment. The lyrics are as positive, affirmative, as anything I’ve heard in rock. I think Phil Collins works best within the confines of the group rather than as a solo artist. 

Whitney Houston: Self-preservation. Dignity. The hope that it’s not too late to better ourselves. It’s impossible in this world we live in to empathize with others. But we can always empathize with ourselves. 

Hopefully things are already jumping out to you. 

• The movie embraces a bitter, cynical sense of humor. 
• Bateman and the other Wall Street bros are the embodiment of “hip to be square”. They all eat at the same places, have the same business cards, wear the same suits, get similar haircuts, wear similar glasses, and repeat talking points they hear others make. There’s almost a complete lack of originality in their culture. 
• People should pay attention to the lyrics, not just focus on the superficial aspects of the song. The same way they should pay attention to what’s being said in American Psycho, not just get caught up in the plot. 
• While Huey’s album is a personal statement, so too is American Psycho. Except instead of being about a band, it’s about a nation. 
• Intangibility refers to things without physical existence. So feelings, thoughts, concepts, ideas. The American Psycho novel elaborates a bit more, saying, “every song makes some connection about the unknown or the spaces between people, questioning authoritative control whether by domineering lovers or by government or by meaningless repetition.” Both the novel and film show the way Bateman and his ilk create more space between people and the dehumanization that comes with such behavior. And they’re very much caught up in meaningless repetition. 
• Abusive political authority foreshadows the final scene with Reagan’s speech about Iran-Contra and Bryce’s reaction. 
• Monogamy and commitment are things Bateman and his friends don’t care about even a little bit. 
• The idea that Collins works best within the confines of a group gets back to the “Hip To Be Square” idea of conformity as a positive thing. It’s the eradication of the individual. As neither Wall Street, capitalism, nor materialism value the individual. They value an obedient consumer. 
• Self-preservation, dignity, and bettering ourselves are typically positive things. But in Bateman’s world, they’re awful. Self-preservation becomes egomania. Dignity is performance. And bettering yourself isn’t internal but external, as in your apartment, your business card, your clothes, where you can get a reservation, etc.
• The idea that it’s impossible to empathize with others is absurd. But that’s the rising zeitgeist of the late 80s, of capitalism. You care more about yourself than you do others. Others are a mystery. The irony being that by the end of the movie, Bateman can’t empathize with himself, either. He’s disconnected from himself as much as others. His individuality is gone. He’s just a yuppie square who is part of the group rather than an original person. 

The bullet points give you essentially what you need to know about American Psycho. It’s about the loss of identity as capitalism and materialism turn people into consumers. It’s about what such loss does to an individual, to a group, to a culture, and to a nation. The deepest points have to do with perception and empathy, external vs. internal dynamics, and reality vs. fantasy. If you want to read on, we have a whole in-depth discussion on those things. Otherwise, you can skip to the explanation of the ending.. 

Perception | part 1

The theme of perception is apparent before any of the characters even appear on screen. It’s pretty cool. The opening credits have a white background. Initially, we see a single drop of red. It looks like blood. More drops follow. Then one splashes onto the background. It definitely seems like blood. Especially given the movie’s title and poster. But then the splatter fades away and the white background resumes, once again pristine. Then there’s a whole stream of red liquid. But instead of splashing it’s being artfully drizzled on the white background. Cut to the pure white and a kitchen knife flashing across the frame. Then the knife comes down! But it’s chopping food. And the food fades. Now red drops fall again. Except they’re raspberries. Cut to the raspberries landing on a plate, next to the food we saw the knife cut, atop the red drizzle. 

So what seemed like something graphic and violent was actually nothing more than a plate of fancy food that’s being served at the restaurant and we transition to the opening scene. Right there, right in the credits, American Psycho tells you that what you’re watching isn’t what it seems. That the violence probably isn’t what you think. The droplets weren’t blood. The knife wasn’t aggressive.  

This is reinforced almost immediately through the character dialogue. 

Craig McDermott: Is that Reed Robinson over there?
Timothy Bryce: Are you freebasing or what? That’s not Robinson. 
CM: Well, who is it then?

TB: It’s Paul Allen.

Patrick Bateman: That’s not Paul Allen. Paul Allen’s on the other side of the room over there. 

CM: Who’s he with?

TB: Some weasel from Kicker Peabody. 

CM: Are you sure that’s Paul Allen over there?

TB: Yes, McDufus. I am.

There’s so much going on just in that quick exchange. Notice how Bryce thought “Reed Robinson” was actually Paul Allen. It was Bateman who pointed out it wasn’t Paul, that Paul was elsewhere. When McDermott asks “Are you sure that’s Paul Allen over there?” it isn’t Bateman who confirms. It’s Bryce. And Bryce is condescending about it even though he had just been wrong. “Yes, McDufus. I am.” 

The other layer to the whole exchange is that the camera jumps to “Paul Allen” when Bateman says “Paul Allen’s on the other side of the room.” Except it isn’t even Paul Allen. How do we know? Because Jared Leto plays Paul Allen and the guy is absolutely and clearly not Jared Leto. Same haircut. Similar glasses. Nice suit. But not Jared Leto. The guy in the restaurant is much older.  

The credit sequence and the mistaken identities all happen in the first three minutes of the movie to drive home the point that perception is American Psycho’s primary theme. But there are layers within that theme. First, the way in which we perceive others. The mistaken identities at the restaurant shows that off very well. Second: the way in which others perceive us. There’s an example right after the scene at the restaurant. The group goes to a club and Bateman walks up to the bar and orders a drink and tries to pay with free tickets. The female bartender chastises him then tells him it’ll be $25. Bateman smiles as he hands her the cash. But then his smile drops and he says out loud: “You’re a f***ing ugly b****. I want to st*b you to death, then play around with your blood.” She doesn’t respond because she didn’t hear him say anything. Maybe it’s because the music was too loud. Or maybe it’s because he never said it outloud. We’re shown what he felt, rather than what was vocalized. So the bartender has no idea of how much anger Bateman has. All she sees is the smile. 

And that brings us to the third layer. The way in which we perceive ourselves. Which is the focus of the scene immediately following the encounter with the bartender. Bateman narrates his whole morning routine in great detail. It focuses so much on Bateman’s external appearance. But, then, at the very end, he says, “There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand, and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable—I simply am not there.”  

That speech is delivered while Bateman peels away his moisturizing face mask, revealing his “perfect” face, the idea of what a “Patrick Bateman” should look like. Even though we know, since he just told us, that there is no Patrick Bateman. He’s no one. Instead, he’s an idea of what a person should be. Saying what should be said. Doing what should be done. Reflecting to society what society what’s to see. Saying to society what society what’s to hear. 

The staggering thing is that this is just the beginning of the conversation on perception in American Psycho. Even though the theme is made pretty obvious, the nuance is immense. 

Perception | part 2

In part 1, we established how perception connects with themes of reality vs fantasy (opening credits), external vs internal (bartender encounter), and identity (“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman”). With that in mind, we come to perhaps the most complex idea expressed in American Psycho. 

When Bret Easton Ellis wrote American Psycho, he was very much aware of exploring masculinity. From the Movie Maker oral history. Ellis: It was definitely a criticism of male values that were around me, and it was easier for me, I think, to witness those male values clearly because I was gay—I am gay. And I think that gave me a distance and a perspective as to noticing them more than if I was heterosexual and participating in the society at that time. I was definitely participating, but being gay really is a distance. You are four percent of the population. You do not share a lot of the same feelings and experiences that straight men do. Certainly not in late ’80s Manhattan. 

But when Mary Harron took over and began writing the screenplay with Guinevere Turner (who plays Elizabeth), they brought their feminine perspective to the story. Guinever, in the same Movie Maker article, said: I had never heard of it, even. … She said they keep trying to find writers to adapt this book, and we were the sixth team to be hired. And she said you’re gonna hate me—because she knows I don’t like scary things—but I think we can make a really good movie out of this book. So I read it, and I was like ‘Ewww, I hate you—but I see what you mean.’ It’s actually really funny in addition to being horrifying. And with the right spin it could be a really subversive, feminist movie. 

The idea of a feminine point of view is something Mary Harron was thinking about before she even talked to Guinevere. From the same article—Harron: What occurred to me is that just enough time had passed to make a period film about the ’80s, and say things about the ’80s, and bring out the satire… I can’t remember when Guinevere came up, but pretty early, because we were already working on what became The Notorious Bettie Page. I felt it would be a lot more fun to work with her on this. And because I had just done I Shot Andy Warhol, which was about a radical feminist, and she had just done Go Fish, an indie lesbian romantic comedy, no one could tell us what was and was not misogynist. 

So you have a male novelist who wanted to comment on a kind of toxic masculinity he saw flourishing. Then two female screenwriters who very consciously added a feminist counterpoint to the original story’s hyperbolic misogyny. The result is, I think, brilliant. 

I’ll explain. 

American Psycho begins in a place where a status quo feminine zeitgeist is more prominent than the Wall Street Bro’s toxic spirit. But as the story progresses, the Wall Street toxicity becomes more and more dominant. Patrick Bateman’s story isn’t a story about Patrick Bateman. It’s about this cancerous movement’s metastasizing. Going from a simple lump to something far more malignant. Bateman is merely a symbolic way to simplify the 80s as a whole and the way in which this brand of misogyny took root and the impact it had on women and the country. 

I know that sounds like a lot. But do you know the first line of dialogue said by a main character? In the opening scene, we hear a bunch of waiters listing off the specials at this nice restaurant that’s full of people (especially women). Then we land on the table with Bryce, McDermott, and Bateman. Bryce says, “God, I hate this place. It’s a chicks’ restaurant. Why aren’t we at Dorsia?” If you look at the decor, it is softer. There’s a pink hue to the entire room. Each table has, as a centerpiece, a vase filled with pink flowers. The pink table cloths are long and curtain-y. The pink chairs have ribbons tied to the back. Vines curl around columns. Sconces on the walls have little shades that hide gently glowing bulbs. Every table has a male-female couple or a group of women. The only all-male group is Bryce, McDermott, and Bateman. 

To some people, this might seem like a lot of nothing. Just the minutiae of a scene rather than critical information. But this is what great writing is about. Good writers tell a great story. Great writers build symbolism and meaning into the DNA of their world. Of course, not every movie or novel demands such careful analysis. Like a superficial reading of Harry Potter is good enough. A superficial reading of Interstellar is good enough. But 2001: a Space Odyssey demands a close reading. Fight Club demands a close reading. Prisoners demands a close reading. American Psycho demands a close reading. 

One of the simple, usually effective ways to determine the depth a narrative has or demands is to contrast the opening few minutes to the final few minutes. Most great stories don’t necessarily care about thematic contrasts between beginning and end—nor do they need to. They focus more on the journey and where the character ends up. If you look at the opening and closing scenes of The Dark Knight, there’s not much thematic resonance. It’s Joker’s bank heist. Then Batman becoming a “dark knight” by assuming the blame for Harvey Dent’s death so Gotham City can mourn Dent as a hero rather than a villain. The bank heist is 99% plot motivated and doesn’t really add anything to Batman’s sacrifice. 

In contrast, the opening credits of Fight Club happen overtop of a sequence depicting the chemical processes occurring in Edward Norton’s brain. Eventually, the camera exits through a pore in Norton’s forehead and pulls back across a pistol that Brad Pitt has in Norton’s mouth. This symbolizes not just the conflict between Norton and Pitt that drives the story but also the connection they share, as Pitt is nothing more than a figment of Norton’s imagination. Both characters are Tyler Durden. Which is why the credits start in the brain. Compare that to the very end, when Norton holds hands with Helena Bonham Carter, and the camera is distant behind them, and, out the window, a bunch of buildings explode and fall. Norton’s no longer fighting himself, he’s connected to someone else. He’s no longer stuck in the confines of his mind, he’s looking out at an open horizon where anything is possible.

That’s what I mean between superficial reading vs close reading. In Dark Knight, the main stuff is told to you. In Fight Club, there’s so much that’s conveyed through the details contained within a shot. 

So what about the end of American Psycho? We already detailed the opening scene in the “chicks’” restaurant. If American Psycho is one of those “close read” movies, we expect the details of the final scene to meaningfully juxtapose the beginning. 

The first thing we should pay attention to is the location. Is it a chicks’ restaurant? No. The guys are at Harry’s, an upscale bar with dark wood tables and dark wood chairs. There are big windows so you can see and be seen. Table lamps with black shades. Wall-mounted candles that burn with fire. Large, gold-framed paintings of famous men or animals. The clientele is 99% men who look and dress like Bateman and Bateman’s friends. It’s a Wall Street bar. The epitome of a boy’s club. The complete opposite of a chicks’ restaurant. 

What does this tell us? The characters start in a place where they were the minority and that wasn’t suited to their tastes. They end in a place where they’re the majority but are still unhappy. In that contrast, you discover the thematic journey of American Psycho. One microcosm is replaced by another. It just so happens that these microcosms represent American culture on a national scale. It also means that feminine elements and masculine elements are in opposition with one another. Throughout the movie we see how the feminine elements give way to Wall Street capitalistic masculinity, with Bateman’s attacks on women symbolizing his side winning the battle for the soul of a nation. 

Perception | part 3

Now that we know American Psycho’s overall arc is a journey from a chicks’ restaurant to a boy’s club, and that perception of people and the world is the major theme, the next important question is what’s the point? What is actually being expressed?

The answer is a statement on empathy. The issue at the core of Wall Street, and Bateman, and post-Reagan America isn’t capitalism, or materialism. It’s something much more common and generic. It’s a lack of empathy. When a person lacks empathy, when a culture lacks empathy, a government, a country—the result is, inevitably, dehumanization. Other people stop being a source of interest or comfort or connection. They become a means to an end. Or even the enemy.

Bateman is clearly the embodiment of materialism and capitalism and this Wall Street mentality and the failure of only having empathy for the self. But is there someone who represents the antithesis of that? A yin to that yang? This person wouldn’t be as concerned with things or theirself but more focused on others. None of the Wall Street guys fit. We only see Kimball in a professional capacity as a private investigator. Evelyn and Courtney are as superficial as Bateman. Christie, Sabrina, and Elizabeth never really challenge Bateman. That leaves one person. Jean. 

Jean clearly likes Patrick in a way Evelyn and Courtney don’t. She’s interested in him as a person. And when he finally asks her to dinner, she’s thrilled. When she shows up at his apartment, Bateman does his normal schtick, delaying and distracting while he looks for a weapon. He eventually decides on a nail gun and stands behind Jean, weapon raised to the back of her head. Except a question she asks gives him pause. Jean, oblivious to Patrick’s dark urges, still hoping that there’s a genuine romantic interest, questions, “Have you ever wanted to make someone happy?” Bateman initially responds with one of his cookie-cutter platitudes: “I guess you could say I just want to have a meaningful relationship with someone special.” It’s a stock answer. But after Evelyn calls and leaves an awkward voicemail that hurts Jean’s feelings, Bateman lets down his guard. He sits and has a rare moment of honesty, telling Jean she should leave because “I don’t think I can control myself… I think, if you stay, something bad will happen.” 

Can you recall other times in American Psycho when Bateman was conflicted? Much less lets someone go out of the kindness of his heart? No. Because there are none. That puts a huge amount of emphasis on the encounter with Jean. What’s the one noteworthy thing Jean says in that scene? “Have you ever wanted to make someone happy?” In a movie filled with selfishness and lack of empathy, Jean’s question rings out. Wanting to do something for someone else is absolutely the antithesis to everything Patrick and the Wall Street zeitgeist is about. So Jean checks all the boxes for being the opposite of Bateman. And, of course, it makes sense this opposite is a female, as the movie is so aggressively male. 

This moment between Patrick and Jean is the essential thematic showdown, where one zeitgeist comes into direct conflict with another. Jean’s humanity, her basic empathy, brings out Patrick’s own better self. But it’s only temporary. The rest of the world reinforces Bateman’s self-empathy and reactivates his madness. He heads back out into the world. While Jean ends up in a very isolated space, stricken by the discovery of the depth of Patrick’s anger. When you extrapolate that to the symbolic level, we see empathy reduced and overwhelmed, while a lack of empathy, self-empathy is thriving. 

And that’s the statement the movie makes. The 80s were a tipping point for the country. What balance was present at the beginning of the decade was, by the end, eradicated. In politics, in business, in society, in interpersonal relationships. Things became a lot less communal, a lot less compassionate. Instead, we witnessed a rise in dehumanization and disconnect. Virtue signaling, gaslighting, and lying became more common than honesty, morality, and basic values. You see this 11 minutes into the film when Courtney asks Stash, a punk guy, if he thinks SoHo is becoming too commercial. 

Bryce interrupts, “Who gives a rat’s ass.” And Evelyn’s cousin, Vanden, Stash’s girlfriend, also punk, says, “Hey, that affects us.” That’s when Bryce gaslights and virtue signals with the line, “What about the massacres in Sri Lanka, honey? Doesn’t that affect us, too? I mean, do you know anything about Sri Lanka? How, like, the Sikhs are killing, like, tons of Israelis over there?”

Notice, first, that it’s a woman asking a non-Wall Street guy a question and a Wall Street guy jumps in. Then another woman chastises him and he tries to tear her down and elevate himself. “You care about Soho? Well, do you care about Sri Lanka?” Except Bryce is an idiot because what was happening in Sri Lanka had nothing to do with Sikhs or Israelis. The Sikhs and Israelis didn’t even have anything to do with one another. He just jumbled together various talking points in order to sound smart. 

This moment, like with the Jean and Patrick moment, is symbolic. These characters represent different ideologies. And this is an early battle between them. It’s the realistic version of how this goes. Soho becomes commercialized. Wall Street guys bully artsy people out of the conversation. Then out of the room. Then out of the city. Which is what Bateman’s later murders represent—the destruction of the opposition.  

And Bateman, man, he follows up Bryce’s statement with the most performative virtue signaling in the entire film. Quote: “Come on, Bryce. There are a lot more important problems than Sri Lanka to worry about. Well, we have to end Apartheid, for one. And slow down the nuclear arms race. Stop terrorism and world hunger. We have to provide food and shelter for the homeless. And oppose racial discrimination and promote civil rights. While also promoting equal rights for women. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people.” 

That last line causes Bryce to spit up his drink with shock and laughter. Because he knows Bateman’s lying. The viewer, so early in the movie, doesn’t. But, soon after, we’ll realize how full of sh*t Bateman is. He doesn’t believe any of what he said. He simply said it to seem like a good person. Because it’s something someone should say. It’s the right thing to say. Except it’s completely hollow since no genuine emotion backs it up. 

When you re-watch American Psycho with all this in mind, it should become much more clear just what the movie’s doing. And how it’s using the male/female interactions and perspectives to demonstrate shifts in culture, with the Wall Street men embodying a lack of empathy and empty behavior and the women embodying the reaction to all of it—the boredom, the sadness, the fear, the shock, the hope, the awakening to. Even though the movie is, overall, darkly comical, when you get to the core of what’s being said, it’s pretty horrifying. And sad. And accurate. Even in 2022. 

American Psycho ending explained

Recap

Bateman goes to Paul Allen’s. When we last saw the apartment, it was in a dreadful state. Bodies of Bateman’s victims were everywhere. He goes there expecting it to be how he left it. Except he finds it’s completely clean. There’s not a single sign of his occupancy. In fact, the apartment is being shown by a real estate agent. The agent questions Bateman, then asks him to leave. 

Bateman leaves the apartment and has a panic attack. Breaking down, he calls Jean from a payphone. He cries, he screams, he wavers from seeking comfort to chastising. Jean informs him his friends invited him to Harry’s. So he goes. Meanwhile, Jean, concerned by the call, looks in Patrick’s desk and finds his planner. Turning each page, we see a progression. Normal places and events that you’d see in a planner give way to violent drawings of women. One or two. Then entire pages. The more Jean sees, the more horrified she is, the sadder she is. She cries. 

Bateman, at Harry’s, joins his friends. Then goes and confronts his lawyer, Harold Carnes, over a message left the night before where Patrick admitted to killing Paul Allen and all the women and more. But the lawyer not only thinks Bateman’s joking but also thinks Bateman’s someone named Davis. Even after Patrick admits who he is, the lawyer rejects the confession, saying he had dinner with Paul Allen in London just 10 days ago. Patrick is, once again, uncertain about previous events. Had he actually done any of the things he thought he had?

Back at the table with his friends, Bryce complains about Reagan. Bateman oscillates between being whacky to going completely quiet. Then he delivers his final monologue, saying: There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis. My punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

Explanation

There are big things here and subtle things that are actually more important than the big things. Of course, the biggest thing is the “twist” that maybe Bateman has just been crazy and never did any of the things we saw. Paul Allen is still alive. Christie, Sabrina, Elizabeth, the man in the alley, the woman at the bank, the cops, the doorman, everyone. Maybe all of it was just Bateman daydreaming in his office as he doodled in his planner. A lot of the drawings Jean sees are sketches of moments in the movie, like Christie with the chainsaw in her side. 

We even see Bateman take a bottle of pills when he calls Jean from the payphone. Pills we saw earlier in his apartment. Now, in the book, they’re said to be Valium. But in the movie they’re unlabeled. It’s possible they’re psychiatric and help him with delusions. Something like that. You can begin to build a whole case that Bateman’s been delusional the entire film. But that doesn’t change the fact that Paul Allen is gone. That Paul’s girlfriend hired a private investigator. etc. etc. 

But the point of American Psycho isn’t to be a psychological thriller with a twist at the end. It’s a commentary on the 80s, specifically the changes the decade brought to the American psyche. With Bateman representing that new-wave Wall Street perspective that values the superficiality and spectacle of being a person much more than being an actual individual. In present day terms, it’s like Instagram vs. Reality. The curated image of an influencer’s life as opposed to who they really are and how they truly live. The Facebook friend who makes nothing but “I love my hubby/wifey” posts then announces they’re getting a divorce and they’ve been miserable for years. It’s all that materialism and consumerism and fitting in and looking good—what does that do to someone? How does the suppression of who you are affect you? American Psycho’s conclusion is that it f*cks you up and leaves you torn between outrage and total submission. 

Whether Bateman did anything or not doesn’t matter. Paul Allen’s apartment will go up for sale. No one goes looking for Christie, Sabrina, or Elizabeth. There are no consequences for his vile actions. People are too busy to care. Government is too busy to care. It’s one of the reasons the Pierce & Pierce guys keep thinking everyone is someone else. They’re too self-interested, so what’s it matter if Bateman is Bateman and not Davis or Halberstram. No one is anyone and everyone is no one. It’s total dehumanization and eradication of the individual. When that happens, what can possibly matter? 

It’s a very bleak statement on the country at the end of the decade. But there is one bit of hope. Timothy Bryce. Which is weird because Bryce spent the entire movie acting like a jerk. Arrogant, condescending, belittling. Yet at the end, his entire vibe is different. As Bateman takes a seat at Harry’s, McDermott even says, “Hey, look, Bryce is back and he’s drinking mineral water. He’s a changed man.” Now, we’re never told, as far as I’m aware, that Bryce went anywhere. In the book, they mention rehab. But in the film it’s just “He’s back.” And they highlight that he’s different. 

The difference isn’t something that’s made clear right away. He’s calling around for a reservation. So Bateman goes and has the conversation with his lawyer, Carnes. Gets rocked by Carnes’s rejection of Bateman’s confession. Then returns to his friends. That’s when Bryce 2.0 becomes apparent. On the TV, Reagan makes a hopeful, positive speech about the aftermath of Iran-Contra. Reagan: We’ve seen the results of that mistrust, in the form of lies, evasions, and mistakes. We need to find a way to cooperate, while realizing foreign policy can’t be run by committee. And I believe there is now the growing sense that we can accomplish more by cooperating. And, in the end, this may be the eventual blessing in disguise to come out of the Iran-Contra mess.

To which Bryce says: How can he lie like that? How can he pull that sh*t? How can you be so f*cking…I don’t know…cool about it? Oh, brother, look. He presents himself as this harmless old codger, but inside…but inside…

Right there, you get the major themes. The impact of lies, evasions, and mistakes. The inability to cooperate, to empathize with one another. And the idea that foreign policy can’t be run by committee? That’s how Bateman’s defined his entire personality. He lets public opinion dictate what music he listens to, how he dresses, where he eats, what he says. As he tells us near the beginning of the movie, there’s an idea of Patrick Bateman. But that’s it. The individual doesn’t exist. That’s because he’s eradicated his individuality in order to fit in. 

And Bryce calls out the hypocrisy of it. Reagan is acting like he had nothing to do with the mess. Bryce’s criticisms of Reagan are true of Bateman as well. Bateman lies. Bateman pretends. And he’s often very cool about it. All of the Wall Street guys are. Bryce was behaving just like that at the beginning of the movie. They all present themselves as these well-to-do guys, but they’ve all been cutthroat and petty and malicious. Beneath the surface, they’re far uglier than they appear. Their wealth hides just how hideous their souls are. 

This scene actually mirrors the earlier dinner at Espace where it’s Bateman and Evelyn, Bryce, Luis and Courtney, and Evelyn’s cousin Vanden and her boyfriend Stash. Vanden cares about the commercialization of SoHo but Bryce mocks her for it. Asking why she doesn’t care about what’s happening in Sri Lanka, even though he has no idea what’s happening in Sri Lanka. It’s peak hypocritical Bryce. But Bateman follows up with a laundry list of things more important than Sri Lanka. One or two and you could maybe believe he meant what he said. But the list is so long and practiced and delivered with such lack of emotion that you can see right through Bateman. You know he doesn’t mean any of what he says. Both he and Bryce are just virtue signaling. 

Except, now, at Harry’s, Bryce means what he says. He’s not posturing or being a nuisance. He’s sharing his genuine, informed perspective on the topic. It’s adult rather than childish. It’s being an individual rather than another lemming. Instead of finishing his thought about “But inside”, Bryce asks Bateman what Bateman thinks. And this is the moment of contrast. We don’t get the long, rehearsed bs that Bateman said to the group at Espace. That’s because Bateman’s wilting. As Bryce has become more individual, Bateman has gone the other way. He’s becoming nothing. No one. Empty. All he says in response is, “Whatever.” But inside, Bateman has an answer. He narrates it to the audience. “Inside doesn’t matter.” He rejects himself. He rejects guilt, shame, morality. The important thing is the outside, right? The presentation of self. Not the actual self. 

A few seconds later we get the closing monologue. There, Bateman makes his self-rejection much more apparent. Not only that, he rejects caring for others. He espouses inflicting his pain on others. All while the camera roams around the room, looking at all the other Wall Street people. They all look much happier than Bateman, much more connected to one another. But that’s the external. The outside. Inside, we have no idea what they’re feeling. The same way no one knows what’s going through Bateman’s mind or what he does at night. Everyone in that room could be suffering from the same outlook he has. Their desire to fit in outweighing their humanity. 

The movie wants us to realize that Bateman isn’t this outlier. He’s a harbinger. That’s why the idea of mistaken identity is so prominent throughout the film. Because it implies, first, the lack of individuality and the inability to see people as individuals, but it also sets up the idea that these people are interchangeable. One is like the other. Which means if Bateman is capable of doing these things, or has these dark urges, then maybe the rest do as well. They might not chase someone down with a chainsaw but that was hyperbolic for the true issue. It wasn’t the reality of the issue, just the dramatic interpretation. The reality is far more insidious. 

And that’s why the Reagan stuff is there. Because it makes a direct connection to the government. As in, American politics are already dehumanizing. That the politicians are like the Wall Street guys. The “Wall Street” outlook isn’t restricted to a small group, the same way it’s not limited to Bateman. It’s a larger, national issue. And it’s not something society is learning from. It’s not something we’re understanding and using to grow. Which is the emphasis of Bateman’s confession. What American Psycho says about this topic, via Bateman, is that we’re pretty much powerless. The state of the world has led us to a place without consequences. And without consequences, nothing will change. No one will change. We see it. We comprehend it. But we go on with our lives. What else is there to do? That’s why the novel ends with a close up of a sign on a door that says “This is not an exit.” 

Comprehension doesn’t free us. It doesn’t save us. It doesn’t transform us. Only consequences will. As bleak as that is, Bryce growing up does give a glimmer of hope. That even if comprehension and self-reflection aren’t a panacea, it’s still possible to change. We can become informed. We can apply empathy and be interested in what others think and feel. Jean does it. Bryce disconnected from Wall Street and returned with a new perspective. Maybe Bateman never will. But, for the rest of us, there’s still a chance. 

American Psycho question and answer

What is Patrick Bateman’s backstory?

There is none. Patrick Bateman is the embodiment of late 80s Wall Street masculinity. If you give him a backstory, he’s less of an everyman and more of a unique individual. In a book and film that also emphasizes mistaken identity, a backstory only takes away from the point. 

Christian Bale talked about it in the Movie Maker oral history, saying: I think the thing that united us on it is I had no interest in his background, childhood—and she didn’t either. We looked at him as an alien who landed in the unabashedly capitalist New York of the ’80s, and looked around and said, ‘How do I perform like a successful male in this world?’ And that was our beginning point. And we didn’t want to talk about why was he this way, what happened in his childhood—there was none of that between Mary and I. 

At one point, Evelyn does say that Bateman’s father practically owns Pierce & Pierce. So that does imply some degree of backstory. Wealthy upbringing. Probably private schools. Father probably often working and distant. Given his treatment of women, probably doesn’t have a great relationship with his mother. Got his job through nepotism. Has never experienced love. 

Something like that.

Was Patrick Bateman based on a real person?

Harron said that Bale was inspired by his lawyer, Tom Cruise, and Donald Trump. And Bret Easton Ellis has never named a particular person but said that living in New York in the 80s meant he witnessed and met a lot of Wall Street bros like Bateman. The character ended up being a hyperbolic amalgamation of those guys and their culture. 

But it’s not like Wolf of Wall Street actually being based on the real Jordan Belfort. It’s more like Gordon Gekko from Wall Street being based on a trio of people (Michael Ovitz, Ivan Boesky, Carl Icahn). 

Why does Patrick spare Jean?

Bateman is a jerk but not oblivious. He knows Jean likes him. Like, actually likes him. As opposed to Courtney who never shows actual interest in Bateman. Or Evelyn who uses him as a trophy. Or the women who he picks up who just want his money. Jean is earnest and genuine. And even though Bateman’s a monster, Jean’s humanity still gets through to him. Specifically, when she asks the question if Patrick’s ever wanted to make someone happy. 

As much as it seems Bateman is devoid of morality, he’s still very reflective. Otherwise he wouldn’t give the existential narration that he does. Being asked if he’s ever wanted to make someone else happy gets at the heart of his issues with the world. He feels an inability to empathize with others. To care about others. Just look at the people he’s around: they’re all incredibly fake. They’re all politicking. Jean isn’t. And her question is honest and that resonates. Especially when Evelyn leaves her voicemail. Bateman knows the message is awkward for Jean. You can also imagine him contrasting Evelyn and Jean. The disgust he feels toward his fiancée and the sympathy he suddenly has for Jean. 

He realizes that as much as he was ready to hurt her physically, he wasn’t prepared to hurt her emotionally. As much as he says “Inside doesn’t matter” and “I’m simply not there” and “I want no one to escape.” That’s not always true. He gave Jean a way out. It’s not much, but even Bateman has an ounce of humanity. It’s also why he called Jean after his encounter with the real estate agent and how freaked out he was about Paul Allen’s apartment being normal. He’s overwhelmed by his failing sense of reality. And reaches out to Jean for comfort, because he knows she cares. And knowing someone cares is a powerful thing. 

Did the real estate agent know about the bodies in Paul Allen’s apartment? Did Donald Kimball?

This is an interesting one. When Bateman shows up at Paul Allen’s and it’s completely empty, he’s shocked. There should be bodies. There should be blood. There should be evidence of all the terrible things he’s done. Except there’s not. The initial reaction from audiences familiar with psychological films is that Bateman made it all up. This is the first reveal that he’s just been crazy this entire time. 

Except when he interacts with the real estate agent, she behaves in a way that makes it seem like maybe she knows what happened at the apartment. The exact moment is when Bateman opens up a closet where two human heads had been. He’s blown away that the closet is empty and freshly painted. The agent says “Are you my 2:00?” with a smile. But when Bateman says “No” and stares into the closet, her eyes go to the closet then to him and her expression changes. 

It’s like they both know what happened in the apartment but neither wants to say it out loud. Bateman because he doesn’t want to get caught. The realtor because she doesn’t want people to know the depraved details. When Bateman says “I want to know what happened here” she responds with “Don’t make any trouble, please.” Which could simply be her recognizing Bateman’s a weirdo who wandered into the apartment and wants him to go. Or it could be her asking him to not bring up the bodies. 

Which is such an American Psycho thing to do. The whole film is about messing with our perception of events and people. So having the realtor walk the line between “knowing” and “not knowing” fits into that idea of keeping the viewer uncertain. Maybe Paul Allen did move to London and put the place up for sale. Or…

This actually ties into the Donald Kimball stuff. So before Willem Dafoe filmed his scenes, Mary Harron asked him to do one version where he had no idea that Bateman was guilty. Then another version where he absolutely knew Bateman was guilty. Then Harron spliced both versions together into the final edit. That’s why sometimes Kimball is completely casual then suddenly he’s mentioning Huey Lewis and the News. It gets at Bateman’s own paranoia. And plays with the viewer’s perspective of events. 

I feel like Harron probably had the same idea with the real estate agent. Have the interaction walk the line so the viewer can’t feel confident one way or the other. 

Is Bateman an unreliable narrator?

Not really. Well, it’s complicated. Bateman’s narration is actually very honest. From what we see, he never lies about events. It’s not like he doesn’t use the face moisturizer he says he does. I believe he’s being completely forthcoming with his narration. 

The thing is, the film is unreliable in its depiction of events. Bateman is imagining things and American Psycho just shows them to us as if they literally happened. So you could maybe try and argue that because the movie’s told from Bateman’s perspective that he’s unreliable. But nothing he narrates is actually a lie or false. 

In the book version? Absolutely. Since the whole book is him narrating. But in the film version, less so. 

Did the scene with the cat and the ATM and the cops actually happen?

I mean…no. An ATM did not ask Patrick to feed it a stray cat. A handgun isn’t going to blow up cop cars. None of that happened. 

But. That doesn’t mean nothing else happened. American Psycho wants to play with viewer perception. By showing us something completely fake, it causes us to doubt everything before and after. It’s gaslighting us. By creating that bit of reasonable doubt, we’re not sure how to feel about the rest of it. Is Bateman as evil as he seemed? Is he far more innocent? Just a daydreamer? 

This actually ties back to the Reagan stuff at the end. The government does all of this stuff. Then casts doubt on the legitimacy of it. Or tries to spin it as something potentially positive. And suddenly you can’t decide if your anger is valid or not. Government does that. Companies do that. Individuals do that. And it leaves everyone kind of paralyzed as to how to move forward. Can you be mad? Should you be? So then nothing happens. No one is held accountable. Because what actually happened? 

The tv show Andor recently got at a similar idea by saying the Galactic Empire would fall if there was only one tragedy people could rally around. But when there’s 40 of them. Hundreds of them. People get exhausted. They don’t know which battle to fight so they fight none of them. You can liken that to politics in the 2020s. Every day, the media tells us there’s some new political scandal. Especially in America. This senator did something awful! But this other senator did something even worse! Now 12 congressmen are accused of a whole other terrible thing. But a White House official actually did something much worse. Yadda yadda. Etc. etc. And the public can only yawn in response. It’s tiring and boring and most of us just want to live our lives and not be in a perpetual state of indignation. So we move on. “Who fed the cat to the ATM? Did they actually feed a cat to an ATM? I can’t even deal with this.” 

The end

Thanks for reading and if you have any other questions, leave them in the comments!