American Psycho: Banality of Evil

Bret Easton Ellis’s controversial novel “American Psycho” shocked readers upon its release in 1991 with its graphic depiction of violence and scathing critique of 1980s consumer culture. But after the initial shock subsided, uncertainty and confusion about many aspects of the plot emerged. Even the ending is widely regarded as foggy and unfinished, leaving readers to grapple with the ambiguities Ellis deliberately wove into his narrative.

The book follows Patrick Bateman, a wealthy New York investment banker whose outwardly perfect life masks a disturbing inner world of violent fantasies and psychopathic behavior.

In 2000, the novel was adapted into a film of the same name, directed by Mary Harron and starring Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman. While the movie successfully captures much of the book’s satirical tone, it necessarily diverges from its source material in several key aspects. The novel’s extreme graphic content and disturbing depictions of violence are notably toned down in the film, though it remains shocking in its own right. Ellis’s prose features long, detailed passages about music, fashion, and consumer products, which the film streamlines while maintaining their thematic importance.

Another significant difference lies in the narrative structure and ambiguity. The book leaves more room for interpretation regarding the reality of Bateman’s actions, while the film, though still ambiguous, provides a somewhat clearer narrative. Additionally, the novel delves deeper into Bateman’s psyche and the lives of secondary characters, offering a more comprehensive exploration of its world. The film, in contrast, focuses more tightly on Bateman’s descent into madness, creating a more concentrated character study.

Accurate, but nothing more

The depiction of Manhattan’s elite in both Ellis’s novel and Harron’s film adaptation treads familiar ground, presenting a stereotypical yet arguably accurate portrayal of 1980s Wall Street excess. This high-society milieu serves as both setting and indictment, with Ellis and Harron painting a picture of decadence that, while shocking, offers few surprises to those familiar with media portrayals of this world.

The characters inhabit a realm of endless parties, awash in a sea of cocaine and casual sexual encounters. Personal connections are superficial at best, with individuals often unable to correctly identify their supposed friends and colleagues – a failing that seems to concern them little, if at all. Loyalty, whether in friendships or romantic relationships, is notably absent, replaced by a revolving door of interchangeable acquaintances and lovers.

An obsession with appearances dominates their lives, manifesting in an almost fetishistic fixation on designer labels and expensive brands. This materialism serves as a thin veneer, barely concealing the emptiness beneath. While this portrayal of Manhattan’s upper echelon may be accurate, it’s hardly groundbreaking. Similar depictions have appeared in countless novels, films, and television shows, to the point where they’ve become part of the cultural lexicon.

Shock (under)value

The notoriety of “American Psycho” stems largely from its graphic and lengthy depictions of killings. While these scenes are undoubtedly gruesome, they ultimately feel banal in their purpose. The shock value of these violent depictions seems to exist primarily to spice up an otherwise stereotypical and oft-told story about Manhattan’s elite. It’s a narrative device that some readers will inevitably fall for, drawn in by the controversy and explicit content.

However, this approach raises questions about the true nature of evil in the novel. Are Bateman’s acts truly shocking in the context of the vapid, materialistic world Ellis has constructed? Or do they simply become another facet of the character’s routine, as mundane as his obsession with reservations and business cards? By blending extreme violence with the banality of high-society life, Ellis challenges readers to look beyond the sensational elements and confront uncomfortable truths about society and the potential for evil lurking beneath polished exteriors.

What is real, anyway?

My friend who read the book asked me: “Do all those murders really take place, or are they just in the main character’s imagination?” At first, I admitted I hadn’t thought about it enough. But upon reflection, it seemed to me that the answer actually depends on the reader. Those who see the gruesome scenes as just another “shock for the sake of shock” moment might be inclined to attribute everything to Bateman’s imagination.

In the end, whether the murders are real or imagined may be less important than what they reveal about both Bateman and the society that shaped him.