The original Norman Bates was a pussycat

Rating: 6/10 (23 December 2006)

(Note: Over 500 of my movie reviews are now available in my book "Cut to the Chaise Lounge or I Can't Believe I Swallowed the Remote!" Get it at Amazon.)
Relatively speaking, that is.
This is an interesting, if a bit over the top, portrait of a psychopath gone bananas. Presented in white, white, and more white so that the red, red, red of the blood will be all the more contrasting, this approach coincides with the ultra, ultra sophistication of the Harvard and Yale grads working on Wall Street who are so, so very venal and superficial. This is a slasher film that will appeal equally to heartlanders on a date night, and to those blue coasters who need a little titillation.
(And then suddenly Bateman takes over my review): Yeah, RIGHT. Who cares.
Personally, I don't usually watch slasher films, being above that kind of stuff, but this is stylishly done--and I do like style in my blood splattering. Where director Mary Herron screws up is in not realizing that only an idiot sociopath would be so stupid and self-destructive as to so carelessly kill so many people. If there is one thing a sociopath never wants to do is to bring pain upon himself. Don't you think, considering the ending, that Bateman is going to be caught? Huh? (Resuming control of my review and droning on): ...although the terms "sociopath" and "psychopath" are often used interchangeably, there is a clear tendency for "psychopath" to be reserved for violent sociopaths. Another reason "psychopath" is correct is because this is a postmodern update of the classic Hitchcock slasher movie Psycho (1960) starring...
(Again taking over): Shut up. Who cares who it starred? The point here is that this film--we're talking about MY film-- is a TOTALLY INACCURATE portrait of a true psycho--I mean sociopath. We don't make ourselves so vulnerable to the Criminal Justice System. We are NOT intent on self-destruction. Believe me if I ever decide to get my jollies by slashing someone up, I will make absolutely sure I can get away with it. Only low IQ psychos like Scott Peterson get caught. And, by the way, what is with this chainsaw business? I mean he tosses it down the stairwell so that it crashes on the floor from how many stories above, and it still works so he can use it on "Christie"? Give me a break.
Oh. You think that it hit her while still running, huh? Ha, ha, ha! Nice shot, dude.
(Again resuming control): ..notice too that the ending allows for a sequel, yet has all the trappings of an ending. We know that he is going to be caught and yet...
(Coming back out of the screen...): We know nothing. The cops are stupid. Nobody will believe...
(Shoving him back in...): ...the emphasis on the conspicuous consumption of expensive food and wine, drugs, cigars, the indulgence of any kind of animal pleasure is, on one level a statement about our society--well, Wall Street society--but on another level is part of the usual Hollywood seduction of the audience. This is the fast lane. Wouldn't you like to live in the fast lane for a bit, but of course come back (after they run the credits) to your own way of life? Isn't this the essence of escape? Go to the movies, rent a DVD, kick up your feet and escape for awhile, and maybe there will be a catharsis, as the Greek tragedians intended. And when you turn off the set and go to bed you realize that nothing in your life is so extreme and nothing in your life is really that far gone, and yet you have experienced vicariously an extreme emotion, and as a bonus you can feel superior to those Ivy League sickos.
In truth this is a slightly tongue in cheek slasher/serial killer flick. It's a satire of sorts. It is as slick as slick can be, thoroughly engrossing with fine acting from especially Christian Bale who plays Bateman. The direction is as tight as a well-strung banjo, the script nearly hypnotic in its seductive power, the New York ultra hip sets eye-widening as seeing the Taj Mahal while the sidebar-like satirical commentary, which (on a third level) parodies the genre, is very funny. Best joke: they're in the restroom of a fancy eating establishment and doing some lines and the guy in the next stall gets a little uptight because they're loud and screams out, "Will you keep it down. I'm trying to do drugs!" Also funny is how Bateman says what he really thinks and nobody takes him seriously, and how he slips up from time to time and nobody notices.
Incidentally, Reese Witherspoon has a minor part as exactly the kind of clueless woman who might very well marry a psychopath. I liked this touch because I have known a few non-violent sociopaths and I often wondered if their spouses had a clue. Clearly Reese's character did not.
Also excellent in support was Chloe Sevigny as Jean, Bateman's adoring (but also clueless) secretary. The idea here is that women are so bowled over by Bateman's alpha male credentials that they can't see the real person. The only character to really realize who Bateman was (and she ended up listening to that knowledge a little late) was the streetwalker. Well, Jean gets the picture finally as she peruses Bateman's graphic notebook. (By the way, somebody got paid to draw all the stuff in it. I wonder who that was. Was there a mention in the credits, something like, sick psycho doodlings by...?) Finally: real life irony. The character that Bale played in a movie immediately before this one was Jesus of Nazareth in a TV drama called Mary, Mother of Jesus (1999). As Casey Stengel used to say, you could look it up.