American Psycho: The Queer Narrative It Axed

"If they knew I was gay, 'Psycho' would be read as a different book," author Brett Easton Ellis remarked in an interview with the Los Angeles Times in 1999. Published in 1991, American Psycho faced significant controversy, leading to Ellis's separation from his primary publisher, Simon & Schuster. Ellis was "canceled" due to mounting public opposition that saw the novel as an endorsement of capitalism, materialism, misogyny, rampant homophobia, and explicit violence, among various other disturbing themes, all while the protagonist, the cartoonishly absurd serial killer Patrick Bateman, remains unaccountable for his actions. What initially began as a satirical critique of yuppie culture, society in the 80s, and extreme privilege, quickly spiraled into a maelstrom of death threats and public backlash for Ellis. Nine years later, lead actor Christian Bale encountered a similar reaction before the film's 2000 premiere.

Superficially, the book appears to present a convoluted narrative with a repetitive cycle of events. These include recurrent scenes of entering nightclubs, scrutinizing the fashion choices and values of individuals, and chapters devoted to 1980s music reviews. The storyline revolves around Patrick Bateman, a Harvard graduate, banker, and a quintessential product of nepotism, along with his circle of friends who are essentially the same as him. To grossly summarize, Bateman engages in a series of heinous acts, encompassing murder, sexual assault, horrific pranks, and occasional lapses into madness. The book provides ample room for interpretation, from portraying Patrick Bateman as a character trapped in his own personal hell, critiquing the hollowness of materialism and wealth, and exploring the essence of identity.

Nonetheless, there is a less conventional interpretation that lingers: Patrick Bateman could be a closeted homosexual possibly grappling with AIDS. To explore this theory, one must entertain the notion that Bateman isn't actually committing murder but, instead, is transmitting AIDS to his victims. While this interpretation might seem far-fetched, it finds subtle allusions in both the book and the film adaptation, although the film predominantly veers toward different themes other than this.

In director Mary Harron's adaptation of American Psycho, the film takes a unique perspective by delving deep into the theme of identity. It situates the enigmatic serial killer, Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale), within an uncanny horror narrative, where the repetition of his life renders everything he does as seemingly inconsequential. In his desperate quest for a lifeline, Bateman grapples with the unsettling realization that despite his relentless efforts to conform, he remains indistinguishable from his fellow bankers. Every action he undertakes carries no significance, culminating in a conclusion marked by a touch of insanity.

Objectively, the film is a success, but no matter what, it detracts from Ellis's work, focusing on specific events while ignoring many more. Harron integrates two pivotal scenes that subtly allude to Patrick Bateman's and his friend's sexualities. The first of these pivotal moments unfolds after Bateman encounters Luis Carruthers' (Matt Ross) superior business card, which is yet another manifestation of the theme of materialism that permeates the film. The scene takes place in the men's restroom when Bateman hesitatingly decides to strangle his friend Carruthers. It's the sole instance in the film where we witness Bateman genuinely struggling to take a life. Caught in his uncertainty, Caruthers interprets Bateman's actions as a romantic advance and proceeds to kiss his hands, confessing his long-standing desire for Bateman to make a move on him, "You can’t imagine how long I wanted this, ever since that Christmas party in Arizona." Bateman, overwhelmed and uncomfortable, withdraws from the situation, subsequently unable to harm Caruthers for the remainder of the narrative, both in the film and the book. In the original text, Caruthers persists, relentlessly pursuing Patrick and subjecting him to public humiliation. The stark contrast between Bateman's ability to murder innocent individuals and his incapacity to harm the one person who persistently torments him is a rare glimpse into Bateman's vulnerability, showcasing one of the film's few authentic moments of his internal struggle.

A subtle homage in the film, reinforcing the theory about Bateman's sexuality, unfolds in its closing scene. Learning that Paul Allen (Jared Leto), a fellow banker Bateman supposedly killed, is in fact alive in London, Bateman returns to the company of his friends. They sit together, watching a televised address by President Reagan discussing Iran. Bateman's friend, Timothy Bryce (Justin Theroux), expresses his dismay with a distinct sense of disgust, exclaiming, "How can he lie like that? How can he be so incredibly... I don't know, cool about it?" Examined within the context of the 1980s, a period marked by the height of the AIDS epidemic, Reagan's apparent lack of compassion and support for those affected by the disease resonated deeply within the queer community. Bryce, a character who makes an appearance both at the start and end of the narrative in both the film and the novel, could plausibly allude to Reagan's absence of empathy for those impacted by AIDS, veiled by the backdrop of the Iran conflict. In the book, Price vanishes for a substantial portion of the plot, and readers later discover that he is undergoing "rehab" in a treatment facility in Arizona. However, Bateman's girlfriend speculates that he may be grappling with AIDS.

While Mary Harron provides a subtle glimpse into a queer narrative that is more intricately woven within the novel, her primary goal lies in creating a popular uncanny horror film. Subjectively, the film is a compelling work of art, retaining its status as a cult classic and serving as Christian Bale's breakthrough feature film. While the themes discussed appear absent in the film, it's important to note that delving into the queer narrative would have presented a formidable challenge, especially considering the rampant use of homophobic slurs and the book's pervasive unfair assumptions. In a revealing 2023 interview on who Patrick Bateman was really about, Ellis candidly expresses, "I couldn't come out and say, 'Look, Patrick Bateman is me in so many ways.' And then finally, I could." The queer undertones of his novel are central to Bret Easton Ellis's narrative, allowing him to construct a portrayal of his own life as a closeted man in the 1980s.