“Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?”
This obviously profound question is asked by Patrick Bateman - main character in Bret Easton Ellis’ novel “American Psycho” - a few moments before he slams an axe into his co-worker’s face. It is one of many memorable lines from the novel/movie originally written in 1991. There’s another quote from the book you will find above my headline. It is my mantra. My declamation.
“This is not an exit” are the last words of “American Psycho.” They appear, both in the book and in the film interpretation, on a sign above a wooden door in the background at the end of the story.
For those of you not familiar with either the book or the movie, let me give you the essentials.
Patrick Bateman, the story’s main character, is a 27-year-old, well-to-do, Wall Street businessman holding a sinecure position at the fictional Pierce & Pierce investment firm. Pierce & Pierce actually first appeared as a firm in Tom Wolfe’s novel “The Bonfire of the Vanities.”
In “American Psycho,” vanity plays a pivotal role in defining Bateman’s character. He is, among other things, a narcissist, a yuppie, a homophobe, a sadist, a necrophiliac, a racist, a stoic and, most notably, a killer. Bateman’s murdering escapades include killing homeless men, prostitutes, dogs, saxophonists and co-workers, among others.
He carries out all his heinous crimes while remaining ostensibly a normal, happy guy. It was Ellis’ purpose in writing the novel to show through overstatement and exaggerated circumstances the contemporary postmodern behavior indicative of the increasing selfishness, materialism, greed and lust of the late 1980s.
He does this brilliantly. By taking the ultimate manifestation of these negative human characteristics - murder - Ellis develops a character who embodies all that is morally wrong and evil yet still gets away with his atrocities.
People sometimes find it weird that “American Psycho” is one of my favorite movies. Usually these are people who take the story only at face value – a story about a serial killer – and don’t see the deeper, social commentary that makes the novel/movie a modern masterpiece among a hodgepodge of second-rate mystery and crime novels by the Dean Koontz’s and John Grisham’s of the literary world.
Along with first-rate acting, directing and scriptwriting, the story makes a bold statement about people born into wealth and fortune. It addresses the old cliche that money and power don’t necessarily lead to happiness. Bateman is suffocated by the monotony and inherent meaninglessness of his life - a common feeling among the majority of college students drowning in the day-to-day grind of class, work and studying.
When every day is the same, our means of alleviating the boredom is to engage in behavior we see as thrilling, relaxing, soothing, exhilarating – all emotions Bateman gains from “engaging in homicidal behavior on a massive scale.”
College students’ vices include drinking, taking drugs, engaging in promiscuous sexual behavior and oftentimes all-out debauchery. This scaled-down version of Bateman’s actions holds the same meaning and is therefore as applicable to today’s generation of 20-somethings as those in Ellis’ 80s novel.
The escapism achieved by drowning out the monotony of one’s life is the same whether one uses a fifth of Jim Beam or a 10-inch cleaver. Bateman’s vice is murder. Bar patrons’ - booze. In both cases it involves people’s backlash against the mundane, the tedium they wish didn’t define their existence.
Much like college students typically don’t have to face dire consequences for their actions, Bateman is never even considered a suspect for any of the murders he commits and is never arrested. He goes on with his daily routine - meeting with co-workers, hobnobbing with models, sodomizing and dismembering prostitutes; much like we continue to attend class, send text messages and do keg stands until we can’t stand.
At the end of the story, Bateman goes on a killing spree which culminates in a confession. But much like his killings never satiated his maniacal desire to escape, his effort to out himself proves to be frivolous.
Bateman is left feeling hollow. His means of escape – murder – has ceased to arouse any feeling in him. It is in this that I ultimately identify with his character and why I chose the novel’s last words as my column’s title.
No matter how much I drink, what kind of books I read or what I write my columns about, absolution will elude me if I use escapism as a means to solve my problems or answer my questions. Facing my fears and my jadedness is the road to elucidation.
In the end Bateman says: “Even after admitting this there is no catharsis . . . I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.”
I agree, Patrick.
 
Dennis is a theatre senior. Contact him at [email protected]