**AMERICAN PSYCHO** by Mary Harron and Guinevere Turner Based on the novel by Bret Easton Ellis Fourth Draft November 1998 INT. PASTELS RESTAURANT- NIGHT An insanely expensive restaurant on the Upper East Side. The decor is a mixture of chi-chi and rustic, with swagged silk curtains, handwritten menus and pale pink tablecloths decorated with arrangements of moss, twigs and hideous exotic flowers. The clientele is young, wealthy and confident, dressed in the height of late-eighties style: pouffy Lacroix dresses, slinky Alaïa, Armani power suits. CLOSE-UP on a WAITER reading out the specials. WAITER With goat cheese profiteroles and I also have an arugula Caesar salad. For entrées tonight I have a swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade, a rare-roasted partridge breast in raspberry coulis with a sorrel timbale… Huge white porcelain plates descend on very pale pink linen table cloths. Each of the entrees is a rectangle about four inches square and look exactly alike. CLOSE-UP on various diners as we hear fragments of conversation. “Is that Charlie Sheen over there?” “Excuse me? I ordered cactus pear sorbet.” WAITER And grilled free-range rabbit with herbed French fries. Our pasta tonight is a squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth… CLOSE-UP on porcelain plates containing elaborate perpendicular desserts descending on another table. PATRICK BATEMAN, TIMOTHY PRICE, CRAIG MCDERMOTT and DAVID VAN PATTEN are at a table set for four. They are all wearing expensively cut suits and suspenders and have slicked-back hair. Van Patten wears horn-rimmed glasses. The camera moves in on Bateman as his narration begins: BATEMAN (V.O.) We’re sitting in Pastels, this nouvelle Northern California place on the Upper East Side. The Waiter sets down plates containing tiny, elaborately decorated starters. As he does so we hear Bateman’s description of each of the men at the table. BATEMAN (V.O.) You’ll notice that my friends and I all look and behave in a remarkably similar fashion, but there are subtle differences between us. McDermott is the biggest asshole. Van Patten is the yes man. Price is the most wired. I’m the best looking. We all have light tans. Right now I’m in a bad mood because this is not a good table, and Van Patten keeps asking dumb, obvious questions about how to dress . VAN PATTEN What are the rules for a sweater vest? McDERMOTT What do you mean? PRICE Yes. Clarify. McDERMOTT Well, is it strictly informal- BATEMAN Or can it be worn with a suit? McDERMOTT (Smiling) Exactly BATEMAN With discreet pinstripes you should wear a subdued blue or charcoal gray vest. A plaid suit would cal I for a bolder vest. McDERMOTT But avoid matching the vest’s pattern with your socks or tie. Wearing argyle socks with an argyle vest will look too studied. VAN PATTEN You think so? PRICE You’ll look like you consciously worked for the look. VAN PATTEN Good point. Excuse me, gentlemen. Van Patten leaves the table. As he does so, a busboy discreetly removes their largely untouched plates. BATEMAN Van Patten looks puffy. Has he stopped working out? PRICE It looks that way, doesn’t it? McDERMOTT (Staring at retreating waiter) Did he just take our plates away? PRICE He took them away because the portions are so small he probably thought we were finished. God, I hate this place. This is a chicks’ restaurant. Why aren’t we at Dorsia? McDERMOTT Because Bateman won’t give the maitre d’ head. (He guffaws) Bateman throws a swizzle stick at him. McDermott scans the room, settling on a handsome young man with slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses. McDERMOTT Is that Reed Robinson over there? PRICE Are you freebasing or what? That’s not Robinson. McDERMOTT Who is it then? PRICE That’s Paul Owen. BATEMAN That’s not Paul Owen. Paul Owen’s on the other side of the room. Over there. He points to another handsome young man with slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses. McDERMOTT Who is he with? PRICE (Distracted by the waitress’s cleavage as she bends over to uncork a bottle of wine – the waitress glares at him) Some weasel from Kicker Peabody. Van Patten returns. VAN PATTEN They don’t have a good bathroom to do coke in. McDERMOTT Are you sure that’s Paul Owen over there? PRICE Yes. McDufus, I am. McDERMOTT He’s handling the Fisher account. PRICE Lucky bastard. McDERMOTT Lucky Jew bastard. BATEMAN Oh Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with anything? McDERMOTT Listen. I’ve seen the bastard sitting in his office on the phone with CEOs, spinning a fucking menorah. The bastard brought a Hanukkah bush into the office last December. BATEMAN You spin a dreidel, McDermott, not a menorah. You spin a dreidel. McDERMOTT Oh my God. Bateman, do you want me to fry you up some fucking potato pancakes? Some latkes? BATEMAN No. Just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks. McDERMOTT Oh I forgot. Bateman’s dating someone from the ACLU. Price leans over and pats Bateman on the back. PRICE The voice of reason. The boy next door. And speaking of reasonable… He shows McDermott the bill for the meal. McDERMOTT Only $470. VAN PATTEN (Without irony) Not bad. The others murmur agreement. Four platinum Amex cards slap down on the table. INT. LIMOUSINE – NIGHT Bateman is pouring vintage champagne into flutes. Price is lighting up a cigar. McDERMOTT Last week I picked up this Vassar chick- VAN PATTEN Oh God, I was there. I don’t need to hear this story again. McDERMOTT But I never told you what happened afterwards. So okay, I pick up this Vassar chick at Tunnel-hot number, big tits, great legs, this chick was a little hardbody-and so I buy her a couple of champagne kirs and she’s in the city on spring break and she’s practically blowing me in the Chandelier Room and so I take her back to my place- BATEMAN Whoa, wait. May I ask where Pamela is during all this? McDERMOTT Oh fuck you. I want a blowjob, Bate-man. I want a chick who’s gonna let me- VAN PATTEN (Putting his hands over his ears) I don’t want to hear this. He’s going to say something disgusting. McDERMOTT You prude. Listen, we’re not gonna invest in a co-op together or jet down to Saint Bart’s. I just want some chick whose face I can sit on for thirty, forty minutes. Price throws a cigar at McDermott, who catches it. McDERMOTT Anyway, so we’re back at my place and listen to this. She’s had enough champagne by now to get a fucking rhino tipsy, and get this- VAN PATTEN She let you fuck her without a condom? McDERMOTT This is a Vassar girl. She’s not from Queens. She would only-are you ready? (Dramatic pause) She would only give me a handjob, and get this…she kept her glove on. The men sit in shocked, horrified silence. ALL IN UNISON Never date a Vassar girl. EXT. TUNNEL NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT The limo pulls up to the sidewalk outside the Tunnel. McDermott holds the door open for a passing HOMELESS MAN, who looks confused. McDERMOTT I suppose he doesn’t want the car. Price, ask him if he takes American Express. PRICE (Offering card) You take Amex, dude? The man stumbles away. The club DOORMAN, seeing the limousine, unhooks the velvet rope and welcomes them inside. INT. LADIES ROOM, TUNNEL – NIGHT Brilliant white light, a bemused elderly female attendant in a black-and-white maid’s uniform trying to give out paper towels. MUSIC thuds through an open doorway. Trashed-looking girls stare into mirrors repairing their eye make-up or sit on the counter chatting to friends. There are almost as many men as women in the room. Couples stand in line, twitching as they wait to do coke. As soon as one bathroom door opens, a couple lurches out rubbing their noses while another couple rushes past them and slams the door. PRICE There’s this theory out now that if you can catch the AIDS virus through having sex with someone who is infected, then you can also catch anything-Alzheimer’s, muscular dystrophy, hemophilia, leukemia, diabetes, dyslexia, for Christ’s sake-you can get dyslexia from pussy- BATEMAN I’m not sure, guy, but I don’t think dyslexia is a virus. PRICE Oh, who knows? They don’t know that. Prove it. Price and Bateman finally get a stall and rush in. Price is sweating. PRICE I’m shaking. You open it. Bateman opens a tiny packet of coke. PRICE Jeez. That’s not a helluva lot, is it? BATEMAN Maybe it’s just the light. PRICE Is he fucking selling it by the milligram? (He dips the corner of his Amex card in the packet and takes a snort) Oh my God… BATEMAN What? PRICE It’s a fucking milligram of Sweet’n Low! Bateman dips his Amex in the envelope and snorts. BATEMAN It’s definitely weak but I have a feeling if we do enough of it we’ll be okay. PRICE I want to get high off this; Bateman, not sprinkle it on my fucking All-Bran. The GUY IN STALL next door yells at them in an effeminate voice: GUY IN STALL Could you keep it down, I’m trying to do drugs! Price pounds his fist against the stall. PRICE (screaming) SHUT UP! BATEMAN Calm down. Let’s do it anyway PRICE I guess you’re right… (Raising his voice) THAT IS, IF THE FAGGOT IN THE NEXT STALL THINKS IT’S OKAY! GUY IN STALL Fuck you! PRICE (Trying to climb up against the aluminum divider) No, FUCK YOU!! (He collapses, panting against the stall door) Sorry, dude. Steroids…Okay, let’s do it. BATEMAN That’s the spirit. They both dig their platinum Amex cards into the envelope of white powder, shoveling it up their noses, then sticking their fingers in to catch the residue and rubbing it into their gums. INT. NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT Bateman saunters toward the bar as “Pump Up the Volume” plays in the background. BATEMAN (to BARGIRL) Two Stoli on the rocks. He hands her two drink tickets. BARGIRL It’s after eleven. Those aren’t good anymore. It’s a cash bar. That’ll be twenty-five dollars. Bateman pulls out an expensive-looking wallet and hands her a $50. She turns her back and searches the cash register for change. BATEMAN You are a fucking ugly bitch I want to stab to death and then play around with your blood. The music muffles his voice. She turns around. He is smiling at her. She gives him his change impassively. INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT- MORNING Tableaux of Bateman’s apartment in the early morning light. A huge white living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Manhattan, decorated in expensive, minimalist high style: bleached oak floors, a huge white sofa, a large Baselitz painting (hung upside down) and much expensive electronic equipment. The room is impeccably neat, and oddly impersonal – as if it had sprung straight from the pages of a design magazine. BATEMAN (V.0.) My name is Patrick Bateman. I am twenty-six years old. I live in the American Garden Buildings on West Eighty-First Street, on the eleventh floor Tom Cruise lives in the penthouse. Bateman walks into his bathroom, urinates while trying to see his reflection in a poster for Les Miserables above his toilet. BATEMAN (V.0.) I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. Bateman ties a plastic ice pack around his face. Bateman does his morning stretching exercises in the living room wearing the ice pack. CUT TO: A mirror-lined bathroom. Bateman is luxuriating in the shower steam, scrubbing his body, admiring his muscles. BATEMAN (V.O.) After I remove the icepack, I use a deep pore-cleanser lotion. In the shower, I use a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Bateman stands in front of a massive marble sink applying a gel facial masque. BATEMAN (V.O.) Then I apply an herb mint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. Bateman opens the door of a mirrored cabinet, which is stocked with immaculate rows of skin care products. He begins selecting bottles jars and brushes, laying them in readiness on the marble counter. BATEMAN (V.O.) I always use an after-shave lotion with little or no alcohol because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing “protective” lotion… Bateman stares into the mirror. The masque has dried, giving his face a strange distorted look as if it has been wrapped in plastic. He begins slowly peeling the gel masque off his face. BATEMAN (V.O.) There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, hut 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 you and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there. INT. BATEMAN BEDROOM – MORNING Another huge white room, equally minimal: a futon, rumpled white sheets, a bedside lamp with a halogen bulb, and a large expensive painting (Eric Fischl or David Salle) chosen by Bateman’s interior decorator. Dressed in silk boxer shorts, Bateman stands in front of a huge walk-in closet, filled with rows of expensive shirts, shoes and designer suits, organized according to color and tone. BATEMAN (V.O.) It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. My self is fabricated, an aberration. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. Fully dressed in Armani, Bateman stands in front of a full-length mirror in the middle of his vast bedroom, adjusting his cuff-links. BATEMAN (V.0.) My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago, if they ever did exist. He gives a last look at the mirror and likes what he sees. He gives his reflection a smile. INT. OFFICES OF PIERCE & PIERCE – DAY As Bateman walks down the corridor, he passes another MAN who looks just like him. MAN Morning, Hamilton. Nice tan. Bateman walks past the desk of JEAN, his secretary, pulling his Walkman from around his neck. Jean is attractive, wholesome, earnest. She smiles shyly. She loves him. JEAN Late? BATEMAN Aerobics class. Sorry. Any messages? JEAN Ricky Hendricks has to cancel today. He didn’t say what he was canceling or why. BATEMAN I occasionally box with Ricky at the Harvard Club. Anyone else? JEAN And…Spencer wants to meet you for a drink at Fluties Pier 17. BATEMAN When? JEAN After six. BATEMAN Negative. Cancel it. Jean follows him into his office. JEAN Oh? And what should I say? BATEMAN Just…say…no. JEAN Just say no? Jean stands at his desk, waiting for instructions. BATEMAN Okay, Jean. I need reservations for three at Camols at twelve-thirty, and if not there, try Crayons. All right? JEAN (Playfully) Yes, sir. She turns to leave. BATEMAN Oh wait. And I need reservations for two at Arcadia at eight tonight. Jean turns around. JEAN Oh, something. . romantic? BATEMAN No, silly. Forget it. I’ll make them. Thanks. JEAN I’ll do it. BATEMAN No. No. Be a doll and just get me a Perrier, okay? JEAN You look nice today. Jean exits. Bateman straightens some magazines in his office, lifts a painting off the wall and puts it back at a slightly different angle. He fiddles with some pencils in a beer stein. He puts on some MUSIC and flips through a Sports Illustrated. He buzzes Jean. She comes in a moment later with the Perrier and a file. JEAN Yes? BATEMAN Is that the Ransom file? Thanks. Don’t wear that outfit again. JEAN Ummm…what? I didn’t hear you. BATEMAN I said “Do not wear that outfit again.” Wear a dress. A skirt or something. Jean stands there, then looks down at herself. JEAN (Smiling bravely) You don’t like this, I take it? BATEMAN Come on, you’re prettier than that. JEAN (Sarcastically) Thanks, Patrick. The phone RINGS and Jean turns to leave. BATEMAN I’m not here. And high heels. I like high heels. As Jean leaves, Bateman clicks on the TV set in one corner of the room and starts watching Jeopardy! INT. TAXI – EVENING EVELYN WILLIAMS, Patrick Bateman’s fiancée, is making notes with a gold Cross pen and sipping a bottle of mineral water. Evelyn is blonde, classically beautiful, expensively educated, and utterly pleased with herself. She usually addresses Patrick as if he were a small child. EVELYN I’d want a zydeco band, Patrick. That’s what I’d want, a zydeco band. Or mariachi. Or reggae. Something ethnic to shock Daddy Oh, I can’t decide…And lots of chocolate truffles. Godiva. And oysters on the halfshell. CLOSE-UP on Bateman, who is wearing a Walkman and staring out the window. BATEMAN (V.O.) I’m trying to listen to the new George Michael tape but Evelyn-my supposed fiancée-keeps buzzing in my ear. Evelyn continues to make notes. EVELYN Marzipan. Pink tents. Hundreds, thousands of roses. Photographers. Annie Leibovitz. We’ll get Annie Leibovitz. And we’ll hire someone to videotape. Patrick, we should do it. BATEMAN (Removing his Walkman) Do…what. EVELYN Get married. Have a wedding. BATEMAN Evelyn? EVELYN Yes, darling? BATEMAN Is your Evian spiked? EVELYN We should do it. BATEMAN No-I can’t take the time off work. EVELYN Your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like, silly. BATEMAN I don’t want to talk about it. EVELYN Well, you hate that job anyway. Why don’t you just quit? You don’t have to work. BATEMAN Because I…want…to…fit…in. The taxi bumps to a halt. INT. ESPACE RESTAURANT- NIGHT A cavernous garage, harshly spot-lit, decorated in self-conscious brutalist chic. Iron girders, walls of waxed plaster featuring exposed rusted pipes, a huge Schnabel smashed-plate painting on one wall. The tables and chairs are made of extremely uncomfortable bolted steel. BATEMAN (V.O.) I’m on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Espace since I’m positive we won’t have a decent table, but we do, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave. Tm Price and two downtown types, STASH and VANDEN, are already seated. Vanden is about twenty, pretty and sullen, with green streaks in her black hair. Stash is pale, with ragged black hair and bad skin. They are all trying to read large stainless steel menus that look like minimalist art. PRICE The menu’s in braille. He gets up to greet them, giving Evelyn a suspiciously long kiss. PRICE I have to talk to you. He drags her away, half giggling and protesting. EVELYN (Over her shoulder) Pat, this is my cousin Vanden and her boyfriend Stash. He’s an artist. BATEMAN (After smiling at his own reflection in the mirror and checking his hair) Hi. Pat Bateman. Vanden takes his hand reluctantly, says nothing. BATEMAN Let me guess-you live in the East Village? Pause. STASH SoHo. COURTNEY RAWLINSON and LUIS CARRUTHERS arrive at the table. Courtney is blonde, classically beautiful and from precisely the same social background as Evelyn, but she is considerably more fragile and neurotic. Luis is half-English, half-Argentinean, slightly overweight (a rarity in this crowd), puppyish and eager to please. He wears the same type of designer clothes as Price and Bateman, but with foppish tendencies: velvet jackets, bow-ties, boldly patterned vests. They exchange air kisses. As soon as Luis turns his back, Bateman sneaks a kiss on Courtney’s neck. COURTNEY (Whispering) Stop it! Stash and Vanden watch them in silence. LATER: Price is whispering in Evelyn’s ear. Everyone else is quietly eating, except Bateman, who is drinking and watching Evelyn and Price. BATEMAN (V.O.) I am fairly sure that Timothy and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know. Courtney is almost perfect looking. She s usually operating on one or more psychiatric drugs. Tonight I believe it’s Xanax. More disturbing than her drug use, though, is the fact that she’s engaged to Luis Carruthers, the biggest dufus in the business. Courtney rouses herself from her drug haze. COURTNEY Tell me. Stash…do you think SoHo is becoming to…commercial? CARRUTHERS Yes, I read that. PRICE Oh, who gives a rat’s ass? VANDEN Hey. That affects us. PRICE (Wired on coke) Oh ho ho. That affects us? What about the massacres in Sri Lanka, honey? Doesn’t that affect us, too? I mean don’t you know anything about Sri Lanka? About how the Sikhs are killing like tons of Israelis there? Doesn’t that affect us? BATEMAN Oh come on. Price. There are a lot more important problems than Sri Lanka to worry about. Sure our foreign policy is important, but there are more pressing problems at hand. PRICE Like what? BATEMAN Well, we have to end apartheid for one. And slow down the nuclear arms race, stop terrorism and world hunger. But we can’t ignore our social needs. either We have to stop people from abusing the welfare system. 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 but change the abortion laws to protect the right to life yet still somehow maintain women’s freedom of choice. The table stares at Bateman uncomfortably. BATEMAN We also have to control the influx of illegal immigrants. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values and curb graphic sex and violence on TV, in movies, in pop music, everywhere. Most importantly we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people. Price chokes on his drink. Everyone is silent and mystified. CARRUTHERS Patrick, how thought-provoking. INT. EVELYN’S BEDROOM – LATER THE SAME EVENING Bateman and Evelyn are lying on her bed watching television. BATEMAN Why don t you just go for Price? EVELYN Oh God, Patrick. Why Price? Price? BATEMAN He’s rich. EVELYN Everybody’s rich. BATEMAN He’s good-looking. EVELYN Everybody’s good-looking, Patrick. BATEMAN He has a great body EVELYN Everybody has a great body now. Bateman unbuttons his shirt and makes advances to get Evelyn to have sex with him. She ignores him, watching the Home Shopping Channel with the remote in her hand. Finally, he straddles her, penis close to her face. She tries to look around him at the TV, then takes notice. EVELYN What do you want to do with that, floss with it? Bateman flops back down beside her and stares at the television. EVELYN Are you using minoxidil? BATEMAN No. I’m not. Why should I ? EVELYN Your hairline looks like it’s receding.