'American Psycho' review — this musical adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis's novel is slick and stylish but gruelling

Read our review of American Psycho, directed by Rupert Goold, now in performances at the Almeida Theatre to 14 March.

Summary

• American Psycho is based on Bret Easton Ellis's satirical novel
• The musical returns to the Almeida Theatre as part of artistic director Rupert Goold's final season
• The story centres on monstrous investment banker Patrick Bateman
• Arty Froushan is appropriately beguiling as Patrick

Two fundamental questions asked of a director staging a play are: why this, and why now? In the case of Rupert Goold’s musical adaptation of American Psycho, the answers are, on one level, obvious: the production was his opening show as artistic director of the Almeida Theatre in 2013 – not to mention a smash-hit success – and returning to it before his imminent departure (to head up the Old Vic) marks a full-circle moment. But strip away the symbolism of Goold’s victory lap and you’re left with Bret Easton Ellis’s story of a psychopathic investment banker who moonlights as a murderer of homeless people, sex workers and colleagues, which is a gruelling watch.

Ellis’s story is a black comedy about Wall Street’s ultra-wealthy yuppies, who have sold their souls to capitalism and divorced themselves from obligations to humanity in the process. Patrick and his name-dropping, dick-swinging, coke-snorting cronies idolise Donald Trump (who has a cameo here) and Jeffrey Epstein – which delivers lashings of irony 40-odd years on.

It’s not that the story itself hasn’t aged well, or faded in relevance, but under Goold’s watch, Patrick Bateman (an appropriately beguiling Arty Froushan) never seems as void of feelings as he says he is. We witness him spiralling his way through an existential crisis, wearing his fragility on his sleeve. And making him a shade or two more ‘relatable’ diminishes the satire of Ellis’s story, which the 2000 film version captured so well.

There are moments where it even seems to glorify its vile protagonist and his yo-yoing delusions of grandeur. It’s hard to watch without a perma-frown on your face. After all, this is a man who asks his girlfriend’s best friend, who he’s also sleeping with, “Is it my muscles that excite you or the heft of my cock?”, and who relishes timing murders on his Rolex.

Yet there’s no denying it is irresistibly slick, stylish and seamlessly executed by a zealous ensemble. Katrina Lindsay’s costumes are a love letter to the 80s, with shoulder-padded power suits and walkmans strapped to waists. Es Devlin’s set design, which sees a thrust stage transformed from catwalk to club, office and apartment building with the help of Jon Clark’s zingy lighting, is a showcase for just how versatile the Almeida space can be.

Lynne Page’s choreography evokes city slickers moving as a pack one minute, and sends bodies backflipping into their deaths, having been shot on the dance floor, the next. Duncan Sheik’s songs are largely good too, though overshadowed by covers of 80s hits like Phil Collins’ "In the Air Tonight", which Anastasia Martin’s Jean sings in haunting a cappella.

Goold’s take seems to come down firmly on the side of the murders being in Patrick’s head, and departs from naturalism to explore this: in one particularly nasty vignette, he chats with the bloodied bodies of two of his victims as they lie entangled and twitching on a chair.

Perhaps it would be an easier watch if there were fewer bad men like Patrick in the world? But though two-plus hours in the company of someone this outwardly entitled and inwardly empty leaves a bad taste, it’s sort of grippingly grotesque, and a second chance to catch a collector’s item in Goold’s canon as he continues in his ascent.

American Psycho is at the Almeida Theatre to 14 March.

Photo credit: American Psycho (Photos by Marc Brenner)