Mary Harron and Guinevere Turner
Based on the novel by Bret Easton Ellis
FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY
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 AlaÃ¯a, Armani power suits.
CLOSE-UP on a WAITER reading out the specials.
With goat cheese profiteroles and I also have an arugula
Caesar salad. For entrÃ©es 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.”
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:
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.
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 .
What are the rules for a sweater vest?
What do you mean?
Well, is it strictly informal-
Or can it be worn with a suit?
With discreet pinstripes you should wear a subdued blue or
charcoal gray vest. A plaid suit would call for a bolder
But avoid matching the vest’s pattern with your socks or
tie. Wearing argyle socks with an argyle vest will look
You think so?
You’ll look like you consciously worked for the look.
Good point. Excuse me, gentlemen.
Van Patten leaves the table. As he does so, a busboy
discreetly removes their largely untouched plates.
Van Patten looks puffy. Has he stopped working out?
It looks that way, doesn’t it?
(Staring at retreating waiter)
Did he just take our plates away?
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?
Because Bateman won’t give the maitre d’ head.
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.
Is that Reed Robinson over there?
Are you freebasing or what? That’s not Robinson.
Who is it then?
That’s Paul Owen.
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.
Who is he with?
(Distracted by the waitress’s
cleavage as she bends over to
uncork a bottle of wine â€“ the
waitress glares at him)
Some weasel from Kicker Peabody.
Van Patten returns.
They don’t have a good bathroom to do coke in.
Are you sure that’s Paul Owen over there?
Yes. McDufus, I am.
He’s handling the Fisher account.
Lucky Jew bastard.
Oh Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with
Listen. I’ve seen the bastard sitting in his office on the
phone with CEOs, spinning a f*cking menorah. The
bastard brought a Hanukkah bush into the office last December.
You spin a dreidel, McDermott, not a menorah.
You spin a dreidel.
Oh my God. Bateman, do you want me to fry you up
some f*cking potato pancakes? Some latkes?
No. Just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks.
Oh I forgot. Bateman’s dating someone from the
Price leans over and pats Bateman on the back.
The voice of reason. The boy next door. And speaking
He shows McDermott the bill for the meal.
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.
Last week I picked up this Vassar chick-
Oh God, I was there. I don’t need to hear this
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-
Whoa, wait. May I ask where Pamela is during all
Oh f*ck you. I want a blowjob, Bate-man. I want a chick
who’s gonna let me-
(Putting his hands over his ears)
I don’t want to hear this. He’s going to say something
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.
Anyway, so we’re back at my place and listen to
this. She’s had enough champagne by now to get a f*cking
rhino tipsy, and get this-
She let you f*ck her without a condom?
This is a Vassar girl. She’s not from Queens. She
would only-are you ready?
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.
I suppose he doesn’t want the car. Price, ask
him if he takes American Express.
You take Amex, dude?
The man stumbles away. The club DOORMAN, seeing the limousine,
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.
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 p*ssy-
I’m not sure, guy, but I don’t think dyslexia is a
Oh, who knows? They don’t know that. Prove it.
Price and Bateman finally get a stall and rush in. Price is
I’m shaking. You open it.
Bateman opens a tiny packet of coke.
Jeez. That’s not a helluva lot, is it?
Maybe it’s just the light.
Is he f*cking selling it by the milligram? (He dips
the corner of his Amex card in the packet and takes a snort)
Oh my God…
It’s a f*cking milligram of Sweet’n Low!
Bateman dips his Amex in the envelope and snorts.
It’s definitely weak but I have a feeling if we do
enough of it we’ll be okay.
I want to get high off this; Bateman, not sprinkle it
on my f*cking All-Bran.
The GUY IN STALL next door yells at them in an effeminate
GUY IN STALL
Could you keep it down, I’m trying to do drugs!
Price pounds his fist against the stall.
Calm down. Let’s do it anyway
I guess you’re right…
(Raising his voice)
THAT IS, IF THE FAGGOT IN THE NEXT STALL THINKS IT’S OKAY!
GUY IN STALL
(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.
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
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.
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
She turns her back and searches the cash register for
BATEMAN You are a f*cking 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.
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
(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
Bateman ties a plastic ice pack around his face.
Bateman does his morning stretching exercises in the living
room wearing the ice pack.
A mirror-lined bathroom. Bateman is luxuriating in the
shower steam, scrubbing his body, admiring his muscles.
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.
Then I apply an herb mint facial masque which
I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my
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.
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.
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
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
Fully dressed in Armani, Bateman stands in front of a
full-length mirror in the middle of his vast bedroom,
adjusting his cuff-links.
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.
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.
Aerobics class. Sorry. Any messages?
Ricky Hendricks has to cancel today. He didn’t say what
he was canceling or why.
I occasionally box with Ricky at the Harvard Club.
And…Spencer wants to meet you for a drink at Fluties Pier 17.
Negative. Cancel it.
Jean follows him into his office.
Oh? And what should I say?
Just say no?
Jean stands at his desk, waiting for instructions.
Okay, Jean. I need reservations for three at Camols
at twelve-thirty, and if not there, try Crayons. All
She turns to leave.
Oh wait. And I need reservations for two at Arcadia at eight
Jean turns around.
Oh, something. . romantic?
No, silly. Forget it. I’ll make them. Thanks.
I’ll do it.
No. No. Be a doll and just get me a Perrier, okay?
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.
Is that the Ransom file? Thanks. Don’t wear that
Ummm…what? I didn’t hear you.
I said “Do not wear that outfit again.” Wear a
dress. A skirt or something.
Jean stands there, then looks down at herself.
You don’t like this, I take it?
Come on, you’re prettier than that.
The phone RINGS and Jean turns to leave.
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
fiancÃ©e, 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
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.
I’m trying to listen to the new George
Michael tape but Evelyn-my supposed fiancÃ©e-keeps buzzing
in my ear.
Evelyn continues to make notes.
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.
(Removing his Walkman)
Get married. Have a wedding.
Is your Evian spiked?
We should do it.
No-I can’t take the time off work.
Your father practically owns the company. You can do
anything you like, silly.
I don’t want to talk about it.
Well, you hate that job anyway. Why don’t you just
quit? You don’t have to work.
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
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.
The menu’s in braille.
He gets up to greet them, giving Evelyn a suspiciously long
I have to talk to you.
He drags her away, half giggling and protesting.
(Over her shoulder)
Pat, this is my cousin Vanden
and her boyfriend Stash. He’s an artist.
(After smiling at his own reflection in the mirror and
checking his hair)
Hi. Pat Bateman.
Vanden takes his hand reluctantly, says nothing.
Let me guess-you live in the East Village?
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.
Stash and Vanden watch them in silence.
Price is whispering in Evelyn’s ear. Everyone else is
quietly eating, except Bateman, who is drinking and watching
Evelyn and Price.
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.
Tell me. Stash…do you think SoHo is
Yes, I read that.
Oh, who gives a rat’s ass?
Hey. That affects us.
(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?
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
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.
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
Price chokes on his drink. Everyone is silent and
Patrick, how thought-provoking.
INT. EVELYN’S BEDROOM – LATER THE SAME EVENING
Bateman and Evelyn are lying on her bed watching television.
Why don t you just go for Price?
Oh God, Patrick. Why Price? Price?
Everybody’s good-looking, Patrick.
He has a great body
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.
What do you want to do with that, floss with it?
Bateman flops back down beside her and stares at the television.
Are you using minoxidil?
No. I’m not. Why should I ?
Your hairline looks like it’s receding.
EXT. STREET – LATER THAT NIGHT
It is 3 a.m. Bateman is standing at an ATM, listening to the
comforting sound of fresh bills thudding out of the machine.
Bateman turns around and watches a solitary young woman walk
past him. He collects his money, placing it carefully in his
wallet, and then walks toward her, whistling. He catches up
to her as she pauses at a red light.
The woman looks suspicious for a moment and then, seeing
his smile, smiles back.
INT. DRY CLEANERS – DAY
Bateman, dressed in an Armani suit
with an unlit cigar between his teeth is standing in a dry
cleaners, arguing with the Chinese woman behind the
Listen, wait. You’re not…shhh wait…
you’re not giving me valid reasons.
The woman continues to speak to him in another language,
grabbing at the sleeve of the jacket.
What are you trying to say to me?
Her husband has taken Bateman’s horribly bloodstained
sheets out of the bag and is staring at them.
Bleach-ee? Are you trying to say bleach-ee?
Bleach-ee. Oh my God.
She keeps pointing to the jacket and talking.
(Talking over her)
Two things. One. You can’t bleach a Soprani. Out of the question.
Two. I can only get these sheets in Santa Fe. These are very
expensive sheets and I really need them clean.
She keeps talking and Bateman leans into her.
If you don’t shut your f*cking mouth I will kill
you, are you understanding me?
She talks faster.
Now listen-I have a very important lunch meeting
at Hubert’s in thirty minutes, and I need those
…no wait, twenty minutes. I have a lunch meeting at
Hubert’s in twenty minutes with Ronald Harrison and I need
those sheets cleaned by this afternoon.
She keeps talking.
BATEMAN Listen. I cannot understand you.
Bateman starts laughing, slaps his hand down on the
This is crazy. You’re a fool. I can’t cope with
Bateman is on the verge of tears.
Stupid bitchee! Understand? Oh Christ!
Someone enters the store behind him. It’s VICTORIA,
late-twenties, attractive but a little overweight, wearing a
tailored business suit with white sneakers and sports socks.
She takes off her sunglasses.
Hi, Patrick. I thought that was you.
(Mumbles un incomprehensible name)
Isn’t it ridiculous? Coming all the way up here,
know. They really are the best.
Then why can’t they get these stains out? I mean can you talk
to these people or something? I’m not getting anywhere.
Victoria moves toward the sheet that the old man is holding
touches it and the woman behind the counter begins talking
Oh my, I see. What are those? Oh my.
Um, well…it s cranberry juice. Cranapple.
Well, I mean, um, it s really…Bosco. You
like a Dove Bar. It’s a Dove Bar…Hershey’s Syrup?
(As if sharing a secret joke) Oh yeah. Oh I get it.
Fun with chocolate.
Listen, if you could talk to them
(He yanks the sheet out of the man’s hand)
I would really appreciate it. I’m really late. I have a
lunch appointment at Hubert’s in fifteen minutes.
Bateman turns to leave.
Hubert’s? Oh really? It moved uptown, right?
Yeah, well, oh boy, listen, I’ve got to go. Thank
Maybe we could have lunch one day next week? You
know, I’m downtown near Wall Street quite often.
Oh, I don’t know, Victoria. I’m at work all the
Well, what about, oh, you know, maybe a Saturday?
(Checking his watch)
Oh, can’t, I’m afraid. MatinÃ©e of Les Miserables.
Listen, I’ve really got to go. I’ll-Oh…Christ…I’ll call
Bateman glares at the woman behind the counter and rushes
out the door. Victoria stares after him as we hear the sound
of the bell on the closing door.
INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – DAY
Bateman is sitting on the sofa watching a video, talking to
Courtney on a portable phone. He’s holding a video box in one
hand, perusing the title: Inside Lydia’s Ass. Offscreen we hear
the sounds of the p*rn movie as he talks.
Listen, what are you doing tonight?
What? Oh, I’m…busy.
Listen, you’re dating Luis, he’s in Arizona. You’re f*cking me,
and we haven’t made plans. What could you possibly be up to
Stop it. I’m…
On a lot of lithium?
Waiting for Luis to call me. He said he’d call
tonight. Oh don’t be difficult, Patrick.
You should come have dinner with me.
Am I confused or were we talking about tonight?
Ummm . . yeah. Luis is calling me tonight. I
need to be
home for that.
Pumpkin you’re dating an asshole.
Pumpkin you’re dating the biggest d*ckweed in New
I know. Stop it.
Pumpkin, you’re dating a tumbling, tumbling
Patrick don’t call me pumpkin anymore, okay? I have to go.
I’m thinking Dorsia.
You like it there, don’t you?
The question is do you like it, Courtney? And will
you blow off a f*cking phone call from your sad excuse for a
boyfriend to eat there tonight.
Okay. Yeah. What time?
Pick me up?
Sounds like I’ll have to. Don’t fall asleep, okay? Wear
something fabulous. Dorsia, remember?
Bateman hangs up, opens up the Zagat’s guide and dials the
number for Dorsia with trembling fingers. It’s busy and so
he puts it on speakerphone, constant redial. He waits with
his head in his hands, sweating with anxiety, until there
is finally an answer.
Dorsia. Please hold.
He is on hold for a long time, getting very tense.
(Both of his eyes are closed)
Umm…yes…I know it’s a little late but is it possible to
reserve a table for two at eight or eight-thirty perhaps?
Long pause. The Maitre D’ starts giggling quietly and then
more loudly until the laughter is almost hysterical and he
hangs up the phone.
INT. TAXI- NIGHT
Bateman and Courtney are in the back of a cab. Courtney is
A facial at Elizabeth Arden, which was really
relaxing, then to the Pottery Bam where I bought this
silver muffin dish.
(She starts to pass out)
Is that Donald Trump’s car?
Oh God, Patrick. Shut up.
You know, Courtney, you should take some more
lithium. Or have a Diet Coke. Some caffeine might get you
out of this slump.
I just want to have a child. Just…two…
(Her voice trails as she descends back into a drug haze)
The cab draws up outside a restaurant. The awning reads
INT. BARCADIA – NIGHT
An insanely expensive nouvelle Italian restaurant all
polished natural brick, spotless white tablecloths,
minimalist flower arrangements, discreet lighting.
A waiter has come to take their drink orders.
Champagne on the rocks. Oh-could I have that with
a twist? She starts to sink back in her chair and Bateman
leans over and pulls her back up.
Are we here?
This is Dorsia?
(Examining a menu that says “Barcadia” in large script)
Courtney almost falls asleep while looking at her menu, and
starts to slide off of her chair. Bateman grabs her by both
shoulders and props her up.
Courtney, you’re going to have the peanut butter
soup with smoked duck and mashed squash. New York magazine
called it a ‘playful but mysterious little dish.” You’ll
love it. And then…the red snapper with violets and
pine nuts. I think that’ll follow nicely.
She falls asleep at the table.
INT. COURTNEY’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Bateman and Courtney are in Courtney’s bed. Bateman is on
top of her, reaching for a condom in the ashtray. He tears
it open with his teeth, puts it on.
(Dazed on lithium)
I want you to f*ck me.
Bateman gets on top of her, starts to f*ck her.
Luis is a despicable twit.
Yes, Luis is a despicable twit. I hate him.
He keeps f*cking her.
No, you idiot. I said “Is it a receptacle tip?”
Not, is Luis a despicable twit. Is it a receptacle tip?
Get off me.
Is it a what?
I’m ignoring you.
Pull out, goddamnit!
(Slowing down but not stopping)
What do you want, Courtney?
She pushes him away from her.
It’s a plain end. I think.
Turn the light on.
She tries to sit up.
Oh Jesus. I’m going home.
Patrick. Turn on the Light.
He turns on the light.
It’s a plain end, see? So?
Take it off.
Because you have to leave half an inch at the tip â€“
(She covers herself with her comforter)
to catch the force of the ejaculate!
I’m getting out of here. Where’s your lithium?
Courtney throws a pillow over her head and starts crying.
Do you think you’re turning me on by having unsafe sex?
Bateman pulls the pillow off her and slaps her face.
Oh Christ, this really isn’t worth it. And see,
Courtney, it’s there for what? Huh? Tell us.
(He slaps her again lightly)
Why is it pulled down half an inch?
So it can catch the force of the ejaculate!
Well, it’s not a turn-on for me.
I have a promotion coming to me. I don’t want to get AIDS.
Bateman grabs her head and makes her look at the condom.
See? Happy? You dumb bitch? Are you happy, you dumb bitch?
Oh God, just get it over with.
He f*cks her quickly until he has a mediocre orgasm and
falls down next to her. They lie side by side with their
bodies not touching, eyes open, staring at the
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM, PIERCE & PIERCE – DAY
Bateman and Luis Carruthers are seated at a long table in
the conference room at Pierce & Pierce, which looks out onto
a spectacular view of Manhattan.
Patrick, thanks so much for looking after Courtney.
Dorsia, how impressive! How on earth did you get a
Lucky, I guess.
That’s a wonderful jacket. Let me guess,
(Reaching out to touch it)
It looks so soft.
(Catching Luis hand)
Your compliment was sufficient Luis.
Carruthers is distracted by a question from the colleague
on his left.Paul Owen enters, carrying the Wall St. Journal
under his arm. He is handsome, supremely confident and
self-satisfied; he sees himself as a leader among men.
Hello, Halberstam. Nice tie. How the hell are you?
I’ve been great. And you?
Their conversation fades down as we hear Bateman’s
Owen has mistaken me for this d*ckhead Marcus Halberstam.
It seems logical because Marcus also works at P&P and in
fact does the same exact thing I do and he also has a
penchant for Valentino suits and Oliver Peoples glasses.
Marcus and I even go to the same barber, although I have
a slightly better haircut.
During this voiceover the CAMERA WANDERS over to MARCUS
HALBERSTAM, who is conferring with a colleague in the
opposite corner of the room. He bears a
superficial resemblance to Bateman.
How’s the Ransom account going, Marcus?
Really? That’s interesting.
(He stares at Bateman, smiling)
Oh well, you know.
And how’s Cecilia? She’s a great girl.
Oh yes. I’m very lucky.
McDermott and Price enter.
Hey. Owen! Congratulations on the Fisher account.
Thank you, Baxter.
Listen, Paul. Squash?
(Hands him a business card)
How about Friday?
No can do. Got a res at eight-thirty at Dorsia. Great sea
urchin ceviche. There is a stunned silence as he walks away
and sits in a corner of the room, ostentatiously studying papers.
CLOSE-UP on Bateman’s face, cold with hatred.
Jesus. Dorsia? On a Friday night? How’d he swing that?
I think he’s lying.
Bateman takes out his wallet and pulls out a card.
What’s that, a gram?
New card. What do you think?
McDermott lifts it up and examines the lettering carefully.
Whoa. Very nice. Take a look.
He hands it to Van Patten.
Picked them up from the printers yesterday
That’s bone. And the lettering is something called
It is very cool, Bateman. But that’s nothing.
He pulls a card out of his wallet and slaps it on the
Look at this.
They all lean forward to inspect it.
That’s really nice.
Bateman clenches his fists beneath the table, trying to
control his anxiety.
Eggshell with Romalian type.
(Turning to Bateman)
What do you think?
(Barely able to breath, his voice a croak)
(Holding the card up to the light)
Jesus. This is really super. How’d a nitwit like you get so
Bateman stares at his own card and then enviously at
I can’t believe that Price prefers McDermott’s card to mine.
But wait. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
He holds up his own card.
Raised lettering, pale nimbus white…
(Choking with anxiety)
Impressive. Very nice. Let’s see Paul Owen’s card.
Price pulls a card from an inside coat pocket and holds it
up for their inspection: “PAUL OWEN, PIERCE & PIERCE,
MERGERS AND ACQUISITIONS.” Bateman swallows, speechless.
The sound in the room dies down and all we hear is a faint
heartbeat as Bateman stares at the magnificent card.
Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness
of it. Oh my God, it even has a watermark…
His hand shaking, Bateman lifts up the card and stares at it
until it fills the screen.
He lets it fall. The SOUND RETURNS TO NORMAL.
CARRUTHERS Is something wrong? Patrick…you’re sweating.
EXT. STREET- EVENING
The financial district. The streets are eerily deserted.
Bateman stands at an ATM, enjoying the reassuring sound of
$500 in fresh bills thudding from the machine. As he turns
to leave, he notices someone across the street.
A HOMELESS MAN is lying in a doorway on top of an open
grate, surrounded by bags of garbage and a shopping cart. A
cardboard sign is attached to the front of the cart: I AM
HOMELESS AND HUNGRY PLEASE HELP ME. A small, thin dog lies
next to him.
He is black, dressed in a stained, torn, lime-green
polyester pants suit with jeans worn over the pants.
(Offering his hand) Hello. Pat Bateman.
The Homeless Man stares at Bateman, struggling to sit up.
You want some money?. Some…food?
The Homeless Man nods and starts to cry. Bateman reaches
into his pocket and pulls out a $I 0 bill, then changes his
mind and holds out a $5 instead.
Is this what you need?
The Homeless Man nods, looks away, wipes his nose.
I’m so hungry.
It’s cold out, too, isn’t it?
I’m so hungry.
(Holding the bill just out of the man’s reach)
Why don’t you get a job? If you’re so hungry, why don’t you
get a job?
(Shivering and sobbing)
I lost my job…
Why? Were you drinking? Is that why you lost it?
Insider trading? Just joking. No, really-were you drinking on
HOMELESS MAN I was fired. I was laid off.
Gee, uh, that’s too bad.
I’m so hungry.
The dog starts to whimper.
Why don’t you get another one? Why don’t , you get another job?
You’re not what? Qualified for anything else?
I know that, I know that. Jeez, you’re like a broken record.
I’m trying to help you.
Listen, do you think it’s fair to take money from people who
do have jobs? From people who do work?
What am I gonna do?
Listen, what’s your name?
Speak up. Come on.
Get a goddamn job, Al. You’ve got a negative attitude.
That’s what’s stopping you. You’ve got to get your act together.
I’ll help you.
You re so kind, mister. You’re kind. You’re a kind
man. I can tell.
(Petting the dog)
(Grabbing Bateman’s wrist)
Please…I don know what to do. I’m so cold.
(Stroking his face, whispering)
Do ,you know how bad you smell? The stench, my God.
I can’t…I can’t find a shelter
You reek. You reek of…sh*t. Do you know that?
Goddammit, Al-look at me and stop crying like some kind of
faggot. Al…I’m sorry.
Bateman carefully puts the money back in his wallet.
It’s just that…I don’t know I don’t have anything in common
He opens his briefcase and pulls out a long thin knife with
a serrated edge. He pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to
Do you know what a f*cking loser ,you are?
HOMELESS MAN’S POV as Bateman lunges at him with the knife.
EXTREME WIDE SHOT of the street. Bateman’s shadowed figure
is hunched over the Homeless Man, stabbing him in the stomach.
The dog barks wildly and Bateman stomps on it until it is
LOW ANGLE shot of Bateman as he throws a quarter on the ground.
There’s a quarter. Go buy some gum.
Bateman walks calmly into the empty caverns of Wall Street.
Cars drift past, their headlights momentarily illuminating the
body left twitching on the ground.
INT. BEAUTY SALON – DAY
CLOSE-UP on Bateman’s face and torso. His eyes are closed as a
woman’s hands rub cream into his face.
What beautiful skin you have, Mr Bateman. So
fine, so smooth…
His eyes open to look up at the facialist and then he
closes them again.
I have all the characteristics of a human being- flesh, blood,
skin, hair-but not a single clear, identifiable emotion except
for greed ,und disgust. Something horrible is happening inside
me and I don’t know why.
Bateman sitting in a chair, looking down at the
MANICURIST who is giving him a pedicure. She is cutting his
nails with tiny sharp scissors. He stares at them longingly.
My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal,
on the verge of frenzy.
Bateman lying irradiated by ultraviolet light on a tanning
bed, wearing goggles.
I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
INT. TEXARKANA RESTAURANT – NIGHT
An insanely expensive nouvelle Tex-Mex restaurant, with an
ironic Southwestern decor: Santa Fe colors, Navajo blankets,
naive cowboy art, rawhide banquettes.
Bateman bursts in the door, late, and approaches the MAITRE D’.
Marcus Halberstam. For two at eight?
Your friend has already been seated. Follow me, Mr. Halberstam.
Paul Owen is seated at a table underneath an enormous pair of
ram’s horns. He is arguing with the WAITER.
No, I want to know. I came here for the cilantro
crawfish gumbo, which is after all the only excuse one
could have for being in this restaurant, which is by the
way, almost completely empty. Am I to believe that all ten
people in this restaurant have eaten your entire supply of
cilantro crawfish gumbo?
I’m very sorry sir. There was a fire in the kitchen
earlier today, and-
J&B, straight. And a Dixie beer.
Would you like to hear-
Double Absolut martini.
Yes, sir. Would you like to hear the specials?
Not if you want to keep your spleen.
The Waiter leaves.
This is a real beehive of, uh, activity, Halberstam.
This place is hot, very hot.
Listen, the mud soup and the charcoal arugula are outrageous
Yeah, well, you’re late.
Hey, I’m a child of divorce. Give me a break
(Studying the menu; he’s in a surprisingly good mood)
Hmmm, I see they’ve omitted the pork loin with lime jello.
We should’ve gone to Dorsia. I could’ve gotten us a table.
Nobody goes there anymore.
There is a long disgruntled silence.
Is that Ivana Trump over there? (Laughs) Jeez
Patrick I mean Marcus, what are you thinking? Why would Ivana
be at Texarkana?
So, wasn’t Rothschild originally handling the
Fisher account? How did you get it?
I could tell you that, Halberstam, but then I’d have
to kill you.
He guffaws. Bateman laughs politely.
Paul Owen is very drunk. BATEMAN cold sober.
I like to dissect girls. Did you know I’m utterly insane?
Owen continues laughing and motions to the waiter for another
Great tan, Marcus. Really impressive. Where do you tan?
I’ve got a tanning bed at home. You should look into it.
Bateman nods, agitated.
And Cecelia, how is she? Where is she tonight?
Cecelia is, well…you know (Cecelia. I think
she’s having dinner with…Evelyn Williams.
Evelyn. Great ass. Goes out with that loser Patrick
Bateman. What a dork.
Another Martini, Paul?
Owen nods drunkenly.
The end of the meal. Owen is squeezing a lime onto the
table, missing his beer, incredibly drunk. The check is laid
(Talking to Owen like a child)
Paul, give me your Amex card. Good boy.
Bateman slaps the card down, looks at the check.
Two-hundred-and-fifty. Very reasonable. Let’s leave
a big tip, shall we? My place hr a nightcap?
No, man. I’m gonna bail.
Come on, you dumb son of a bitch.
(Helping him into his jacket)
I’ve got a preview of the Barneys catalogue and a
bottle of Absolut waiting for us.
INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
The living room floor has been meticulously covered with
Owen is slumped drunkenly in a white Eames chair, a glass
in his hand. Bateman is looking through his CDs.
You like Huey Lewis and the News?
Their early work was a little too New Wave for my
taste. But then Sports came out in 1983, I think they really
came into their own, commercially and artistically.
Bateman walks to his bathroom, taking a large ax out of the
shower. He takes two Valium.
(Said partly from the bathroom)
The whole album has a clear, crisp sound and a new sheen of
consummate professionalism that gives the songs a big boost.
Bateman comes back out and leans the ax against the wall.
He walks to the foyer and puts on a raincoat, watching Owen
from behind ail the time.
He’s been compared to ELvis Costello but I think
Huey has a more bitter, cynical sense of humor.
Owen is absent-mindedly leafing through the Barneys
Why are there copies of the Style section all over
the place? Do you have a dog? A chow or something?
Is that a raincoat?
Yes, it is.
Bateman moves to the CD player. He takes a CD out of its
case and slides it in the machine.
In 1987 Huey released this, Fore!, their most
accomplished album. I think I heir undisputed masterpiece is
“HiP To Be Square,” a song so catchy that most people probably
don’t listen to the lyrics. But they should because it’s not
just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of
trends. It’s al~ a personal statement about the band itself.
Bateman puts on “Hip To Be Square.”
BATEMAN crosses the room and picks up the ax.
We follow BATEMAN from behind as he walks up to Owen, the
ax raised over his head.
As Owen turns around, FROM OWEN’S POV we see Bateman swing
the ax toward his face.
Blood sprays onto the white raincoat.
FROM BEHIND OWEN, we see BATEMAN as he yanks the ax out.
Owen drops to the floor. His body falls out of the frame.
We stay on his legs twitching mechanically.
Blood pulses onto the newspaper-covered floor.
(Raising the ax and screaming)
Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you f*cking
LOW ANGLE ON BATEMAN as he beats Owen with the back of the
OFFSCREEN, the sound of the ax hitting Owen.
Bateman takes his raincoat off, still panting. He folds the
coat carefully in half, bloody side in, and drapes it neatly
over the back of a chair.
He sits back on the white sofa and surveys the scene. He
checks his Rolex and lights a cigar.
OFFSCREEN, Paul Owen’s last faint sighs are heard.
INT. LOBBY – NIGHT
BATEMAN drags a large, blood-soaked sleeping bag through the lobby,
past the bored doorman, who looks up from the Post for a moment.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
BATEMAN is trying to hail a cab. Owen’s body is at his
feet. Luis Carruthers and a Japanese girl walk up to him.
Patrick? Is that you?
No, Luis. It’s not me. You’re mistaken.
This is Gwendolyn Ichiban. This is my very good
friend Patrick Bateman. Where are you going? We’re going to
Nell’s. Gwendolyn’s father’s buying it.
(Looking down at the body)
Where did you get your overnight bag?
Commes des Garcon.
A cab stops. BATEMAN opens the door and manages to get
Owen’s body into the backseat.
Bateman gets into the cab.
Call me please, Patrick.
Jesus lives, Luis.
INT. BATEMAN’S HELL’S KITCHEN APARTMENT – NIGHT
A bare room, lit by one light bulb. The walls are blank
except for a Les Miserables poster. There is one ratty chair.
Bateman pours lime over Paul Owen’s body, which is lying in
a bathtub. He plays Huey Lewis, smokes a cigar, watches the
INT. PAUL OWEN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Bateman is letting himself into the apartment. It is very
similar to Bateman’s, but even more minimalist. The walls
are white-pigmented concrete with a large minimalist painting
on the wall. One wall is covered in a trendy, large-scale
scientific drawing above a long, black leather couch.
Where to send the bastard? Dallas? Pans?
He throws some clothes into a suitcase, randomly grabbing
toiletries and shoving them in.
Singapore? London. I’ll send the asshole to London.
He puts some music on to help muffle his voice, then leans
over the answering machine.
He does a passable imitation of Owen’s speech.
Hi, this is Paul. I’ve been called away to London
for a few days. Meredith, I’ll call you when I get back.
Hasta la vista, baby.
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE – MORNING
Bateman is sitting at his desk, with the latest copy of
Sports Illustrated in front of him and his Walkman playing
Kenny G. We hear the MUSIC until Jean enters and he takes
the Walkman off.
What is it?
Patrick, a Mr. Donald KIMBALL is here to see you.
Detective Donald KIMBALL?
Silence. Bateman stares out the window, then down at the
drawing of a headless woman he’s been doodling on the back
cover of Sports Illustrated.
Tell him I’m at lunch.
Patrick, I think he knows you’re here.
It’s only ten-thirty.
Send him in, I guess. As she exits, he picks up the cordless
phone and pretends to talk to someone at the other end.
Now, John, you’ve got to wear clothes in proportion
to your physique. There are definite do’s and don’ts, good
buddy, of wearing a bold-striped shirt. A hold-striped shirt
calls for solid-colored or discreetly patterned suits and ties…
The door to the office opens and he waves in DETECTIVE DONALD
KIMBALL. KIMBALL is surprisingly young – about Bateman’s age –
and good-looking, dressed in a crumpled linen Armani suit of
the type Bateman and his friends might wear.
Kimball sits down and crosses his legs with a
self-assurance that makes Bateman so nervous he forgets to
carry on with his fake conversation. Kimball looks up at
him curiously, noticing the silence.
(Realizing that Kimball is staring at him)
Right. And yes…always tip the stylist fifteen percent.
Bateman shrugs at the detective, rolling his eyes in
KIMBALL nods understandingly.
Listen, John, I’ve got to go. T Boone Pickens just
(He laughs inanely)
No don’t tip the owner of the salon. Okay, John,
right, got it.
(He hangs up the phone and pushes the antenna in)
Sorry about that.
No, I’m sorry. I should’ve made an appointment.
(Gesturing toward the phone)
Was that anything important?
Oh that? Just mulling over business problems.
Examining opportunities…Exchanging rumors…
They laugh politely.
(Holding out his hand)
Hi. I’m Donald KIMBALL
Hi. Pat Bateman. Nice to meet you.
I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. but I was supposed
to talk to Luis Carruthers and he wasn’t in and…well,
you’re here, so…I know how busy you guys can get.
KIMBALL stares at the three open copies of Sports
Illustrated and the Sony Walkman lying on Bateman’s desk.
Bateman sees the look and sweeps the magazines
into the top drawer along with the Walkman, which is
(Forcing himself to sound friendly and relaxed)
So, what’s the topic of discussion?
I’ve been hired by Meredith Powell to investigate
the disappearance of Paul Owen.
You’re not with the FBI or anything, are you?
Nothing like that. I’m just a private investigator.
Ah, I see…Yes. Paul’s disappearance…Yes.
So it’s nothing that official. I just have some
basic questions. About Paul Owen. About yourself-
No. I’m okay.
Perrier? San Pellegrino?
No, I’m okay.
KIMBALL takes out a small black notepad and the same gold
Cross pen that Bateman and his friends all use. Bateman buzzes
Can you bring Mr…
Mr. Kimball a bottle of San Pelle-
Oh no, I’m okay.
It’s no problem
Bateman watches intently as KIMBALL writes something down
in his notebook, then crosses something out. Jean enters
and places the bottle of San Pellegrino and a Steuben etched
glass on the table, shooting a concerned glance at Bateman.
He glares at her. KIMBALL smiles and nods at Jean as she leaves.
Well, what’s the topic of discussion?
The disappearance of Paul Owen.
Oh right. Well, I haven’t heard anything about the
disappearance or anything…
(Trying to laugh)
Not on “Page Six” at least.
I think his family wants this kept quiet.
(Staring at the untouched bottle of San Pellegrino)
No, really. I’m okay.
You sure? I can always get you a lime.
Just some preliminary questions that I need for my own
How old are you?
Twenty-six. I’ll be twenty-seven in October.
(Scribbling in his notebook)
Where did you go to school?
Harvard. The Harvard Business School.
Fifty-five West Eighty-First Street. The American
(Looking up, impressed)
Nice. Very nice.
A pause as KIMBALL studies his notebook. Bateman closes his
eyes, as if in pain.
Pardon me, but are you okay?
Who do you ask?
Bateman reaches into his desk drawer and brings out a
bottle of aspirin.
KIMBALL Uh…no, thanks.
Kimball takes out a pack of Marlboro’s and lays it on the
I know. I’m sorry.
A pause, as Bateman stares at the cigarettes.
Would you rather I not smoke?
No, I guess it’s okay.
Bring us an ashtray for Mr. KIMBALL, please.
She whisks in with a crystal ashtray as they sit in silence.
What can you tell me about Paul Owen?
He coughs, shakes two Nuprin into his hand and swallows
How well did you know him?
I’m…at a loss. He was part of that whole…Yale thing,
What do you mean…Yale thing?
Well, I think for one that he was probably a closet
homosexual. Who did a lot of cocaine…that Yale thing.
A silence during which the sound of the air conditioner
So…there’s nothing you can tell me about Paul
He led what I suppose was an orderly life. He…
ate a balanced diet.
What kind of man was he? Besides…
(He hesitates tries to smile)
the information you’ve just given.
I hope I’m not being cross-examined here.
Do you feel that way?
No. Not really.
(As he writes without looking up)
Where did Paul hang out?
Yeah. You know…hang out.
Let me think. The Newport. Harry’s. Fluties. Endochine.
Nell’s. Comell Club. The New York Yacht Club. The regular
He had a yacht?
No, he just hung out there.
And where did he go to school?
A slight pause.
Don’t you know this?
I just wanted to know if you know.
Before Yale? If I remember correctly, Saint Paul’s…
Listen, I just…I just want to help.
He makes another note.
Anything else you can tell me about Owen?
We were both seven in 1969.
So was I.
Do you have any witnesses or fingerprints?
Well, there’s a message on his answering machine saying he
went to London.
Well, maybe he did, huh?
His girlfriend doesn’t think so.
But…has anyone seen him in London?
Well, I’ve had a hard time getting an actual verification.
A Stephen Hughes says he saw him at a restaurant there, but
I checked it out and what happened is, he mistook a Hubert
Ainsworth for Paul, so…
Was he involved at all , do you think, in occultism or Satan
I know it sounds like a lame question, but in New Jersey I
know this sounds like a lame question, but last month-I don’t
know if you’ve heard about this, but a young stockbroker was
recently arrested and charged with murdering a young Chicano
girl and performing voodoo rituals with various body parts-
Yikes! No. Paul wasn’t into that. He followed a balanced
Yeah, I know, and was into that whole Yale thing.
A pause – the longest so far.
Have you consulted a psychic?
Had his apartment been burglarized?
No, it actually hadn’t. Toiletries were missing. A
suit was gone. So was some luggage. That’s it.
I mean no one’s dealing with the homicide squad yet
or anything, right?
No, not yet. As I said, we’re not sure. But…
basically no one has seen or heard anything.
That’s so typical, isn’t it?
It’s just strange.
(He stares out the window, lost in thought)
One day someone’s walking around, going to work, alive,
The earth just opens up and swallows people.
(He checks his Rolex)
Eerie. Really eerie.
You’ll have to excuse me. I have a lunch meeting
with Cliff Huxtable at Four Seasons in twenty minutes.
Isn’t the Four Seasons a little far uptown? I
mean aren’t you going to be late?
Uh, no. There’s one…down here.
Oh really? I didn’t know that.
Bateman leads him to the door.
Yes. It’s very good.
KIMBALL turns to face him.
Listen, if anything occurs to you, any information
Absolutely, I’m 100% with you.
Great, and thanks for your, uh, time, Mr. Bateman.
Bateman closes the door firmly on KIMBALL. He closes his
eyes and leans against the door, sweating.
INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – AFTERNOON
A perfectly lit kitchen still-life – a bottle of Evian,
a white porcelain plate on which sits a sliced kiwi, some perfect
green grapes, a few berries.
OFFSCREEN, the SOUND OF SCREAMS AND A CHAINSAW can be heard
from the living room.
The living room: Bateman is maniacally doing abdominal
crunches as the television plays a video of Texas Chainsaw
Massacre. There is a pile of horror videos on his coffee table,
next to a copy of GQ.
Bateman is sitting in his armchair, phone book in hand,
jerking off. He is squealing into the phone and breathing.
You like that, slut?
The person on the other end clearly hangs up.
CLOSE-UP on his fingers dialing the phone.
You want to know what I’m wearing? Sixty-dollar
boxer shorts by Ralph Lauren, a hundred-and-fifty-dollar white
cotton T-shirt by
Commes des Garcons.
(He snorts like a pig)
My Rolex cost-
Another hang-up. He dials again.
I’m a corporate raider. I orchestrate hostile takeovers. What do
you think of that?
(Makes disgusting sucking noises and grunts)
Dad, is that you?
Bateman hangs up, frustrated.
EXT. STREET/INT. LIMOUSINE – NIGHT
Bateman cruises around in the limo. It pulls up alongside
CHRISTIE, a pretty blonde hooker in shorts and leather jacket.
Bateman opens his window to speak to her.
I haven’t seen you around here.
You just haven’t been looking.
Would you like to see my apartment?
Bateman flips on the light inside the limo. He’s wearing a
(looking away to some dark corner)
I’m not supposed to.
Bateman is holding out a $100 bill, which Christie now
notices, then takes.
Do you want to come to my apartment or not?
I’m not supposed to.
(She pockets the bill)
But I can make an exception.
Do you take American Express?
Christie is still looking out behind her.
Do you take American Express?
Christie looks at him like he’s crazy.
I’m joking. Come on, get in.
As they drive uptown, Bateman dials the cell-phone. He
reads off a credit card number.
I’d like a girl, early twenties, blonde, who does
couples. Couples. Fifty-five West Eighty-First, the
American Gardens Building. Apartment 7C. And I really
can’t stress blonde enough. Blonde.
He hangs up.
BATEMAN I’m Paul. My name is Paul 0wen, have you’got that?
You are Christie. You are to respond only to Christie. Is
INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Christie is in the bathtub, Bateman is pouring in white
milky bath oil.
That’s a very fine Chardonnay you’re drinking.
Long pause, in which Christie is luxuriating in the tub and
Bateman is casually touching her breast.
I want you to clean your vagina.
Christie reaches for a washcloth.
No. From behind. Get on your knees.
I want to watch. You have a very nice body.
The doorman RINGS. Bateman answers.
Thank you. Send her up. Christie, get out and dry
off, choose a robe-not the Bijan and come and meet me and
our guest in the living room for drinks.
Bateman answers the door.
You’ve arrived! How lovely, let me take your coat.
I’m Paul. How good of you to come.
The escort girl looks somewhat bewildered. Bateman takes
her coat and inspects her body and face.
Not quite blonde, are you? More dirty blonde. I’m
going to call you Sabrina. I’m Paul Owen.
Bateman escorts her into the living room and brings her a
glass of wine. Christie enters, sitting next to Sabrina on the
couch, and Bateman sits across from them. There is a
So, don’t you want to know what I do?
The two girls look at each other with uncomfortable smiles.
No, not really.
Bateman is visibly irritated, recrosses his legs.
Well, I work on Wall Street. At Pierce & Pierce.
Have you heard of it?
Another long pause. They shake their heads. Christie stands
up and goes over to the CD collection.
You have a really nice place here…Paul.
How much did you pay for it?
Actually, that’s none of your business, Christie,
hut I can assure you it certainly wasn’t cheap.
Bateman leaves to refill his wine glass and Sabrina takes a
pack of cigarettes out of her purse.
Bateman returns, carrying a tray of chocolates.
No, no smoking. Not in here.
He walks over to Christie.
Christie stares at the plate and shakes her head. Sabrina
I don’t want you to get drunk, but that’s a very
fine Chardonnay you’re not drinking.
Bateman goes over to his CDs and scans his vast collection.
He takes one out and examines it.
Do you like Phil Collins? I’ve been a big Genesis
fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, Duke. Before
that I really didn’t understand any of their work. It was too
artsy, too intellectual. It was on Duke where Phil Collins’
presence became more apparent. He puts aside the CD and takes out
I think “Invisible Touch” is the group’s undisputed
He puts on the song and gestures for them to follow him
into the bedroom.
It’s an epic meditation on intangibility, at the
same time it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding
three albums. Christie, take off the robe.
Bateman puts out a lace teddy. He motions to Christie to
put it on.
Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks,
Collins and Rutherford. You can practically hear every nuance
of every instrument. Sabrina, remove your dress.
Bateman starts to undress.
In terms of lyrical craftsmanship and sheer
songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism.
Sabrina, why don’t you dance a little?
Sabrina dances awkwardly. Christie sits on the bed.
Take the lyrics to “Land of Confusion.” In this
song, Phil Collins addresses the problem of abusive political
Bateman knots a silk scarf around Christie’s neck – rather
menacingly – then helps her into some suede gloves.
“In Too Deep” is the most moving pop song of the 1980s about
monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting.
Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything
I’ve heard in rock.
He turns on the video camera.
Christie, get down on your knees, so Sabrina can see your
Bateman looks through the viewfinder.
Phill Collins solo efforts seem to be more commercial and
therefore more satisfying in a narrower way, especially
songs like “In the Air Tonight” and “Against
All Odds.” Sabrina, don’t just stare at it. Eat it.
He walks over to the sound system in his bedroom and slides in
But I also think that Phill Collins works better
within the confines of the group than as a solo artist-and
I stress the word artist. This is “Sussudio,” a great,
great song, a personal favorite.
SEX MONTAGE CUT TO “Sussudio.” We see this in WIDE SHOT, or
through the LENS OF THE VIDEO CAMERA.
Bateman asleep in his bed with Christie and Sabrina
on either side of him. Sabrina accidentally touches his
wrist. Bateman’s eyes open.
Don’t touch the Rolex.
Bateman gets up from his bed and goes over to his armoire.
He opens the drawer in which are a nail gun, a coat hanger,
a rusty butter knife and a half-smoked cigar. He turns
around to see Christie and Sabrina both starting to get up
and get dressed. He takes the coat hanger.
We’re not through yet…
Bateman ushering them out the door impatiently. They
are both sobbing, badly bruised and bleeding. Bateman has a
deep scratch on his hand and one on his shoulder. In the
b.g. Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight” is playing.
INT. YALE CLUB â€“ DAY
McDermott, Van Patten and Bateman are
having drinks. Price walks by with a gorgeous girl and
gives them the finger.
What an asshole.
Why is Laurie Kennedy dating Price? He’s a
f*cking drug addict. No self-control.
But Laurie Kennedy is a total hardbody. What do
you think, Bateman?
I know her. I knew her.
Why do you say it like that? Why does he say it
Because he dated her.
How did you guess?
Girls dig Bateman. He’s CQ. You’re total CQ,
Thanks, guy, but…she’s got a lousy
So what? It’s all looks. Laurie Kennedy is a
babe. Don’t even pretend you were interested for any other
If they have a good personality, then something
is very wrong.
If they have a good personality and they are not
great looking-who f*cking cares?
Well, let’s just say hypothetically, okay? What if
they have a good personality?
(He smiles giving up)
I know, I know-
ALL IN UNISON
There are no girls with good personalities!
(They laugh and high-five each other)
A good personality consists of a chick with a
little hardbody who will satisfy all sexual demands without
being too slutty about things and who will essentially keep
her dumb f*cking mouth
Listen, the only girls with good personalities who are
smart or maybe funny or halfway intelligent or even
talented-though God knows what the f*ck that means-are ugly
And this is because they have to make up for how
f*cking unattractive they are.
Do you know what Ed Gein said about women?
Ed Gein? Maitre d’ at Canal Bar?
No, serial killer, Wisconsin in the fifties. He was
an interesting guy.
So what did Ed say?
He said, “When I see a pretty girl walking down the
street I think two things. One part of me wants to take her
out and talk to her and be real nice and sweet and treat
Pauses, finishes his drink.
What does the other part of him think?
What her head would look like on a stick.
McDermott and Van Patten look at each other and then back
at Bateman. Bateman starts to laugh, and the other two uneasily
Luis Carruthers walks up to the table.
Hi, guys. I wanna get your opinion on something.
McDermott rolls his eyes at the rest of the table.
McDERMOTT If it’s about the bow-tie you’re wearing, you
know how we feel about it. Luis laughs good-naturedly.
Yes, I do. No, it’s my business card-I decided to
get a new one too.
He pulls out something incredibly tasteful. Everyone
compliments Luis except Bateman. The SOUND DROPS and all we hear
is the beating of his heart as he stares at the card enviously.
Luis plucks it from his hand and walks away, pleased with
Listen, what about dinner?
Is that all you ever have to contribute, Van Patten? “What about
Ah, cheer up, Bateman.
(Slaps him on the back, massages his neck)
What’s the matter? No shiatsu this morning?
(Watching Luis going into the men’s room)
Keep touching me like that and you’ll draw back a stump.
Whoa, hold on there, little buddy.
He gets up from the table. As Bateman walks away, Van
Patten grabs a waiter.
Is this tap water? I don’t drink tap water Bring
me an Evian or something, okay?
INT. MEN’S ROOM – DAY
Bateman pulls on his gloves as he
enters the men’s room. Carruthers is standing in a stall with his
back to Bateman. The sound of his urinating is heard until Bateman
approaches, then abruptly stops. Slowly, Bateman brings his hands
up over the collar of Carruthers’ cashmere jacket, circling his
neck until both thumbs and index fingers meet. All we can hear
is the sound of Bateman’s heavy breathing. Slowly he starts to
squeeze. Almost in slow motion, Carruthers turns around.
Carruthers looks down at Bateman’s wrists as if lost in
thought. Then he lowers his head and kisses Bateman’s
wrist. He looks back at Bateman with a shy, love-struck
expression, then reaches up and tenderly touches the side
of his face.
God, Patrick. Why here?
He strokes Bateman’s hair.
I’ve seen you looking at me. I’ve noticed your hot body.
Carruthers tries to kiss him on the lips but Bateman backs
away. He drops his hands from Carruthers’ neck. Carruthers
immediately takes them and places them back. Bateman drops
Don’t be shy.
Bateman takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and tries to lift
his hands again, but abandons the attempt.
You don’t know how long I’ve wanted it. Ever since that Christmas
party at Arizona 206. You know the one, you were wearing that
red-striped paisley Armani tie.
Bateman looks down and sees that Carruthers’ pants are
still unzipped. He moves past him out of the stall and
stands by the sink and pretends to wash his hands until he
realizes he still has his gloves on. Carruthers comes up
I want you. I want you…too.
Bateman storms out of the men’s room, bumping into a waiter
and several customers and cursing. Noticing the maitre d’
and another waiter conferring and looking at him strangely,
Bateman straightens up and smiles and waves cheerfully at
them. Carruthers walks up behind him.
Where are you going?
(Stumbling away from him)
gotta…return some videotapes.
(Silently mouthing the words)
I’ll call you.
Bateman storms out of the restaurant.
INT. COURTNEY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Bateman is lying on top of Courtney in her bed, after sex.
Still panting, he rolls off her, onto his back. He feels
something lumpy underneath him and pulls out a stuffed toy,
a black cat with blue jewel eyes. There is silence.
Will you call me before Thanksgiving?
Courtney sighs and reaches for a bottle of pills on her
nightstand, swallowing several. Bateman gets up and begins
to dress, admiring himself in the mirror. Courtney watches
the TV at low volume.
What are you doing tonight?
Dinner at the River Cafe. Au Bar afterwards, maybe.
(Lighting a cigarette)
We were supposed to have dinner at Tad and
Maura’s, but-you know how Luis is…
I never knew you smoked.
You never noticed.
Bateman is making final adjustments to his tie.
Listen…Patrick. Can we talk?
You look marvelous. There’s nothing to say. You’re
going to marry Luis. Next week, no Less.
Isn’t that special?
If I don’t see you before Thanksgiving, have a nice one, okay?
Courtney picks up the black cat and starts petting its
head. Bateman heads down the hallway to the front door.
INT. NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT
A big eighties nightclub with a mixed crowd: hip-hop
kids, visitors from Jersey, downtown art people, yuppies.
I Bateman makes his way through the crowd to the bar, and
tries to attract the bartender’s attention. He is wearing a
suit and his tie is loosened. Kimball approaches him.
Bateman gasps and recovers.
Detective Kendall…uh Campbell?
(Extending his hand)
Call me Don.
So…you hang out here a lot?
Uh, yes…I mean…whenever necessary. You
How’s the investigation going? Taken anyone
in for “formal questioning?” (He makes quotation marks
in the air and laughs a not-so-relaxed laugh)
0h no. Informal conversations, mostly. What’s that, Stoli?
Yeah. No Finlandia, as usual. Fucking dump.
(Looking at his glass)
Too true. You know, Bateman-people tend to reveal so much
more about themselves when they’re in a relaxed setting,
don’t you think?
Bateman is nodding nervously, idiotically.
Some people just can t help themselves. Another Stoli?
Bateman shakes his head.
I mean they want to get caught.
Dan, great to see you again. Like I said, you need
anything at all, I’m your man. I don’t envy your job. I mean
Owen was a…complex man.
Bateman wanders away.
He looks back uneasily at KIMBALL, who is watching him from
the bar. A GUY WITH DREADLOCKS walks by.
(Holding up his hand to high-five) Rasta Man!
The man stares at him.
I mean-Mon. We be jammin’…
The man walks by, shaking his head.
Bateman wanders into the next room, which is filled with a
more familiar crowd: young men in designer suits, girls in
black designer dresses. Across the room he spots McDermott
and Price sitting with three models, all wearing black
mini-dresses. Price and McDermott are having a whispered
I have to talk to these girls? They’re models.
Someone has to get the Bolivian marching powder.
You went last time. Stay here.
McDermott waves gaily to the girls and disappears.
Bateman looks at the models. DAISY and CARON are staring
into space, smoking. LIBBY is trying to work out how to
unfold her napkin. Price signals to Bateman for help.
(Clapping his hands together)
Let’s have a conversation. So…it was hot out today, no?
Where did Craig go?
Well, Gorbachev is downstairs. McDermott is going to
sign a peace treaty with him between the United States
and Russia. McDermott’s the one behind glasnost, you know.
Well…yeah. But he told me he was in mergers and acquisitions.
You’re not confused, are you?
No, not really.
Gorbachev’s not downstairs.
Are you Iying?
Yes, Caron’s right. Gorbachev’s not downstairs. He’s
Ask me a question.
So, what do you do?
What do you think I do?
A model? An actor?
No. Flattering, but no.
I m into, well, murders and executions mostly.
Do you like it?
Welt…it depends, why?
Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and
acquisitions don’t really like it.
So, where do you work out?
MUCH LATER IN THE EVENING:
The club is half-empty now. Price is leaning over a
balcony, messed-up on drugs. Bateman comes up behind him
in a menacing way that suggests he might push him over
the railing. Price turns around, wild-eyed, just as Bateman
is reaching for him.
I’m leaving. I’m getting out.
Bateman is confused, he thinks Price is referring to his
Don’t, I’ll drink it.
Listen to me, Patrick. I’m leaving.
Where to? Are you going to go get a gram?
I’m leaving! I…am…leaving!
Don’t tell me…merchant banking?
No, you dumb son of a bitch. I’m serious. I’m
Where to? Morgan Stanley? Rehab? What?
Price looks away.
McDermott and Daisy walk up to them.
Hey-don’t worry, be happy.
Price lifts his arms up as if greeting the crowd and is
shouting something that can’t be heard, then
He climbs over the railing.
DAISY What is he doing?
Price! Come back!
Price leaps from the balcony. He disappears for a moment
then resurfaces and runs off into the crowd.
EXT. CLUB – NIGHT
Bateman and Daisy are waiting for a cab.
My ex-boyfriend, Fiddler, who was in there, he plays
in this band that just opened for U2-he couldn’t understand
what I was doing with a yuppie.
He said you gave him bad vibes.
That’s…that’s too bad.
You think I’m dumb, don’t you?
You think I’m dumb. You think all models are dumb.
(insincerely) No. I really don’t.
That’s okay. I don’t mind. There’s something sweet about you.
She takes his hand as they get into a cab.
INT. DAISY’S HALLWAY – LATER THAT NIGHT
Bateman leaves Daisy’s apartment carrying a suitcase. He pauses
in the hallway and tucks some long blonde hair back inside the
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE – LATE AFTERNOON
Bateman sits at his desk wearing Wayfarers doing the New York
Times crossword puzzle at dusk.
Jean knocks gently on the half-open door and walks in with
a folder in her hand. Bateman ignores her.
Doin’ the crossword?
Bateman nods without looking up.
BATEMAN doesn’t respond. We see that every space on the
puzzle has been filled in with the words MEAT or BONE. Jean
drops the folder on his desk and then walks out.
Would you like to accompany me to dinner?
He erases one of the M’s on the crossword puzzle.
That is…if you’re not doing anything.
Oh no. I have no plans.
(Lowering his Wayfarers)
Well, isn’t this a coincidence.
Listen, where should we go?
He leans back and pulls a Zagat’s from the desk drawer.
Anywhere you want?
Let’s not think about what I want. How about
anywhere you want.
Oh Patrick, I can’t make this decision.
No, come on. Anywhere you want.
Oh, I can’t.
I don’t know.
Come on. Where do you want to go? Anywhere you want.
Just say it. I can get us in anywhere.
A long pause.
Bateman stops looking through the Zagat’s guide and smiles
Soooo…Dorsia is where Jean wants to go…
Oh, I don’t know. No, we’ll go anywhere you want.
He dials the number.
Yes, can you take two tonight, oh, let’s say at
He checks his Rolex and winks at Jean.
We are totally booked.
Oh really? That’s great.
I said we are totally booked.
Two at nine? Perfect.
There are no tables available tonight. The waiting list is
also totally booked.
See you then.
He hangs up the phone. He walks over to the coat rack. He
glances over at Jean, who is still standing in front of the
Yes? You’re dressed…okay.
You didn’t give them a name.
They know me.
Why don’t you meet me at my house at seven o’clock
for drinks, okay?
She turns to leave.
And Jean? You’ll want to change before we go out.
INT. BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – EARLY EVENING
Jean stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out.
Patrick, it’s so…elegant. What a wonderful view.
Bateman opens up the freezer where Daisy’s head is cleady
Thanks, Patrick. I’d love some.
Bateman walks in with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew in
his hand and hands her the sorbet.
Jean is eating the sorbet.
Want a bite?
I’m on a diet. But thank you.
You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re kidding, right?
You look great. Very fit.
(Weighing the corkscrew examining the point for sharpness)
You can always he thinner. Look…better.
Well, maybe we shouldn’t go out to dinner. I don’t
want to ruin your willpower.
No. It’s all right. I’m not very good at controlling
Silence, as Bateman walks around his apartment, opens up
his knife drawer, looking at the knives.
So listen, what do you really want to do with your
And don’t tell me you enjoy working with children,
Well, I’d like to travel. And maybe go back to school,
but I really don’t know…I’m at a point in my life
where there seems lo be a lot of possibilities, but I’m so…
I don’t know…unsure.
Bateman is touching a knife in the drawer, feeling the edge
of the blade.
Do you have a boyfriend?
No, not really.
Are you seeing anyone? I mean, seriously?
Maybe. I don’t know Not really.
Bateman opens up a cupboard where there are a lot of very
Bateman opens a cupboard where there are a lot of neatly
ordered weapons – an ax, a rifle, a chain saw, duct tape,
twine and a nail gun.
Jean, do you feel…fulfilled? I mean, in your life?
Well, I guess I do. For a long time I was too focused
on my work, I think, but now I’ve really begun to think about
changing myself, you know, developing, and…growing.
Growing. I’m glad you said that.
Bateman picks up the duct tape.
Did you know that Ted Bundy’s first dog, a collie,
was named Lassie? Had you heard this?
Who’s Ted Bundy?
Oh. Uh, tape. Duct tape. I…need it for…
taping something. Bateman goes back to the cupboard for the
Patrick, have you ever wanted to make someone happy?
Jean puts her spoon down on the table.
(Looking up from loading nails into the gun)
What…No! Put it in the carton.
(She puts the spoon in the carton)
Make someone happy-have you ever wanted to?
From behind, we follow Bateman as he walks across the room and
stands behind the couch.
I’m looking for…I guess you could say I just
want to have a meaningful relationship with someone special.
He points the nail gun at the back of Jean’s head.
The phone RINGS. Startled, Bateman hides the nail gun
behind his back. The answering machine picks up. As Bateman
listens he discreetly places the nail gun behind the couch.
He sits down opposite Jean, enjoying her discomfort as she
listens to the message.
Patrick I know you’re there. Pick up the phone, you bad boy.
What are you up to tonight? It’s me. Don’t try to hide. I hope
you’re not out with some little number you picked up because
you’re my Mr. Bateman. My boy next door. Anyway you never
called me and you said you would and I’ll leave a message for
Jean about this too to remind you but we’re having dinner with
Melania and Taylor-you know Melania, she went to Sweet Briar,
auld Taylor, he went to Cornell-and we’re meeting at the Cornell
Club, so l’ll call you tomorrow morning probably-bye, honey-oopps!
You hate that. Bye Mr. Big Time CEO Patrick. Bye. Bye.
Silence. Jean is obviously embarrassed and upset.
Are you still seeing her?
I’m sorry, I have no right to ask that.
Do you want me to go?
A long pause.
Yes. I don t think I can…control myself.
I know I should go. I know I have a tendency to get
involved with unavailable men, and…I mean, do you
want me to go?
Another long pause.
If you stay, I think something bad will happen. I
think I might hurt you.
You don’t want to get hurt, do you?
No. No, I guess not. I don’t want to get bruised.
You’re right, I should go.
She gets up to leave.
And don’t forget you have a breakfast meeting with
Frederick Bennet and Charles Rust at ’21.
Thanks. It slipped my mind completely.
He sinks back on the sofa and shuts his eyes.
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE – DAY
Bateman enters P&P, walks up the corridor and pauses outside
the door to his office. He sees KIMBALL in conversation with
Jean, and Jean looking through her date book. He watches for
a moment, frozen with anxiety. He then bursts in, shutting
the door behind him.
Kimball-I’ve been wanting to talk with you, Come
into my office. Jean, great jacket. Matsuda?
Jean looks flustered.
Kimball follows Bateman into his office.
I actually came to see Timothy Price, but he’s
taken a leave of absence.
Yeah, gone into rehab. Shame.
Is he a suspect?
Do you remember where you were on the night of
(He checks his notebook)
Which was on the twentieth of December?
God…I guess…I was probably returning
He opens his desk drawer and pretends to search through his
I had a date with a girl named Veronica.
Wait. That’s not what I’ve got.
That’s not the information I’ve received.
Well…I…Wait…What information have
(He flips through his notebook)
That you were with-
Well, I could he wrong.
Well…When was the last time you were with Paul Owen?
(Clearly nervous and under pressure)
We had…gone to a new musical called…Oh Africa, Brave Africa. It
was…a laugh riot…and that’s about it. I think we had dinner
at Orso’s. No, Petaluma. No, Orso’s. The…last time I
physically saw him was…at an automated teller. I can’t
remember which…just one that was near, um, Nell’s.
Kimball is clearly giving up on Bateman for now. He opens
his briefcase to put away his notebook.
Well, thank you, Mr. Bateman.
Patrick, please. I hope I’ve been informative. Long
day-a bit scattered.
Listen, I’m a little spent for now but how about lunch
in a week or so when I’ve sorted out all this information?
Great, yes, I’d like that.
And if you could try and pin down where you were
the night of Owen’s disappearance, it would make my job a
Absolutely. I’m with you on that one.
Kimball is rifling through his briefcase. He pulls out a
new shrink wrapped CD and holds it up.
Huey Lewis and the News. Great stuff. Heard it? I
just bought it on my way here.
Bateman stares at the CD – stunned, terrified.
Never. I mean…I don’t really like…
Not a big music fan, eh?
No, I like music. Just-they’re-Huey’s too…
black sounding. For me.
Well, to each his own. So-lunch, Thursday? I’ll
call your secretary about reservations.
I’ll be there.
EXT. MEAT PACKING DISTRICT/INT. LIMOUSINE – NIGHT
The same street corner where Bateman found Christie before.
The limo is kept idling as he talks to her through a
I’m not so sure about this. I had to go to Emergency after
Oh this won’t be anything like last time, I promise.
I don’t think so.
He hands her a $500 bill.
Just come in the limo and talk to me for a minute.
The driver’s here, you’ll be safe.
Christie gets in hesitantly.
Nothing like last time, promise.
He pours her a shot of vodka and makes her drink it.
(Chatting as if they were at a c**ktail party)
So, you’re looking great, how have you been?
(A little confused)
Well, I actually might need a little surgery after last time.
My friend told me I should maybe even get a
Oh, lawyers are so complicated-don’t do that. Here.
He writes her a check for $I ,000 to cash and hands it to
her. She snatches the check out of his hand and gets
quickly out of the limo, walking hurriedly down the street.
He follows alongside her slowly in the limo, waving a huge
wad of cash at her. She hesitates; he uses the money to
lure her into the car. As she reluctantly gets into the
limo, she reaches for the money.
He snatches it away.
Uh uh uh. Half now, half later.
She takes the money and puts it inside her shirt.
Okay, your name is Christie. We’re meeting a friend of mine,
Elizabeth. She’ll be joining us in my new apartment shortly.
You’ll like her. She’s a very nice girl. Don’t say anything
about yourself. Is that clear. Christie?
INT. PAUL OWEN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
The living room: ELIZABETH has kicked off her shoes and flopped
down on the couch underneath the Baselitz. Elizabeth is an
attractive, dark-haired society girl who models occasionally.
Christie is sitting on the couch opposite her, pretending to
examine a CD.
You look really familiar. Did you you go to Dalton?
Christie shakes her head.
The kitchen: Bateman is grinding up tabs of Ecstasy and
putting them in a bottle of wine. In the living room, Elizabeth
is still staring at Christie as if she came from Mars.
I think I met you at Au Bar, didn’t I ? With Spicey?
Christie looks blank.
Well, maybe not with Spicey but it was definitely at Au Bar.
Christie still blank.
You know, Au Bar?
Christie shakes her head.
Anyway, Au Bar sucks now, it’s terrible. I went to a birth
day party there for Malcolm Forbes. Oh my God, please.
Bateman enters carrying the bottle of wine and two glasses.
Christie, who seems frightened, sips her wine and stares at
the floor. There is an awkward silence.
This is nicer than your other apartment.
(Offended that she prefers Owen’s apartment)
It’s not that nice.
Where did you two meet?
Oh God! I met him at, oh God, the Kentucky Derby in ’86-no,
(Turning to Patrick)
You were hanging out with that bimbo Allison Poole.
What do you mean, she was a hot number.
If you had an American Express card she’d give you a blowjob.
Listen, this girl worked in a tanning salon, need
I say more?…What do you do?
A long silence. Christie reddens and stares at the floor.
A pause. Elizabeth looks at Bateman dubiously.
Where’s your phone? I’ve got to call Harley.
Bateman hands her a cordless phone. She dials, and stares
At Christie while she waits for someone to answer.
Where do you summer? Southampton?
Christie looks at Bateman and then back at Elizabeth.
(Listening to the receiver)
Oh God, it’s his machine.
Elizabeth, it’s three in the morning.
He’s a goddamn drug dealer! These are his peak hours.
Don’t tell him you’re here.
Why would I?
Bateman has poured her another glass of wine. She downs the
whole glass, making a face.
This tastes weird.
(She examines the label and shrugs)
Harley? It’s me. I need your services. Translate that anyway
you’d like. I’m at-
You’re at Paul Owen s.
I want the number, idiot.
(She waves him away and continues into the reciever)
Anyway, I’m at Paul Norman’s and I’ll try you later and if I
don’t see you at Canal Bar tomorrow night I’m going to sic my
hairdresser on you.
She hangs up.
Did you know that guy who disappeared? Didn’t he work at Pierce
& Pierce, too? Was he a friend of yours?
Do you have any coke? Or Halcyon? I’d take a Halcyon.
Bateman sits next to Elizabeth on the couch and pours her
another glass of the drugged wine.
Listen, I would just like to see…the two of you…get it on.
What’s wrong with that? It’s totally disease-free.
Patrick, you re a lunatic.
Come on. Don’t you find Christie attractive?
Let’s not get lewd.
I’m in no mood to have a lewd conversation.
Come on. I think it would be a turn-on.
Does he do this all the time?
Christie, you’re not drinking your wine.
Christie looks at her wine and gingerly takes a sip.
Are you telling me you’ve never gotten it on with a girl?
No! I’m not a lesbian. Why do you think I’d be into that?
Well, you went to Sarah Lawrence for one thing.
Those are Sarah Lawrence guys, Patrick. You’re making me
Elizabeth is now writhing around on the couch and making
out with Christie. Bateman holds up a Whitney Houston CD,
showing them the picture of Whitney on the cover.
Did you know that Whitney Houston’s debut LP
called simply Whitney Houston had four number-one singles
on it? Did you know that, Christie? Whitney’s voice leaps
across so many boundaries and is so versatile-though she’s
mainly a jazz singer-that it’s hard to take in the album
on a first listening.
You actually listen to Whitney Houston? You
actually have a Whitney Houston CD? More than one?
She giggles, rolling off the sofa onto the floor.
It’s hard to choose a favorite track
among so many great ones, but “The Greatest Love of All”
is one of the best, most powerful songs ever written about
self-preservation and dignity. It’s universal message
crosses all boundaries, and instills one with the hope
that it’s not too late to better ourselves. to act kinder.
Since, Elizabeth, it’s impossible in the world we live in
to empathize with others, we can always empathize with
As he speaks, he opens the case and carefully places the CD
in the player, admiring its pristine silver surface, and
watches it slide into the machine.
It’s an important message, crucial, really, and it’s
beautifully stated on the album.
INT. BEDROOM – LATER
AN OUT-OF-FOCUS HOME VIDEO SHOT of Elizabeth, Christie and
Bateman in the throes of sex, in the master bedroom.
CUT BACK TO WIDE SHOT of the bedroom, partially blocked by
the video camera in the foreground. Their bodies are an
incoherent tangle of arms and legs. The only sounds are
moans, heavy breathing and the slapping of flesh against
flesh. CLOSE ON Christie’s head and shoulders. Her eyes are
shut as she grimly concentrates on giving a good professional
performance, turning her head every so often to check the
progress of her partners.
OFFSCREEN WE HEAR Elizabeth panting in genuine pleasure,
moaning loudly. Her voice gets louder and louder and then
shifts to actual pain.
Bateman rises up off the bed, suddenly appearing behind
Christie. There is blood on his face.
Christie turns her head and sees him. She screams and leaps
off the bed, running out of the room. She slams the
mirrored door behind her, and as it swings shut for a split
second we see Elizabeth writhing in pain on the bed.
We follow Christie out of the room, panicking, screaming.
Christie runs down a darkened hallway, frantically opening
doors, looking for an escape.
She hears the SOUND OF A CHAINSAW coming from the bedroom.
She opens a closet. The closet lights up as she opens the
door and sees two dead, women hanging inside. She screams,
then claps a hand over her mouth. She stops and listens. THE
DISTANT SOUND OF THE CHAINSAW.
She backs away slowly, into another dark room, lit only by
the light from a television set. Through the darkness she
sees a head on the top of the TV and starts to whimper.
She runs toward the nearest door. Finding herself in the
main hallway, she begins to jog toward the front door, then
Bateman appears from nowhere, holding the chainsaw,
spattered with blood.
Christie screams and changes direction. Bateman leaps at
They run through the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Christie trips over Elizabeth’s body, which is half in the
Both are slipping on the floor, which is slick with blood.
Christie falls, tries to get up. Bateman grabs her leg. He
tries to bite it.
She kicks him in the face and gets up, running toward the
He runs after her.
Not the face, you bitch. Not the f*cking face, you
piece of bitch trash!
Christie, screaming, makes it out the front door.
Bateman runs after her.
She runs down the hall screaming and banging on doors.
She moves to the elevator, pounding hysterically on the
buttons. She sees the stairwell and runs for it.
Bateman sees this and runs after her, revving the chainsaw.
She runs down the stairs, Bateman two flights behind her.
He stops, leans over the railing to look at her, then aims
the chainsaw at her and drops it.
Christie SCREAMS OFFSCREEN, then is suddenly silent.
FROM BATEMAN’S POV we see Christie’s body sprawled facedown
at the bottom of the stairwell. The chainsaw sticks out of
her back like a sword.
INT. CRAYONS – EARLY EVENING
An insanely expensive restaurant with a childhood motif: paper
tablecloths and jars of crayons for drawing, lots of primary
colors, and a goldfish bowl on each table.
Bateman is at a table with Evelyn. They are both drawing on
the tablecloth. Bateman is drawing Christie with the
chainsaw in her back.
I want a firm commitment.
I think, Evelyn, that we’ve…lost touch.
Evelyn waves to a couple across the room.
Why? What’s wrong?
(Speaking very carefully, measuring each word)
My need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale
cannot be, um, corrected, but I have no other way to fulfill
The woman across the room holds up her hand, displaying a
new bracelet. Evelyn smiles and nods approvingly.
We need to talk.
Talk about what, Patrick? What is there to talk
It’s over, Evelyn. It’s all over
(Motioning to the waiter for water)
Touchy, touchy. I’m sorry I brought the wedding up. Let’s just
avoid the issue, alright? Now, are we having coffee?
I’m f*cking serious. It’s f*cking over. Us. This
is no joke. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.
But your friends are my friends. My friends are your
friends. I don’t think it would work.
(Reaching over to dab his face with a napkin)
You have a little something on your upper lip.
(Brushing her hand away)
I know that your friends are my friends. I’ve thought about
that. You can have them.
Evelyn stares at him, suspicious and bewildered, a
You’re really serious, aren’t you?
Yes, I am.
But what about the past? Our past?
We never really shared one.
I’m…in touch with humanity. Evelyn, I’m sorry.
(He pauses, as if searching for the right words)
You’re just not terribly important to me.
Evelyn begins to cry.
No, no, no.
I know my behavior is…erratic sometimes.
She reaches desperately across the table and takes his
hand. Bateman pulls his hand away.
What do you want me to do, what is it you want?
The occupants of nearby tables begin to stare. Bateman is
becoming increasingly agitated and embarrassed.
(Looking uncomfortably around the room)
If you really want to do something for me, you can stop making
this scene right now.
Oh God, I can’t believe this.
I’m leaving now. I’ve assessed the situation and I’m going.
Evelyn makes an effort to compose herself. She blots the
tears so they will not affect her make-up.
Where are you going?
I’m just leaving.
I have to return some videotapes.
He rushes out of the room.
EXT. TRIBECA STREET – EVENING
Bateman wanders into misty Tribeca streets, sees a stray cat.
Here kitty, kitty.
The small mangy cat rubs against him. He picks it up and
walks toward an ATM, holding the cat. He puts his card in
the machine. The screen reads: FEED ME A STRAY CAT.
Bateman begins to attempt to shove the kitten into the
deposit slot with some difficulty. The kitten squeals. He
takes a gun from out of his pocket and points it at the
kitten. He doesn’t notice the woman waiting behind him.
Oh my God! Stop that! What are you doing?
Bateman wheels around and shoots her. She falls screaming
to the floor.
Responding to the gunshot, A POLICE CAR SIREN WAILS in the
distance. Bateman breaks into a run. The police car
screeches after him.
COP CAR (O.S.)
HALT STOP. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON.
Bateman ducks down an alley.
EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT
A COP rushes toward him, seemingly from
out of nowhere, and tackles him, trying to get the gun away
Bateman manages to shoot the cop in the face while both of
them have their hands on the gun, then shoots him again. He
reloads the gun. The sound of more COP CARS arriving.
He runs out of the alley.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
As he reaches the street, he finds A PHALANX OF POLICE CARS
Halt. Put down your weapon.
The cops leap out and fire a warning shot in the air.
Bateman shoots at them. The police return fire.
Bateman ducks down behind a parked car and continues
shooting wildly. A bullet hits the gas tank of one of the
police cars. It catches fire and explodes. The flames light
up the scene, illuminating the bodies of policemen both living
NEW ANGLE: Bateman flees from the scene. The camera follows
him as he runs along a row of Porsches, trying to open each
one, setting off a cacophony of CAR ALARMS.
THE SOUND OF POLICE SIRENS draws near.
NEW ANGLE: He runs, panting, until he ends up in front of a
tail, brilliantly lit office building. As he approaches,
the lights in the building are going off floor by floor.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING – NIGHT
He rushes into the lobby, running for the elevator.
Burning the midnight oil, Mr. Smith? You
forgot to sign in.
Bateman wheels around and shoots him. He runs toward the
revolving doors. As he swings around in the doors, he
notices a JANITOR who has witnessed the shooting. He
revolves back into the lobby and shoots the janitor.
He runs out of the building and across the
street to an identical office building, the one that houses
Pierce & Pierce.
INT. PIERCE & PIERCE LOBBY – NIGHT
Bateman nods at the Pierce & Pierce NIGHT WATCHMAN and signs
in. He breathes a sigh of relief as the elevator doors close
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE – NIGHT
Bateman stands looking out
through the floor-length windows at a panoramic night view
of the city and the river.
Below him he sees a SWAT TEAM swarming over the roof of the
opposite building. There are ambulances standing by, flares
everywhere, distant sirens.
Suddenly, THE SOUND OF A HELICOPTER draws near. Frightened,
he drops to the floor behind his desk.
Helicopter searchlights scan the building, illuminating
Bateman’s office for a few moments with a blaze of light.
He is crouched in one corner, half-sobbing, talking into
the phone, as the searchlight keeps circling.
Harold, it’s Bateman. Patrick Bateman. You’re my
lawyer so I think you should know-I’ve killed a lot of
people. Some escort girls, in an apartment uptown, some
homeless people, maybe five or ten, an NYU girl I met in
Central Park. I left her in a parking lot, near Dunkin’
Donuts. I killed Bethany, my old girlfriend, with a nail
gun. and a man, some old faggot with a dog. Last week I
killed another girl with a chainsaw-I had to, she almost
got away There was someone else there, maybe a model, I
can’t remember but she’s dead too. And Paul Owen. I killed
Paul Owen with an ax, in the face. His body is dissolving
in a bathtub in Hell’s Kitchen. I don’t want to leave anything
out here…I guess I’ve killed 20 people, maybe 40-I have tapes
of a lot of it. Some of the girls have seen the tapes, I even…
well, I ate some of their brains and I tried to cook a little.
Tonight I just, well, I had to kill a lot of people and I’m not
sure I ‘m going to get away with it this time-I mean I guess
I’m a pretty sick guy. So-if you get hack tomorrow, I may show
up at Harry’s Bar, so, you know, keep your eyes open.
Bateman hangs up the phone. The helicopter searchlight
circles back, briefly illuminating the room. The camera rises
up over Bateman huddled in the corner, staring blankly at the
INT. SMITH AND WOLLENSKY RESTAURANT – DAY
KIMBALL and Bateman are sitting at a corner table.
No hash browns?
Not in the mood, I guess.
But…everyone orders the hash browns here. I
mean- it’s-have you been here before?
Yes, of course. The hash browns are delicious. I’m just…not…
(Looking at him like he’s nuts)
Suit yourself, I guess.
So, the night he disappeared? Any new thoughts on
what you did?
I’m not really sure. I had a shower…and some
I think maybe you’ve got your dates mixed up.
But how? Where do you place Paul that night?
According to his date book, and this was verified by his
secretary, he had dinner with…Marcus Halberstam.
I’ve questioned him.
Yes. And he denies it. Though at first he couldn’t
But Marcus denied it?
Well, does Marcus have an alibi?
He does? You’re sure?
I checked it out. It’s clean.
KIMBALL Now where were you?
(Laughing with him)
Where was Marcus?
He wasn’t with Paul
So who was he with?
He was at Atlantis with Craig McDermott, Frederick Dibble,
Harry Newman, George Butner and â€“
(He pauses, Then looks up)
A moment of stunned silence.
Oh, right. Of course…We had wanted Paul Owen
to come. But he said he had plans…I guess I had dinner
with Victoria…the following night.
Personally I think the guy went a little nutso. Split town for
a while. Maybe he did go to London. Sightseeing. Drinking.
Whatever. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he’ll turn up sooner or
I mean, to think that one of his friends
killed him, for no reason whatsoever would be too
ridiculous. Isn’t that right, Patrick?
McDermott stops by the table.
KIMBALL! How’s the investigation?
Talking to Bateman? Don’t believe a word he says.
(Laughs uproariously slapping him on the back)
Bateman, what’s wrong with ,you?
Bateman looks at him in silence,
You can’t eat at Smith and Wollensky
without ordering the hash browns. Jesus, Bateman, you’re a
raving maniac. Been at Pierce & Pierce too long.
(He wanders off muttering)
No f*cking hash browns…
INT. PAUL OWEN’S APARTMENT BUILDING – DAY
Bateman walks into the lobby of Paul Owen’s building. He
has a surgical mask in one hand.
What can I do for you, sir?
Of course. Mrs. Wolfe is up there right now.
The real estate agent? You do have an appointment,
Bateman steps out of the elevator and walks cautiously down
the hallway. Owen’s door is open. The apartment is freshly
painted and has been immaculately redecorated in English
country-house style: overstuffed sofas, lots of chintz. There
are flowers everywhere, and a YOUNG YUPPIE COUPLE stands
admiring the place talkingto the realtor, MRS. WOLFE. Bateman
wanders down the hallway, looking for familiar signs. He stops
at the closet where we last saw two dead girls hanging. He
opens the door and the light switches on, but it is empty. Mrs.
Wolfe approaches, smiling.
Are you my two o’clock?
Mrs. Wolfe eyes him strangely, then looks down at the
surgical mash clutched in his hand. Her expression changes.
Can I help you?
I’m looking for…Paul Owen’s…place.
She stares at him impassively.
Doesn’t he live here?
No, he doesn’t.
Are you sure?
You saw the ad in the Times?
No. Yes. I mean yes, I did. In the Times. But…
doesn’t Paul Owen still live here?
There was no ad in the Times.
Bateman is shaking as they continue to stare at each other.
I think you should go now.
But I think…I want to know what happened
Don’t make any trouble. Please. I suggest you go.
Bateman backs away slowly.
Don’t come back.
I won’t…don’t worry.
Mrs. Wolfe glares at him as he walks down the hall,
rattled, and gets into the elevator.
EXT. DEPARTMENT STORE – DAY
Bateman enters the revolving
door of an office building, panicking and breathing
heavily. He is sweating, his hair is wild, and he looks
deranged. He goes around the revolving door twice and comes
out onto the street again, where he bumps smack into a GUY
just like him.
Bateman looks up at him wild-eyed.
See you at Fluties, okay?
The guy walks away, utterly unfazed. Bateman wanders down
the street, banging his briefcase against walls, garbage
EXT. MIDTOWN PHONE BOOTH – DAY
Bateman searches his pockets
for pills. He finds three different pills and swallows
them. He’s sweating, and takes his jacket off to wipe his
face, dialing a number.
Patrick Bateman’s office.
Jean? Hello? Jean?
Patrick? Is that you?
Hello? Jean, I need help!
Where are you?
Craig McDermott called. He wants to meet you and
David Van Patten and Tim Price at Harry’s for drinks.
Oh God, what did you say, you dumb bitch?
Patrick? I can’t hear you.
What are I doing?
Where are you? Patrick, what’s wrong?
I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Jean.
…to the office this afternoon.
What is it, Patrick? Are you alright?
Stop sounding so Fucking sad! Jesus!
He hangs up. He throws the Walkman which is around his neck
into a nearby trash can, and wipes his face with his
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE- SAME DAY
Jean sits at Bateman’s desk. She looks around, and then opens
his desk drawer and tentatively begins to search through it.
INT. HARRY’S BAR – EVENING
Bateman comes into the bar, a little cleaned up from the
previous scene (he’s smoothed his hair), but still panicking
and disheveled. He spots his friends in a corner, sits down,
still breathing heavily.
Price is on his cell-phone, trying to get reservations.
Bateman, you’re looking a little wild-eyed rough
day at the office?
They all laugh.
Hey, look-Price is back. And he’s drinking
Perrier. He s a changed man. Except…he still can’t
get a reservation to save his life.
Bateman sits down silently.
Why don’t you try I 50 Wooster? Just f*cking call them.
I’m not going anywhere unless we
have a reservation.
VAN PATTEN Le Cirque, Flamingo East, Oyster Bar, come on,
faggots-just get a res.
Keep your shirt on. Maybe lose the suspenders.
Bateman spots HAROLD CARNES at the bar, tenses.
(He downs his drink)
Excuse me, gentlemen. Right back.
He approaches Carnes cautiously.
Face it-the Japanese will own most of this country by the
end of the ’90s.
Bateman approaches, trying to act casual.
Shut up, Carnes, they will not.
Carnes is surprised, turns around, looks vaguely confused.
So, Harold, did you get my message?
Carnes lights a cigarette, stalling. Then laughs.
Jesus, Davis. Yes. That was hilarious. That was you,
(Waving smoke out of his face)
Bateman killing Owen and the escort girls? Oh that s
fabulous. That’s rich…
It was a pretty long message, wasn’t it?
What exactly do you mean?
The message you left.
Carnes is distracted, waving at people.
By the way Davis, how is Cynthia? You’re still
seeing her, right?
But wait, Harold, what do you mean?
Carnes isn’t really listening.
Excuse me. Nothing. Good to see you. Is that Edward Towers?
He turns to go.
Davis. I’m not one to bad-mouth anyone, your joke was amusing.
But come on, man, you had one fatal flaw: Bateman’s such a dork,
such a boring, spineless lightweight, that I couldn’t fully
appreciate it. I wasn’t fooled for a second. Now, if you’d said
Price, or McDermott…Otherwise, it was amusing. Now, let’s
have lunch or dinner or something. Hilarious, Davis. A killer.
What are you talking about? Bateman is what?
Oh Christ. He can barely pick up an escort girl, let
alone…what was it you said he did to her?
Carnes looks around the club, raises his glass to a passing
couple. He laughs politely.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must…
Wait. Stop. You don’t seem to understand. You’re not really
comprehending any of this. I killed him. I did it, Carnes.
I’m Patrick Bateman. I chopped Owen’s f*cking head off.
I tortured dozens of girls. The whole message I left on your
machine was true.
Excuse me. I really must he going.
No! Listen, don’t you know who I am? I’m not Davis, I’m
Patrick Bateman! I talk to you on the phone all the time!
Don’t you recognize me? You’re my lawyer.
Carnes stares at him in confusion and annoyance.
Now, Carnes, listen to me. Listen very, very carefully. I killed
Paul Owen and I liked it. I can’t make myself any clearer
But that’s simply not possible. And I don’t find
this funny anymore.
It never was supposed to he! Why isn’t it possible?
(Eyeing Bateman worriedly)
It’s just not.
Why not, you stupid bastard?
Carnes stares at him.
Because I had dinner with Paul Owen twice in
London…just ten days ago.
Now, if you’ll excuse me.
Bateman returns back to his friends’ table, in a daze.
They are all looking at the television, where Ronald
Reagan is giving a speech about Iran Contra. They are
halfheartedly arguing about whether or not he’s
How can he lie like that? How can he pull that sh*t?
What sh*t? Now where do we have reservations at?
I mean I’m not really hungry, but I would like to have
I don’t believe it. He looks so…normal. He seems so…
out of it. So…undangerous.
He is totally harmless you geek. Was totally harmless.
Just like you are totally harmless. But he did do all that
sh*t and you have failed lo get us into I 50, so, you know,
what can I say?
I just don’t see how someone, anyone, can appear that
way and yet be involved in such total sh*t. How can you be so
f*cking, I don’t know, cool about it?
Some guys are just born cool, I guess.
Bateman laughs at this. Price shoots him a look.
And Bateman, what are YOU SO f*cking zany about?
I’m just a happy camper. Rockin’ and a-rollin’.
(To Price) Rehab’s done wonders for you, pal.
Working for UNICEF now?
Do you want another Perrier Timothy? Some seltzer water?
Oh brother look-he presents himself as a harmless
Old codger. But inside…
The SOUNDS OF THE BAR FADE AWAY and we hear Bateman’s thoughts:
But inside doesn’t matter…
THE SOUNDS OF THE BAR RETURN.
Inside? Yes, inside? Believe it or not, Price we’re actually
listening to you.
Bateman? Come on, what do you think?
Bateman looks up and smiles at Price. Then shrugs.
The conversation breaks up as Van Patten takes out his phone.
Whose moronic idea was it to drink dry beers? I need a Scotch.
The sounds of the bar fade down. The following voiceover runs
over images of Bateman and his friends ordering drinks, talking
on portable phones, talking, laughing – combined with images of
other very similar young men at other tables drinking, talking
on portable phones, talking, laughing,
There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with
the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil,
all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward
it, I have now surpassed…
INT. BATEMAN’S OFFICE – DAY
Jean is alone in Bateman’s office, looking through his diary.
We see the pages that she is looking at. They are filled with
doodles of mutilated women and their names…Jean looks lost
and frightened, and begins to cry.
My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better
world for anyone. I fact I want my pain to be inflicted on
others. I want no escape.
INT. HARRY’S BAR – EARLY EVENING
As the film ends the camera moves CLOSE on Bateman. He is
leaning back in his leather armchair, drinking a double Scotch,
his eyes blank.
But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis. I gain no
deeper knowledge about myself, no new knowledge can be extracted
from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any
of this. This confession has meant nothing…
The camera moves up to a sign on the wall behind him:
“THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.”
Movie | Film Script: American Psycho (4th Draft)