That's A Very Fine Chardonnay You're Not Drinking.

Meh, I've got very little to say about American Psycho. Based on the (far superior, in my humble opinion) novel by the terrifying Bret Easton Ellis (does anyone else think the man should be committed? Well, only if he's still allowed to write), the movie focuses on Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale), high up at a (law?) firm, young, very upwardly mobile with a whole lot of friends in exactly the same position. What makes Bateman different? He's a psychopath with a penchant for killing prostitutes and people he doesn't like in gruesome ways. And being very meticulous about it.

Yeah, I'd still probably go there.

He kills some people, including a 'friend' of his Paul Allen (Jared Leto) before Detective Kimble (Willem Dafoe) begins to sniff around. The paranoia induced leads him to kill more and more people, perhaps inspired by the fact that he also seems to be constantly mistaken for various other people - he is not memorable, so he is trying to make a name for himself. His friends pay him no attention, not picking up on his distress signals (played by the likes of Justin Theroux and Josh Lucas), his secretary has a big fat crush on him (played by Chloë Sevigny) and his fiance is oblivious (played by Reese Witherspoon.) And then there's a nice little twist at the end.


The film is so, so cold. The book is scary and twisted and disturbing, but that doesn't come across in the film. It probably has something to do with the fact that Christian Bale has about as much charisma as a dying fern. I swear to god I've never liked him in anything. Yes, he's filthy hot in this film, but I still feel like I'm watching a lump of wood walking around. I'd believe that was the character he is playing in the film if I didn't think the same in every film he does. And then, even the terrific supports don't seem to be doing much more. Dafoe seems confused, Sevigny seems to be playing with her eyes closed. And there is no emotion anywhere in the film. At no point did I have any feelings of empathy towards a single character, except maybe a moment when I felt sorry for Sevigny due to her infatuation with someone who is quite obviously an enormous knob. I guess money and hot abs have worked for me in the past, but still.


Blah blah boring. I was truly bored watching the film. It must just be me, though, because all through my Bale hating years everyone keeps saying 'yeah, but watch American Psycho, it's so good.' Well, now I've watched it, and I'm stopping just short of asking for my money back. 1.5 stars. (What's the half star for? Bale's body and great casting, even if they didn't live up to their full potential.)

I'm Not Going To Be Okay, Bud.

In the midst of Gus Van Sant's Death trilogy (here and here) Vincent Gallo made a film that was, by many, derided as the worst film to ever play in competition at Cannes. Granted, the version of Gallo's The Brown Bunny that premiered at Cannes was almost 30% longer than the final theatrical release, but I don't know what all the fuss is about. Sure, it's not a terrific film, but I've seen worse from the Cannes competition - much worse. And there were many similarities to Van Sant's death trilogy (hence the opening): moody following shots; silence; long stretches of apparent nothingness speaking much more than the lack of words would attest. My main curiosity is how the hell this film cost US$10mil to make (quoting the estimate on imdb.com here...)

Gallo (writer, director, lead actor, cinematographer... anything else? Oh yes, camera operator, producer, editor, art director, production designer, makeup, blah blah you get the point) is Bud, a motorcycle racer who has just finished up a race in New Hampshire and is apparently heading over the California for the next one. He stops at a gas station and hits on the young female attendant, Violet (Anna Vareschi), somehow convincing her to come with him. He drops her at her house, she goes in to pack, she comes back out, he is gone.


His next stop is at Daisy's parents' house, a girl we do not know. He says he lived next door when he was growing up and chats to the parents about Daisy, about how the parents visited Bud and Daisy when they lived in California together (they don't remember), and about her pet bunny rabbit, sitting there in the same room, according to the parents the same rabbit she had when Bud was growing up next door. He stops at a pet store after he leaves and is told that rabbits don't live longer than five or six years - his repeated request for confirmation makes you assume that Daisy's rabbit must be somewhat older than that, or that the memory of her parents is somewhat... lacking. He continues to a highway rest shelter where he sees a woman (Cheryl Tiegs) sitting on her own, sipping a cup of coffee. He walks over to her and they begin to kiss, passionately, before he leaves again. Barely a word is spoken between them.


Stopping to get his bike checked on the way, he arrives in California and returns to the house he shared with Daisy, leaving her a note letting her know where he is staying. Daisy (Chloë Sevigny) turns up and the two talk about old times, argue, and then the infamous unsimulated fellatio scene appears. But does it?


Like I said, it's not terrible. It's a rambling melancholic memory-trip, bringing up emotions in Bud and with a great kick at the end that does probably save the film from being below-average. Gallo was pretty poor in his lead role, not really lending anything to the film that many other actors could have, and have in similar films in the past. Stumbling through without allowing any real glimpses into what is behind those eyes of his, he is saved by the naivety of Violet, the strength of despair in the woman at the rest stop, and the power of Sevigny's Daisy. Sevigny really is the saving grace of the film - she's a terrific actress, and brings to Daisy a sorrow and pain that manages to show you as much about Bud as it does about herself.


It's a 3 star film. Middling, really. Not terrible, not great. Just... there.

Are You Mad At Me?

I'm putting it out there, and I'm not ashamed: I have a crush on Hayden Christensen, and I have since Life As A House. There, I said it. I even watched the second Star Wars film because he was in it (though I couldn't bring myself to sit through the third. Please forgive me, Hayden.) I also think that he does have some acting chops (see Life As A House again) but I think often he doesn't put them to as full a use as he could. That's fine - many better actors do the same (good morning Robert De Niro.)

(he's writing down my phone number. I swear it.)

So, I watched Shattered Glass. Deal. It also has Peter Sarsgaard in a Golden Globe nominated role, and Chloë Sevigny, who is another I love. Though, and no disrespect intended, who the hell is Billy Ray? The director of the film is a bit of a mystery to me.

Shattered Glass is apparently the true story of one Stephen Glass, a young reporter and, subsequently, associate editor of The New Republic, a highly-regarded American journal that, at the time the film is set, was suffering from rapidly declining readership, despite the fact that it was the 'inflight magazine of Air Force One.' Glass (Christensen) is precocious and an incredible story-teller - he seems able to get the most amazing stories, pitch them in a very entertaining way, and them write them very well, all the while whilst being a very nice guy to all those at his workplace, no matter how overworked he may have been. The only problem is - was he making them up?

Hank Azaria plays his very good initial editor Michael Kelly, who is fired and replaced by Glass' colleague Chuck Lane (Sarsgaard.) The story that creates the whirlwind of forgery accusations revolves around a hacker's conference and a very young hacker who seems to have signed a major contract with a tech firm that he hacked in order that they may police their security better. Forbes Digital journalist Adam Penenberg (Steve Zahn) begins to investigate, as this is exactly the sort of story they would like to run with, and begins to find massive inconsistencies in the story - and this is where the story goes.

It's a pretty lightweight film, but entertaining enough. Sarsgaard does an excellent job, but I do wonder why more attention wasn't given to Christensen, who seemed to pull through his freaky happiness and utter despair with a constant look of fear hovering somewhere in the background of his eyes. He was never quite trustworthy, no matter how well he sold his credentials and stories, and that isn't an easy feat to pull off.

Oh well, I don't think this is the last we've seen of Christensen (I bloody well hope not, at least.) Bring on some more drama though, boy. You can do it, you've shown it. Push yourself.

Shattered Glass: 3 stars.