Alternate Ending to American Psycho, made in collaboration with Luca Mazzanti
American Psycho (2000) directed by Mary Harron, based on the novel by Bret Easton Ellis, starring Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman
General Info:
- Director Mary Harron refused the theory that the action of the movie was a mental creation of Bateman
- A critique of toxic masculinity and capitalism, depicting the uniformity and emptiness of “Wall Street”
How does this relate to the Future:
- We are using something familiar to create our own future. By extrapolation, we can only guess as to what will happen, so there is ambiguity written in as well.
- Un/Familiar meets Translation: By making our own translation of something familiar to us, we are creating something entirely new and unfamiliar.
- We also wanted to play with the ideas of alternate history making.
Script Sample: by Mary Hannon and Guinevere Turner, based on the novel by Bret Easton Ellis
BATEMAN
So, Harold, did you get my message?
Carnes lights a cigarette, stalling. Then laughs.
CARNES
Jesus, Davis. Yes. That was hilarious. That was you,
wasn’t it?
BATEMAN
(Waving smoke out of his face)
Yes, naturally.
CARNES
Bateman killing Owen and the escort girls? Oh that’s
fabulous. That’s rich…
Pause
CARNES
It was a pretty long message, wasn’t it?
BATEMAN
What exactly do you mean?
CARNES
The message you left.
Carnes is distracted, waving at people.
CARNES
By the way Davis, how is Cynthia? You’re still
seeing her, right?
BATEMAN
But wait, Harold, what do you mean?
Carnes isn’t really listening.
CARNES
Excuse me. Nothing. Good to see you. Is that Edward Towers?
He turns to go.
BATEMAN
Carnes? Wait.
CARNES
(Sighing)
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.
BATEMAN
What are you talking about? Bateman is what?
CARNES
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.
CARNES
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must…
BATEMAN
(Desperate, shouting)
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 fucking head off.
I tortured dozens of girls. The whole message I left on your
machine was true.
CARNES
Excuse me. I really must be going.
BATEMAN
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.
BATEMAN
Now, Carnes, listen to me. Listen very, very carefully. I killed
Paul Owen and I liked it. I can’t make myself any clearer.
CARNES
But that’s simply not possible. And I don’t find
this funny anymore.
BATEMAN
It never was supposed to be! Why isn’t it possible?
CARNES
(Eyeing Bateman worriedly)
It’s just not.
BATEMAN
Why not, you stupid bastard?
Carnes stares at him.
CARNES
Because I had dinner with Paul Owen twice in
London…just ten days ago.
BATEMAN
No, you…didn’t?
CARNES
Now, if you’ll excuse me.
Alternate Ending: 3rd Person Omniscient
Patrick Bateman, dressed impeccably (as always) walked into Harry’s–a popular bar known to serve only upper class clientele. Perfect for Bateman. There he was meeting with his lawyer; see, the night before, Bateman had left him a revealing voicemail. The alcohol, the stress, and the mania had all played their parts.
The bar with its mahogany walls and cigar smoke clouding the room gave off a cozy yet contrived atmosphere.
‘How boring. I need a drink,’ Bateman thought to himself as he slid onto a bar stool.
“A J&B on the rocks,” Bateman ordered the bartender. No please, no unnecessary pleasantries. It’s not how it’s done. He checked his watch, looked up to find a clock in the bar, rechecked his watch, and eventually his eyes glassed over staring at the array of liquors and mixes in their respective bottles.
“Sir,” said a voice. “Sir,” again the same voice, but with more urgency, snapping Bateman out of his stupor. “Your drink.”
Without thanks, Bateman took the glass off of the counter and spun to survey the room, hoping to get a glimpse of Harold Carnes–the lawyer in question. Used to the manners of his customers, the bartender returned to tidy his station.
At that moment, Carnes strolled in the door, looking rather distracted. He ran his hands through his hair several times, an obvious tell to those as intelligent as Bateman. Bateman met his eyes, and he motioned towards a booth.
‘God help me,’ Bateman thought, as he pivoted off of the bar stool. His polished dress shoes clacked across the floor as he walked.
Before the pair sat down, Carnes extended his hand in greeting. “How are ya today?”
‘Odd. Why is he so chipper?’
“Just fine, thank you,” Bateman replied politely. “Did you happen to get my message?”
Occupied, Carnes lit a cigarette and drew in a breath before speaking. As he did so, his hands shook slightly and he swiveled his head, checking the room
“Jesus, Davis. Yes. That was hilarious. That was you, wasn’t it?”
He exhaled a cloud of smoke and Bateman swatted at it.
“Yes, naturally.”
“Bateman killing Paul Owen and those escort girls? Oh that’s fabulous. It was rich! Ya had me in stitches.”
Bateman perked up at his name.
“I’m sorry, what? I said that I left that message.”
“And was it a hoot! I mean it was funny, but it was so drawn on…I mean…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.”
“What are you saying, Carnes? Bateman is what?”
“I mean you know ‘im. Can barely pick up a girl, let alone…what is it you said he did to her.”
Bateman became visibly distressed. ‘What is going on here.’
“Well, if the message was all you wanted to meet about, kinda a waste of time, don’t ya think? I should get going now.”
Bateman, out of desperation and anger, grabbed Carnes’ hand.
“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 fucking head off. I tortured dozens of girls. The whole message I left on your machine was true,”he shouts.
Carnes looked him in the eye warrily. He took another drag of his cigarette to calm himself.
“I’m so sorry but I must be going now.:”
“You aren’t going anywhere! Don’t you know who I am?! I’m Patrick Bateman, not Davis!! You’re my lawyer, for Christ sake!!”
The ambiance of the bar was disturbed, and Bateman was horrified to see so many judgemental eyes on him. ‘They don’t know! I’m Patrick Bateman. I am Patrick Bateman!’
Carnes tugged his hand from Bateman’s, and with the same worried expression he repeated, “I am terribly sorry, but I have to go.”
“No,” yelled Bateman. “No, you don’t. You don’t understand. Listen very, very carefully. I killed Paul Owen and I liked it. I can’t make myself any clearer…”
At that very moment, Bateman’s ears heard a noise other than his own voice. He was shouting so loudly that he failed to notice the entrance of multiple FBI agents, as well as their accompanying police officers.
He looked frantically around the bar to find a hall, a door, anything to evade them, but seeing the look on Carnes face told him that he wouldn’t be getting away with anything else.
As Bateman stared at Carnes, an agent approached them, and reached for the cuffs to restrain Bateman.
“Now, you can’t do anything to anyone else,” she said, clasping the cuffs around his wrists. He struggled, writhing against the cuffs, but it was no use. This was it.
He continued to scream at Carnes as his rights were being read.
“You bastard! They put you up to this didn’t you!!”
Carnes stayed silent, watching, his eyes wide with fear.
“That’s right I killed them! I killed those girls, and Paul, and I should have killed you, too,” Bateman spat.
—
As he was being brought out of the bar, Carnes followed to give the necessary information to the police and agents on duty.
“He confessed to the entire thing. To all the murders,” he said, looking at his feet. “Ha! And you know what? I really did think he was joking. I mean I never thought Bateman was capable of such a thing.” Another drag of his cigarette.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Carnes,” said the FBI agent.
“Yeah, sure,” said Carnes uneasily. “But could I ask something before y’all take him away?”
The FBI agent looked at him invitingly. “You may.”
“He went on about Paul Owen, but ten days ago in London, I had dinner with him. Twice, in fact. How is that possible?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carnes. I can’t discuss the possible murder victims of this man with you.”
With that remark, she walked away to settle the remaining matters with her team, leaving Carnes staring at them. He took one last drag of his cigarette, dropped it, and stamped it out with his shoe. As he exhaled, he started to laugh ruefully. He knew this man for what…a few years or so, and he never expected this to happen. How could a person do this, let alone someone that he knew, a client that he was supposed to defend?
With that, he turned and started to head back to his office, where he would continue the day’s meetings; he would then end his shift in a swanky restaurant, dressed up exactly like Harry’s, nursing a drink and helping himself to quite a few more cigarettes.
