Setting the Stage: Understanding the Source Material
“American Psycho”—the novel that sparked controversies, debates, and an irresistible urge to discuss materialism, moral vacuity, and good old-fashioned insanity. If you’ve ever read Bret Easton Ellis’s magnum opus, you know that it’s a twisted journey into the psyche of Patrick Bateman, a Wall Street investment banker who is also a serial killer. Published in 1991, the novel captured the zeitgeist of late 20th-century American consumer culture, and reading it feels like getting a Ph.D. in nihilism.
Why does this novel merit such attention when discussing the complexities of adaptation? First, its narrative style is overwhelmingly unique. The novel is a first-person account, filled with intricate details that span from Bateman’s luxurious designer clothes to his homicidal tendencies. This point-of-view choice lends a chilling intimacy to the narrative—Bateman is your friend, your tour guide, and your monster all rolled into one.
Ellis’s novel defies conventional storytelling. The plot, if we can call it that, is episodic rather than linear. You might get a chapter detailing Bateman’s night of clubbing, followed by a gruesome account of murder, and then, perhaps jarringly, a whole section dedicated to a review of a Phil Collins album. The absence of a standard structure allows Ellis to present a raw, untamed vision of his protagonist’s world. This would be, to put it lightly, a challenge for anyone thinking about writing a screenplay based on the book. Conventional screenplay structure often demands a more linear, cause-and-effect narrative.
Then there’s the visceral content. The novel goes to extremes in depicting violence and hedonism. A major reason for the book’s initial controversy was its graphic nature. In fact, the book was so controversial that it was released as a paperback original because the initial publisher dropped it, citing its graphic violence. This poses a unique set of problems for adaptation. How do you remain faithful to a book that’s been called everything from a masterpiece to a monstrosity?
You see, Patrick Bateman’s inner monologue—a cocktail of neurosis, material obsession, and chilling detachment—provides an understanding of the character that’s hard to translate onto the screen. Internal monologues are tricky beasts in screenplays. In literature, they’re windows into a character’s soul; in cinema, they can easily become cumbersome voice-overs that yank the viewer out of the narrative.
Adapting a work like “American Psycho” calls for an adept balancing act between visual storytelling and textual faithfulness. Unlike simpler works that offer a straightforward path from text to screen, “American Psycho” is fraught with peril at every narrative bend. It begs the question: How do you adapt a story that seems built to defy adaptation?
The novel’s unique narrative voice is another Everest to climb. In the book, Bateman’s internal dialogues and monologues are not just ornamental; they are essential to our understanding of his fractured identity. The trickiness lies in making the audience comprehend Bateman’s psyche without getting the advantage of hundreds of pages of first-person narration.
The Art of Adaptation: Mary Harron’s Ingenious Choices
One of the most daunting tasks any screenwriter faces is adapting a beloved, complex novel into a cinematic narrative. So, when director and co-screenwriter Mary Harron took on the formidable task of bringing “American Psycho” to the silver screen, it was inevitable that she’d have to make some ingenious choices. It’s like playing 3D chess with an audience that knows how to checkmate you in two moves. You’ve got to be steps ahead, with your endgame clearly in sight.
First off, Harron made the bold decision to keep much of Patrick Bateman’s internal monologue—but she found a more cinematic way to present it. By using voice-over narration, she kept the audience inside Bateman’s head without it feeling like a cheap device. This tactic helped maintain the intimacy of the novel while adapting it into a medium that relies more on show than tell. Think of Harrison Ford’s character in “Blade Runner”, whose voice-over (in the original cut) helps ground the film’s philosophical musings.
Harron’s approach to the source material’s graphic violence was another masterstroke. While Ellis’s novel delves into gruesome details, Harron chose to pull back. The violence becomes more suggested than shown, which often made it even more unsettling. This helped the film sidestep the kind of controversy that could eclipse its thematic core, while still staying true to the dark, violent world Ellis had created.
For anyone offering screenwriting tips, this is a lesson in restraint and purposeful omission. Understanding what to keep and what to leave out is the key to a successful adaptation. Harron’s subtle approach allowed the film’s satire and social commentary to shine, unlike the novel where those elements could be overshadowed by the explicit content.
Let’s talk about pacing and screenplay structure. The episodic nature of the novel was replaced with a more streamlined narrative. If the novel was a sprawling suburb, the film is a high-rise building—each scene, a purposefully designed floor leading inexorably to the climax. This adaptation to a Three-Act Structure made the story more digestible for a cinematic audience without losing its complex flavor.
One of Harron’s most potent strategies was to crank up the satire. If Ellis’s novel was a serrated knife cutting through the excesses of the ’80s, Harron’s film was a scalpel—precise, and even more deadly because of it. Her adaptation underscored the absurdity of Bateman’s world, using biting humor as a counterpoint to the horror. The “business card scene,” for example, is a masterclass in building tension through subtext, almost like a less-lethal version of the famous Mexican standoff in Quentin Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs”.
For those pondering writing prompts or in the conceptual phase of writing a screenplay, consider how tweaking the tone can give the same material a completely different effect. Harron utilized the tone brilliantly to take the edge off some of the more graphic elements of the story, making it palpable but not diluting its intensity.
Let’s not forget about the clever use of music in the film. The soundtrack was an eclectic blend that mirrored Bateman’s dual nature—sometimes classical and refined, at other times dark and violent. The score by John Cale worked in perfect harmony with the visual elements, providing another layer to the narrative.
Equally noteworthy is the casting of Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman. The actor’s transformative performance added an essential layer of believability to the character. Bale’s Bateman was less an overt monster and more a product of his environment, which aligns with the film’s critique of 1980s Wall Street culture. This was Harron’s vision at its finest—showing that casting could be as much a narrative decision as a visual one.
Lessons and Takeaways: The Universality of ‘American Psycho’s’ Adaptation Challenges
If you’ve ever tried to adapt a work of literature into a screenplay, you know it can feel like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. But as we’ve seen with Mary Harron’s adaptation of “American Psycho,” these challenges can be deftly overcome with creativity, thematic focus, and an understanding of the mediums involved.
One of the first things to remember is to not lose sight of the story’s soul. In “American Psycho,” the core idea is a scathing indictment of yuppie culture and unchecked materialism. Harron never loses sight of this, even while making crucial changes to the story’s presentation. For those looking for screenwriting tips, one of the best you can get is to know the soul of your story and let every choice you make serve it. It’s much like what Peter Jackson did while adapting the mammoth “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. He stayed true to Tolkien’s core themes even while making necessary changes to fit a cinematic narrative.
Subtlety is another tool in the screenwriter’s kit that Harron wields with great skill. When writing a screenplay, it’s essential to remember that film is primarily a visual medium. You don’t have the luxury of pages and pages of internal monologue, as a novelist does. Hence, Harron’s choice of relying on visual storytelling—like Bateman’s meticulous morning routine or his seemingly perfect apartment—tells us more about the character than a monologue ever could. Much can be said without words; think of how the first 10 minutes of Pixar’s “Up” conveyed a lifetime of love and loss without a single line of dialogue.
Here’s another helpful writing tip: Dialogue can be a powerful way to adapt a literary work’s lengthy monologues or interior dialogues. “American Psycho” uses Patrick Bateman’s dialogues, both with others and himself, to substitute for the extensive internal narratives in the book. Each dialogue serves as a mini-arc, driving home the character’s dichotomies and the story’s themes. Take notes from Aaron Sorkin, the master of dialogue in films like “The Social Network”, who understands that what characters say can be as important as what they do.
Adaptations also offer the chance to update a story for a new audience or context. Harron modernized “American Psycho” by upping the satirical elements and subtly altering the story’s gender dynamics. She let the story breathe and evolve while staying true to its original intent. When you’re faced with an adaptation challenge, don’t be afraid to bring something new to the table. Look at what Baz Luhrmann did with “Romeo + Juliet” or what Steven Spielberg did with his update of “West Side Story”; they recontextualized timeless stories for a new generation without losing their essence.
Don’t underestimate the power of structure, either. A novel can meander, explore subplots, and delve into backstories, but a screenplay needs to be a tightly wound clock. Harron knew this and streamlined the story into a more traditional screenplay structure. Writing prompts can be a useful tool here, as they can help you think about how to condense or reorganize your story. Start with the major turning points and then fill in the gaps, ensuring each scene serves multiple functions.
Finally, remember that adaptations are a form of collaboration between the original author and the adapting writer. It’s a dialogue across mediums, each one enriching the other. Bret Easton Ellis himself has spoken positively about Harron’s adaptation, and the film has, in turn, led many to explore the novel. A well-crafted adaptation can serve as an entry point or a companion piece to the original, broadening its reach and impact.
So, as you venture into your own adaptations, keep these lessons from “American Psycho” in mind. Whether you’re a seasoned screenwriter or a newbie looking for writing tips, the challenges of adaptation offer a fertile ground for creativity and innovation. Embrace these challenges, and you just might create something as enduring and impactful as the original.
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A.I. in Screen Trade 