This is a terrifying movie.
A sick joke.
It’s funny, in parts.
And dripping with irony.
But the overwhelming characteristic of it is the disturbing nature of what is represented on film.
Indeed, American Psycho suspends disbelief (the jokes not withstanding) to inflict psychological terror on those who see this film.
Some viewers may not seem to be bothered.
They are either masochists.
Or they lack imagination.
But let me tell you my own frame of reference: pizzagate.
Go ahead. Look it up.
It is going viral on several media platforms such as Twitter and YouTube.
And it is just what I was talking about prior to the U.S. election.
Pizzagate is the theory that John and Tony Podesta, along with James Alefantis and his Comet Ping Pong pizzeria in Washington, D.C., are involved in a kidnapping and child trafficking ring for pedophiles who rape and then murder their young victims.
Another pizzeria ostensibly used for ritualistic sex murders might be the neighboring Besta Pizza (besta, as in beast).
There is an overwhelming amount of circumstantial evidence which points to the above being true.
But I cannot outline the entire conspiracy here.
Suffice it to say that dead babies, dead children, dead teenagers were potentially the fruits of these incredibly strange and evil proceedings.
As I have mentioned in the past, the organization through which this pedo ring is likely being run is the Clinton Foundation.
There are further revelations which seem to tie Department of Justice employees Andrew Kline and Arun Rao to this Satanic pedo ring.
Mr. Kline owns Besta Pizza.
[Update 12/16/16: The ownership of Besta Pizza is in question. There seems to be two Andrew Klines at issue. Further, it appears that other persons may share ownership in this establishment.]
Mr. Alefantis was lovers with David Brock of Correct the Record and Media Matters.
And that’s where George Soros comes in.
Soros has given five-figure donations to Comet Ping Pong on multiple occasions.
And we can’t forget Jeffrey Epstein who used his plane (the Lolita Express) to make jaunts to his own private sex slave island in the Caribbean (I belive it’s in the Virgin Islands).
Bill and Hillary Clinton took multiple trips on Mr. Epstein’s Lolita Express.
Mr. Epstein is a registered sex offender.
Then there’s the Haitian angle. When Laura Silsby was charged and jailed in Haiti for child trafficking. Ms. Clinton was very interested in this case.
Put most simply, the information leaked by WikiLeaks has given researchers a cache of U.S. government documents written in a very strange code.
Pizza means girl. Hotdog means boy. Cheese means little girl. Pasta means little boy.
Walnut means person of color or girl with undeveloped genitalia (uncertain).
Map means semen. Sauce means orgy.
There are other codes involving handkerchiefs. Indeed, there appears to be a long-standing code called “the handkerchief code”.
What I’ve written doesn’t even begin to describe the more lurid (and convincing) aspects of this citizen investigation.
But it did put me in the mindset to watch American Psycho.
I must say, this is a truly demented film.
I must have had two panic attacks watching this thing.
Because my mind keeps moving.
I certainly don’t want pizzagate to be true.
I hope it’s not true.
Because the carnage and evil wrapped up in it is almost unimaginable.
It’s sickening. Disgusting. Terrifying. Revolting. Terribly sad.
And those same words describe American Psycho pretty well.
In a technical sense, Mary Harron made a very fine film.
But I question her motives for doing so.
The sheer level of violence in this film is shocking.
In fact, it appears that the Hollywood mechanism is to make young people think killing is cool and normal (even gory ax murders) and make them think this by lacing the drama with humor and laughs.
It is a bizarre, insidious concoction.
I’m failing to see the connection to the art horror films of Alfred Hitchcock.
Something more sinister is going on here.
Set in 1987, Christian Bale is the psycho.
But he also (no doubt) represents white people in general.
He represents the conservative element in America.
The propaganda, then, is that conservatives are really (deep down inside) psychopathic, cold-hearted serial murderers.
What is REALLY ironic is that the Clinton pizzagate is (so far) populated solely by liberals.
And Hollywood is thoroughly liberal.
And so there’s a strange message being set up here.
We question the inspiration for this film.
And the characters who came to give the story life.
The acting is fantastic. Christian Bale is great.
But I don’t see the point in making this film.
What could an actor possibly get out of playing such a role?
What could a director get out of directing such a film?
Is it really just for money?
Perhaps Hollywood knows that the American viewing audience is very desensitized as a result of decades of ultra-violent movies.
And so this one had to ratchet it up a notch.
The story is fundamentally sound. [barring a few truly questionable scenes]
Hitchcock would have made a masterpiece from such a story.
But American Psycho just leaves me sick.
It’s a sick sense of humor which Hollywood seems to share.
That death is fun. That killing is liberating. It’s truly a psychotic ethos.
And so I leave my readers with a warning (for the first time ever).
See this film only in the practice of opposition research.
Furthermore, exercise extreme caution in watching this film.
It is engineered to make you psychologically and physically ill.
I’m glad to be more informed, but I never want to see this gratuitous filth again.
This is one of the strangest films I’ve ever seen.
Directed by Juraj Herz.
Even if you are familiar with the Czechoslovak New Wave, this film will still take you by surprise.
It is a mélange of times and themes.
And truly a horror story.
But there is a Brechtian detachment at work.
This would explain labels such as “comedy horror”.
It’s perhaps more absurd and surreal than it is funny.
But it is certainly frightening.
A very creepy piece of cinema.
Everything revolves around a crematory official/director named Kopfrkingl.
That name alone is enough to jar the most languid viewer at each pronunciation.
Historically speaking, this was not a successful film upon release.
No, it was too weird to be incorporated into the Czechoslovak communist pantheon moving forward. And so the world would have to wait until 1989 to get a look at this thing.
The whole film feels like a dream.
A bad dream. With some particularly vivid violence. [Or vintage violence.]
Mr. Kopfrkingl is a truly, outrageously delusional man.
And he only becomes more so as the film goes on.
Modern viewers might notice a bit of Eric Cartman in Rudolf Hrušínský’s performance as Kopfrkingl.
Seen behind an iconic ribbon microphone, Kopfrkingl invokes the manic strains of Hitler and we feel the sick surge of idiocy grab hold of our dear cremator.
The strangest part of Kopfrkingl’s delusion is his obsession with Tibet.
It makes me wonder whether David Lynch saw this prior to Twin Peaks?
Thubten Gyatso dies, and Hitler comes to power.
Based on a novel by Ladislav Fuks, this tale must be seen to be believed.
There are short-circuit edits akin to Sidney Lumet’s The Pawnbroker.
Indeed, director Herz is himself Jewish.
Truth be told, there have been few films which deal with the Holocaust as effectively (if obliquely) as The Cremator
Every shot of Hrušínský from the back evokes the Peter Lorre of M.
This is a thoroughly fascinating cinematic experience.
Wouldn’t it be neat if the FBI actually did things?
When’s the last time the FBI actually caught a criminal?
A real criminal.
They had a lovely chance to save America.
By investigating 9/11.
And so we have been investigating the investigators.
I was wrong about Twin Peaks.
Because you have to add to the propagandistic litany The X-Files.
And finally this hulking slab of mind control.
Lies can be so beautiful.
Perhaps…once upon a time…the FBI did something.
After Hoover…and before OKC.
A small window.
But let me pause for a minute and admit.
That I love this film.
It is one of the few true masterpieces of American cinema.
It stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Rosemary’s Baby.
The only real heirs to the legacy of Hitchcock.
1991. 1991. Nineteen-ninety-one.
Does America have any honor left?
Do American troops read books?
Do military officers ever avoid the most grave corruption?
Where is the genius to save our country?
What can we learn from serial killers?
Which animals are the most clever?
At the bottom and into the middle are good men and women.
Like Clarice Starling.
Mozart’s pet bird.
My intellect is miniscule.
Our computers would have picked it up.
How far can you push an old body.
How much fear can you handle?
How much panic can be breathed!
Such genius to personify.
The pathetic fallacy. They all fawn.
But it is rather reverse reification.
The way of no way.
Swing hovering to deal with ambush predators.
That’s a quote.
When life mattered.
Isolation savors detail.
Real, not fake.
Hans Selye will never know.
Everything you need to know is here.
Two acting masterpieces.
And Anthony Hopkins.
Once in a lifetime.
The auteurist glue? Jonathan Demme.
What kind of game is this?
It is the biggest test.
There are a handful of great horror movies.
Movies which came late enough to set the bar.
Although the early days of cinema were horrific.
A different style developed.
Rosemary’s Baby has a Hitchcockean subtlety to it.
And so Psycho would be the first true horror movie.
It was a new style of filmmaking.
But Roman Polanski advanced that style.
Perhaps we wouldn’t get another in this line till The Shining.
When great directors dabble in horror.
1960. 1968. 1980.
But horror is an everyman genre.
And so Tobe Hooper made a great one.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
1960. 1968. 1974. 1980.
A progression from subtlety to overt gore.
But all these films are artful.
Silence of the Lambs resurrected that tradition.
Fear. Terror. Poetry. The flowers of evil.
1960. 1968. 1974. 1980. 1991.
We feel it in Twin Peaks.
But perhaps no film captured the essence of the occult so artfully as Rosemary’s Baby.
It is a truly terrifying film.
Every element is well-placed.
It is an art film. But equally a spectacle. An entertainment.
Most notably, it is a philosophic reflection upon evil.
As I’ve said…science doesn’t admit such.
But we have to wonder.
When such powerful people believe in such mumbo jumbo.
Whether there is power or not. In their ceremonies.
They believe. Ostensibly.
It is a frightening prospect.
A very disturbed element of the intelligentsia.
To understand your enemies.
I almost didn’t make it through this one.
Not exactly light viewing for me.
Some people…obsessed with gore.
I’ve never been that way.
But there is something fascinating about serial killers.
Not in an adolescent worship rebellion way.
Stories about serial killers are like car crashes.
Sometimes we can’t look away.
Perhaps we feel compelled to go into that deep place within ourselves.
We want to know the horror of truth.
We want to be able to handle the truth.
The truth is sometimes disgusting.
If you live in a war zone, you are used to blood.
If you are a soldier who’s fought in a war, you’ve seen the worst kind of dying.
Dahmer is a different sort of death.
It is a feast for psychologists.
We want to learn how these things happen so that we can prevent them.
I’m no psychologist.
Far from it.
I’m just a student of life.
And so in order to really appreciate wild sunflowers growing by the railroad tracks, we must face Dahmer.
Let me just say that this film puts Ted Bundy to shame.
First because of director David Jacobson.
It is a masterful film. An artful film. Everything that Schindler’s List is not.
In stories like this…there is nothing more important to remember (as an auteur) than the banality of evil.
But Dahmer introduces a star: Jeremy Renner.
But you know who really deserves some credit?
Those people that auteur theorists often forget about.
Production designer (Eric Larson).
Art director (Kelley Wright).
Costume designer (Dana Hart).
These functional elements are essential here.
You think The Nice Guys has a cool look to it?
It ain’t shit compared to Dahmer.
And Ryan Gosling (that fucking guy annoys me…Ryan Reynolds with a mustache)…
Funny thing is, The Nice Guys looks like a good film.
But it’s vanilla…beige…compared to the cinema under discussion.
I’m not going to be wanting to see Dahmer again anytime soon, but it’s an essential film.
If you want to understand his crimes.
Bruce Davison is excellent as Dahmer’s father.
Artel Kayaru is really good!
Don’t discount the horror medium.
The “greatest creator of forms of the 20th century” (to quote Godard) kicked it off in earnest with Psycho.
Darkness is inextricably wound up in the light of cinema.
Meets Paul Kersey.
It’s not often I watch horror films.
I had a bad experience once with the schlock of the genre.
I never really forgave Stephen King for that one.
But perhaps the story was just muffed in the inept hands of Mick Garris?
Well, whatever the case may be: Hard Candy is compelling cinema.
Yes, charge me with the crime of our age.
The worship of youth.
Ephebophilia is hammered into our heads by the nonstop spectacle.
It is chronophilia from 15-19. Age range.
You’re attracted to young people.
So many nuances.
There’s hebephilia. 11-14.
Perhaps it is this which is most germane to our film.
Ellen Page is a star.
Sure, it’s a bit trendy…after Monster in 2003.
But I’ve seen that one…and Hard Candy is more compelling.
Ellen Page is more compelling.
Page plays a 14-year-old named Hayley.
Such a quintessential name. Like Caitlyn (and its derivative spellings).
Top hit? [Sponsored content?] Hayley Williams of the band Paramore.
Hayley Williams. 27. Looks plenty young.
The worship of youth.
Red hair. Porcelain skin. Not a wrinkle in sight.
Hayley [sic]. Peak U.S. popularity in 1990s.
Et voila! Hayley Williams born 1988. That’s about right.
How about Haley? Also peaked in the 1990s. And about three times more common than the Hayley spelling.
[This is the honors-student logic of Hayley Stark in our film. Really a genius detail.]
Let’s try Hailey. Oooh! Most popular yet! And peaked in 2005 🙂
There’s also Haylee (trailer-trash rare…peak 2009), Hayleigh (a recent trend peaking in 2011…almost with a Cajun ring to it), and the ultra-rare Haylie (a dainty spelling which peaked in 2007).
These are the keys to the safe.
Yes, it’s a very bad day for Jeff Kohlver (Patrick Wilson).
Hell of a performance.
To wake up with your balls in your mouth.
Not just a figurative Quantum of Solace reference.
Sure, it’s a bit like Misery with Kathy Bates.
So, see: the Norma Bates wisecrack wasn’t so off in another way.
Let me clarify.
Hard Candy is not a great film, but it’s pretty damned good.
The direction is good.
Patrick Wilson is good.
The scenario/script is good.
Ellen Page is great.
She’s not perfect.
There’s a few moments when the tension is so ridiculous that she almost breaks character.
Not a relaxing movie.
My first “horror” review.
I love Psycho. It’s artful.
But chasing Hitchcock down that path can be a very treacherous exercise for auteurs.
David Slade does a fine job.
This film most certainly does not suck.
But again, Hulu: I just wanted to watch a fucking comedy.
And your dramas still blow.
Ended up in horror.
God damn, you people suck at your jobs.