You like Huey Lewis and the News?
Have you ever wished so hard for something that the universe deigned it to be – then you spent the next seven days partying to celebrate your good fortune?
No? Then you’ve never been acquainted with the joy that American Psycho can bring. If you haven’t read the book by Bret Easton Ellis or the subsequent film adaptation that helped put Lionsgate and Christian Bale on the map, you are a grave sore against the collective taste of America. Or…you just haven’t seen them. Or you’re part of the reason why Jersey Shore can sit on basic cable unperturbed and won’t leave until they drag their tanned figures out of the door, kicking and screaming. So hurry up and absorb the harshest indictment of brainless capitalism, Wall Street culture, and violent Reagan-mocking rage that has ever been committed to paper and film.
Or you could do what I’m going to do every few weeks AS SOON AS IT COMES OUT, and enjoy American Psycho on Broadway. Which is the best idea anybody has come up with since, uh, bread. In the greatest city in the world, where else does money run rampant and overblown, soulless productions made with the minimum amount of effort happen?
Broadway. Ripe for satire. Make it happen.
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