AMERICAN PSYCHO
by
Matthew Markwalder
Unproduced screenplay based on the book by Bret Easton Ellis
June 1998
FADE IN
TITLE CARD:
And as things fell apart
Nobody paid much attention
Talking Heads
EXT WALL STREET - DAY
SOFT FOCUS on a blur of moving shapes and colors. SOUNDS of
traffic and PEDESTRIANS on a crowded street. CREDITS ROLL as we
SNAP TO SHARP FOCUS on...
...a swirling mass of SUITS, all of them clones: white MEN, mid-
twenties to thirties, fashion slaves. INDIVIDUAL FACES reveal
nothing. YUPPIES, circa 1989. Another business day ends as...
...an endless stream of taxis and limousines pour into the
surrounding maze of streets. Traffic crawls as the CROWD surges
forward, relentless...
Enormous grey buildings, cold and impersonal, reach up to the
sky. HOMELESS PEOPLE lay passed out on the sidewalk, in
doorways, on benches. A grotesque disfiguration on an otherwise
perfect, gleaming surface, they beg for food, for change -
anything. Pathetic and broken, they are ignored by Wall Street's
ruling class.
A HOMELESS MAN holds a cardboard sign: I AM HUNGRY. PLEASE HELP
ME.
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
CLOSE ON a well-manicured HAND tightly gripping a Mont Blanc pen.
The HAND is writing on the wall above a urinal... we see the
first two neatly written letters: KI.
ESTABLISHING MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
(TO BE INTERCUT with previous SCENE in the MEN'S BATHROOM).
CREDITS CONTINUE ROLLING as we see a MONTAGE of life in late
Eighties Manhattan: the good, the bad and the ugly side of the
Big Apple. Juxtaposition the obvious with the obscure...
...The Empire State Building... red graffiti on the side of the
Chemical Bank: ABANDON ALL HOPE... traffic barely moving as
bicycle messengers fly past... a cop car disappears into an
underground parking structure... a bus roars past, an
advertisement for "Les Mis" on its side; the word "DYKE" scrawled
across Eponine's face...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND, writing. Additional letters now visible: LL
A.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...an out of business bistro covered up with posters featuring
Donald Trump on the cover of Time Magazine... The Statue of
Liberty... automated teller machines dispensing cash... a white
cop frisks a black man... newspapers and garbage blowing through
the streets... Rockefeller Center Plaza... delicatessens...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND still writing. Additional letters now visible:
LL Y.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...a gay pride parade: muscle bound macho men and flamboyant drag
queens proudly march arm in arm down Fifth Avenue... police...
George Plimpton... Broadway theater marquees... Trump Plaza...
subways... homeless people... mannequins in Bloomingdale's store
front... Radio City Music Hall...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND writing. Visible letters: UPP.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...an old bag lady cracks a whip at pigeons fighting over crumbs
on the piss-stained sidewalk... transvestites glare from the
shadows... the Chrysler Building... taxis everywhere, all of them
occupied... pigeons refuse to move... the homeless fight among
themselves...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND. Now visible: IES.
SLOWLY PULL BACK to reveal an expensive looking set of cufflinks
attached to the sleeve of a designer suit... PULL BACK further to
discover the entire "message" written on the wall:
KILL ALL YUPPIES.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...graffiti on the side of a McDonald's: FEAR... rows and rows of
brightly colored packages of detergent... models strutting on a
catwalk in a fashion show... a homeless man pushing a shopping
cart half-full of tin cans stops to look for hidden treasure in
an overflowing trash can. Attached to his shopping cart is a
sign: THE END IS NEAR...
END MONTAGE
EXT TIMES SQUARE - LATE AFTERNOON (1989)
High above the streets, enormous brightly lit billboards loom
over Times Square. Flashing neon signs in X-rated storefronts
battle for attention. Sensory overload, American style...
inescapable, hypnotic.
...models, ten stories tall, selling underwear... "Coke Is
It!"... "XXX GIRLS"... "Fly United"... laughing faces on the
giant SONY Trinitron... "LIVE SEX SHOW"... "Fly Delta"... "Choice
Of A New Generation"... "Fly Blue Star"...
On a massive billboard advertising a tropical resort are the
words: DISAPPEAR HERE.
...ANGLE on a TAXI CAB in the Times Square traffic as CREDITS
CONTINUE.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATE AFTERNOON
PATRICK BATEMAN and TIMOTHY PRICE, both grand prize winners in
the genetic lottery: perfect skin, high cheekbones and square
jaws, sit in the back seat of a taxi slowly moving uptown, driven
by an IMMIGRANT CABBIE.
Often mistaken as brothers, their natural good looks are further
enhanced by perfectly tailored, designer suits. Obviously
expensive yet subtle, understated. Very impressive. GQ Magazine
come to life.
PATRICK stares out the dirty window, expressionless. TIM focuses
straight ahead, in the middle of a passionate monologue:
TIM
I'm resourceful. Creative. I'm
highly motivated, I'm skilled. In
essence what I'm saying is that
society cannot afford to lose me. I'm
an asset.
(beat; then MORE)
TIM (CONT'D)
I mean the fact remains that no one
gives a shit about their work,
everybody hates their job, you've told
me you hate yours. What do we do? Go
back to Los Angeles?
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM removes the Walkman from around his neck, opening his attache
case.
TIM
I hate to complain -- I really do -
about the trash, the garbage, the
disease, about how filthy this city
really is and you know and I know that
it is a sty...
TIM places the Walkman in the attache case and pulls out today's
New York Post, opening it up.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh... my... god.
TIM
In one issue -- in one issue -- let's
see here...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Please... shut up.
TIM
...strangled models, babies thrown
from rooftops, kids killed in the
subway, a Communist rally, mafia boss
wiped out, Nazis-
TIM flips through the pages excitedly...
TIM (CONT'D)
-baseball players with AIDS, more
mafia shit, gridlock, the homeless,
various maniacs, faggots dropping like
flies in the streets, the cancellation
of a soap opera, surrogate mothers...
and the joke is, the punch line is,
it's all in this city - nowhere else,
just here, it sucks, whoa wait, more
Nazis, gridlock, baby-sellers, black-
market babies, coma baby, hot water
burns baby, AIDS babies, bridge
collapses-
TIM stops, catching his breath. He notices something through the
window...
TIM's POV:
A HOMELESS PERSON begs for change on a street corner.
TIM (O.S.)
That's the twenty-fourth one I've seen
today. I've kept count.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK (V.O.)
Timothy Price began his spiel today,
hours ago over lunch and has been
going non-stop, more or less, ever
since. I've mostly been ignoring him,
although I did pay attention earlier
at Harry's when he began ranting about
Paul Owen and the mysterious Fisher
account.
(beat; then)
Tim is an investment banker with
Pierce & Pierce. We work in the same
office.
TIM
Why aren't you wearing the worsted
navy blue blazer with the gray pants?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Our destination this evening:
Manhattan's Upper West Side - a quiet
dinner with Evelyn and Courtney.
(beat; then)
Tim is twenty-six years old.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM
Diseases! There's this theory out now
that if you can catch the AIDS virus
through having sex with someone who is
infected then you can also catch
anything, whether it's a virus per se
or not - Alzheimer's, muscular
dystrophy, anorexia, autism, dyslexia,
for Christ sakes -- you can get
dyslexia from pussy-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
I'm not sure, guy, but I don't think
dyslexia is a virus.
TIM
Oh, who knows? They don't know that.
Prove it.
Traffic grinds to a halt... TIM and PATRICK are stuck at a RED
LIGHT. Another TAXI pulls up next to them...
...in the back seat is LUIS CARRUTHERS: generically handsome,
LUIS looks like every other young guy on Wall Street -- slicked-
back hair, suspenders, horn-rimmed glasses.
LUIS' face lights up when he notices TIM sitting in the car next
to him... LUIS waves "hello":
TIM smiles back, slowly extending his middle finger.
TIM (CONT'D)
Luis Carruthers... what... a... dick.
(beat; then)
Smile for the birdie, Luis.
PATRICK ignores both of them.
The traffic light turns green... LUIS is left behind.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM slaps his forehead and shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw as
he looks out the window:
TIM
I'm leaving. I'm dumping Meredith.
I'm gone. Twenty-six, twenty-seven...
I mean I tell her I'm sensitive. I
told her I was freaked out by the
Challenger accident -- what more does
she want? I'm ethical, I'm tolerant,
I mean I'm extremely satisfied with my
life, optimistic about the future-
TIM turns to PATRICK, suddenly concerned:
TIM (CONT'D)
I mean, aren't you?
Nearly comatose, PATRICK slowly turns to TIM:
PATRICK
Sure, but-
TIM
(interrupting)
And all I get is shit from her.
TIM's POV:
Three BUMS are sprawled out beneath a "Les Mis" poster.
TIM (O.S.)
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, holy shit
it's a goddamn cluster of bums. I
tell you-
PATRICK (O.S.)
(interrupting)
Should we bring flowers?
BACK TO SCENE
TIM
Nah. Hell, you're banging her,
Bateman. Why should we get Evelyn
flowers?
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am fairly sure that Timothy and
Evelyn are having an affair.
TIM
Jesus, Patrick... you should see how
ripped my stomach is. The definition.
Completely buffed out... ripped.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Timothy is the only interesting person
I know.
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
A typical Upper West side neighborhood: rows of brownstones
framed by tree-lined streets.
PATRICK and TIM stand on the front steps of EVELYN's BROWNSTONE.
TIM RINGS the DOORBELL, adjusting his necktie...
INT EVELYN'S FOYER - NIGHT
The door is opened by COURTNEY LAWRENCE, late twenties, blond,
physically perfect. She could easily have found fame and fortune
as a model...
...PATRICK enters, removing his overcoat as COURTNEY carefully
airkisses his right cheek. She greets TIM in the same manner.
COURTNEY
A bit late, aren't we boys?
TIM
Inept Haitian cabbie.
(beat; then)
Do we have reservations somewhere and
please don't tell me Pastels at nine.
COURTNEY
Eating in tonight, darlings. I'm
sorry, I know, I know, I tried to talk
Evelyn out of it but we're having...
sushi.
TIM breezes past COURTNEY, down the hall, OFF SCREEN.
TIM (O.S.)
Evelyn? Where are you, Evelyn?
We have to talk...
PATRICK faces COURTNEY, dropping his hands to her waist.
PATRICK
It's good to see you. You look very
pretty tonight. Your face has a
youthful... glow.
COURTNEY
You really know how to charm the
ladies, Bateman.
They KISS on the mouth, more than friends. COURTNEY pulls away,
an eyebrow quizically raised:
COURTNEY (CONT'D)
Should I tell Evelyn you feel this
way?
PATRICK
No. But I bet you'd like to.
COURTNEY looks down, suddenly serious:
COURTNEY
Patrick. I think Luis suspects
something.
PATRICK
Like what? That two plus two equals
four? That you're secretly Nancy
Reagan?
(beat; then)
Courtney, relax. Luis is... clueless.
Blue socks? Grey trousers? Am I
making sense here?
COURTNEY
Patrick, I'm serious. I think we
should stop.
(beat; then)
Besides, you have a girlfriend.
COURTNEY's somber mood passes as it came: quickly and without
warning. Looking up at PATRICK, she smiles:
COURTNEY (CONT'D)
Come on.
COURTNEY flirtatiously removes PATRICK's hands from her waist.
Moving behind him, she steers PATRICK down the hall.
INT EVELYN'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
A brightly lit, spacious kitchen dominated by shiny appliances
and stainless steel fixtures opens to a large dining room.
A "Talking Heads" CD plays softly in the background.
EVELYN RICHARDS crouches over a countertop carefully arranging
sushi on a platter. She has on virtually the exact same outfit
as COURTNEY; they look like twins. Barbie Dolls, manufactured.
COURTNEY leads PATRICK into the kitchen as HE NOTICES --
-- TIM squeezing EVELYN's ass before wandering OFF SCREEN to
investigate the mini-bar...
EVELYN doesn't look up as PATRICK approaches her from behind:
EVELYN
Oh honey, I'm sorry. I wanted to go
to this darling little new Salvadorian
bistro on the Lower East side-
TIM groans loudly, OFF SCREEN...
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-but we couldn't get reservations.
Timothy, don't groan.
EVELYN picks up a piece of sushi, cautiously placing it near the
top of the platter. Standing back, she inspects her work.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
I don't know. Oh, I'm so unsure.
(to COURTNEY)
The California Roll should circle the
rim of the plate, no?
TIM (O.S.)
Bateman? Drink?
PATRICK
J&B. On the rocks.
EVELYN
Oh god. It's a mess. I swear I'm
going to cry.
PATRICK
The sushi looks marvelous.
EVELYN
Oh, it's a mess. It's a mess.
PATRICK
No, no, the sushi looks marvelous.
PATRICK picks up a piece of the sushi and pops it into his mouth.
Hugging EVELYN from behind, he groans inwardly with pleasure.
PATRICK
Delicious.
EVELYN playfully slaps at PATRICK as TIM walks into the kitchen,
handing PATRICK a cocktail.
TIM raises his drink to PATRICK, a toast:
TIM
Bateman?
PATRICK
Yes? Timothy?
TIM
You're a dufus.
BOTH MEN smile widely, old friends. EVELYN is completely lost in
her own little world courtesy of Valium and Xanax:
EVELYN
Oh leave Patrick alone. He's the boy
next door. That's Patrick. You're
not a dufus. You're the boy next
door, aren't you?
PATRICK
No I'm not. I'm a fucking evil
psychopath.
EVELYN doesn't miss a beat:
EVELYN
Oh so what. We have to eat this now
or else we'll all be poisoned.
EVELYN continues arranging the sushi, totally spaced out...
Without warning, she SHRIEKS, nearly collapsing as --
-- COURTNEY and PATRICK rush to help her, concerned:
PATRICK
(to EVELYN)
What's wrong?
(to TIM)
For Christ sakes, Price! Help us!
Supported by PATRICK and COURTNEY, EVELYN becomes unhinged. She
gasps for air, unable to speak...
COURTNEY
(frantic)
What's wrong? Tell me, Evelyn.
Trembling, EVELYN lamely points to where she had been working --
-- A MEDIUM-SIZED SPIDER slowly crawls across her countertop...
Gasping, EVELYN finally catches her breath:
EVELYN
A spider.
COURTNEY and PATRICK stare at each other. Fighting back a smile,
they try hard not to laugh.
COURTNEY
It's okay, Evelyn. It's just a little
spider. Don't be scared.
TIM erupts with LAUGHTER -- PATRICK glares at him:
PATRICK
Shut up, Price.
TIM moves closer, singing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"...
TEARS stream down EVELYN's porcelain cheeks. Helpless, she turns
to PATRICK:
EVELYN
Do something, Patrick.
PATRICK shrugs, rolls his eyeballs and smiles good-naturedly, as
if dealing with a small child. Just another one of EVELYN's
outbursts. Nothing unusual.
PATRICK removes a silk handkerchief from his jacket and gently
places it over the SPIDER --
-- using great caution, PATRICK delicately folds it over, safely
trapping the SPIDER inside...
Already well into his second cocktail, TIM continues mocking
EVELYN in a high, fey voice:
TIM
Patrick, do something! Save me!
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
PATRICK opens the front door. He delicately sets the
handkerchief down on the top step, unfolding it...
The timid SPIDER cautiously emerges as --
-- PATRICK looks up, distracted.
PATRICK's POV:
A tall, thin beautiful WOMAN walks up the stairs of the
brownstone next door. She fumbles with her keys as their EYES
LOCK. Finding the right key, she smiles at him, opens her door
and disappears.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK watches the helpless SPIDER struggle, his face
expressionless.
Several moments pass before --
HE STEPS ON THE SPIDER, KILLING IT.
PATRICK pockets his handkerchief, smiling ear to ear.
INT EVELYN'S DINING ROOM - NIGHT
PATRICK, TIM, EVELYN and COURTNEY are seated at a large, modern
table. Several platters of brightly colored sushi are making the
rounds. In place of silverware, EVELYN has provided her guests
with chopsticks...
COURTNEY
It's delicious.
EVELYN
(worriedly)
Tempura?
PATRICK
I'll have some.
PATRICK stabs a piece of eggplant, lifting it off the platter.
TIM
(to COURTNEY)
I mean, how can you say that? Don't
you know anything about Sri Lanka?
About how the Sikhs are killing like
tons of Israelis there? Doesn't that
effect us?
PATRICK
Oh come on, Price. There are more
important problems than Sri Lanka to
worry about. Sure our foreign policy
is important, but there are more
pressing problems at hand.
TIM
Like what? By the way, why is there
an ice cube in my soy sauce?
PATRICK
Well, for one thing we have to slow
down the nuclear arms race. We must
ensure a strong national defense,
prevent the spread of Communism, the
insidious evil, and work for peace in
the Middle East while preventing a
U.S. military involvement overseas.
We also need to stop terrorism and end
world hunger. Now that's not to
belittle our domestic problems which
are equally important, if not more so.
(MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
We need better and more affordable
care for the elderly. We need to
control and find a cure for the AIDS
epidemic and we need to improve the
quality of education. We also have to
crack down on crime and illegal drugs.
EVERYONE at the table stares at PATRICK. He's on a roll:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
But economically we're still a mess.
We have to find a way to hold down the
inflation rate and reduce the deficit.
We also need to provide training and
jobs for the unemployed as well as
protect existing American jobs from
unfair foreign imports. We have to
make America the leader by promoting
economic growth and business
expansion.
PATRICK sips his drink and continues:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
But let's not ignore our social needs,
oh no! We, as a society, are
obligated to provide food and shelter
for those who are unable to provide
for themselves, however we must stop
people from abusing the welfare
system. We must unite in our fight
against racial inequality and
celebrate the diversity of this great
nation. The abortion laws must be
changed to protect the right to life
yet still somehow maintain women's
freedom of choice.
(beat; then)
But before any of this can happen, we
must encourage a return to traditional
moral values, curbing graphic sex and
violence on T.V., in movies, in
popular music, everywhere. Most
importantly, we must promote general
social concern and less materialism in
young people.
PATRICK finishes off his drink, triumphant.
TIM shakes his head in disbelief, amused, applauding slowly...
COURTNEY smiles, genuinely moved by PATRICK's speech... EVELYN
stands up unsteadily, completely mystified:
EVELYN
Would anyone like dessert?
INT EVELYN'S BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK and EVELYN lay in bed together, still fully clothed,
alone for the first time tonight. Several vials of prescription
pills sit atop EVELYN's night stand, open. PATRICK's necktie has
been loosened...
...EVELYN is in a trance, watching television, the Home Shopping
Club... glass dolls, embroidered throw pillows, lamps shaped like
footballs... CALL NOW!
Unable to relax, PATRICK seems restless; something lays heavily
on his mind...
PATRICK
What's going on with Courtney and
Luis?
EVELYN
(staring at the television)
Oh god. The really dreadful thing
about Courtney is not that she doesn't
like Luis anymore. It's that she's
really in love with her real estate
broker.
(beat; then turning to PATRICK)
Are you gaining weight?
PATRICK
Jesus. No, Evelyn.
EVELYN
Your face definitely looks rounder.
Less chiseled.
PATRICK
Why don't you just go for Price?
EVELYN
Oh god, Patrick. Why Price? Price?
PATRICK
He's rich.
EVELYN
Everybody's rich.
PATRICK
He's good-looking.
EVELYN
Everybody's good-looking.
PATRICK
He has a great body.
EVELYN
Everybody has a great body.
PATRICK reaches for EVELYN, playfully kissing and biting at her
neck, massaging her thighs... a valiant attempt at foreplay.
EVELYN ignores his advances, craning her neck for a better view
of the T.V. There will be no sex tonight.
EVELYN
You know, you can always be in better
shape.
Defeated, PATRICK retreats.
EVELYN
Your hairline looks like it's
receding. Are you using Minoxidil?
EXT/INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, HALLWAY - DAWN
CLOSE UP: framed portrait of RONALD REAGAN.
SLOWLY PULL BACK and DOLLY through a dimly lit hallway into:
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM - DAWN
PATRICK's spacious apartment exudes wealth, good taste and order.
It is immaculate, almost sterile.
In the early light of dawn, we DOLLY through the LIVING ROOM to
reveal:
...polished white oak floors... enormous floor to ceiling
windows... a breath-taking view of Manhattan partially visible
through half-opened Venetian blinds...
...a large white sofa dominates the room... a vintage Wurlitzer
jukebox... a state of the art stereo system sandwiched between
two tower speakers... a thirty-one inch television sitting above
a VCR...
...a large portrait hanging over the marble fireplace of a naked
woman watching TV on a Martian landscape (a David Onica
original)... a black concert grand piano seems strange, out of
place...
The ultimate bachelor pad. Think: Sharper Image Catalog meets
Architectural Digest.
A television can be HEARD, faintly, OFF SCREEN.
DOLLY through the living room, stopping at: A BEDROOM DOOR.
-- the sound becomes louder... the glow from a television spills
into the hallway --
DOLLY into the BEDROOM:
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - DAWN
A large futon in an oakwood frame sits, unmade. Four chests of
immense mahogany drawers hide an entire wall. A thirty-one inch
television set fills the room with sound and color.
PATRICK has just woken up. Dressed in silk pajamas, he is
engaged in a series of stretching exercises on the floor in front
of the television...
ON THE TELEVISION:
The Patty Winter's Show:
A daily tabloid talk-show moderated by PATTY WINTERS, mid-
thirties, totally annoying yet highly entertaining...
ON STAGE, an older, overweight WOMAN sits in a chair, fidgeting
nervously.
PATTY WINTERS (O.S.)
Well, is it schizophrenia or what's
the deal? Tell us.
WOMAN
No, oh no. Multiple personalities are
not schizophrenics. We are not
dangerous.
PATTY WINTERS stands in the middle of the audience, microphone in
hand:
PATTY WINTERS
Well... who were you last month?
WOMAN
Last month it seemed to be mostly
Polly.
The audience reacts: a housewife's horrified face speaks a
thousand words. The studio fills with murmurs as PATTY WINTERS
regains control:
PATTY WINTERS (O.S.)
Now who are you?
WOMAN
Well... well, this month I'm...
Lambchop. Mostly... Lambchop.
A long pause... CUT TO: close-up of a stunned housewife shaking
her head, another housewife whispering something to her...
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, SHOWER STALL - DAWN
THE SHOWER HEAD roars to life, spraying PATRICK --
PATRICK (V.O.)
The universal all-directional shower
head adjusts within a thirty-inch
vertical range. It's made from
Australian gold-black brass and
covered with white enamel finish.
-- PATRICK's "showering ritual" begins: JUMP CUT as he
meticulously massages exotic gels, cleansers and shampoos all
over his beautiful body.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
I begin with a water-activated gel
cleanser, then a honey-almond body
scrub, and on the face an exfoliating
gel scrub. Vidal Sasson shampoo is
especially good at getting rid of the
coating of dried perspiration, salts,
oils, airborne pollutants and dirt
that can weigh hair down and flatten
it to the scalp, making you look
older.
(beat; then)
The conditioner is also good.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BATHROOM - DAWN
Marble sink. Gold fixtures. A framed portrait of Oliver North
hangs over the toilet.
PATRICK steps out of the shower, toweling off... his perfect
physique impossible to ignore.
PATRICK stands in front of the mirror, preparing to shave. We
JUMP CUT through each stage of his "shaving ritual":
PATRICK (V.O.)
Before shaving, I always press a hot
towel against my face for two minutes
to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I
slather on a moisturizer and let it
soak in for a minute. You can rinse
it off or keep it on and apply shaving
cream over it -- preferably with a
brush, which softens the beard as it
lifts the whiskers, making hair
removal easier.
(beat; then)
Rinse the razor and shake off any
excess water before starting.
Afterwards splash cool water on the
face to remove any trace of lather.
You should use an aftershave lotion
with little or no alcohol. Never,
ever use cologne on your face since
the alcohol content will dry your skin
out and make you look older.
(beat; then)
Applying a moisturizer is the final
step. If the face seems dry and flaky
-- which can make it look dull and
older -- use a clarifying lotion that
removes flakes and uncovers fine skin.
Then apply anti-aging eye balm.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, WALK-IN CLOSET - MORNING
Dozens of designer suits, neatly pressed, hang in PATRICK's
gigantic closet. A sense of neatness, order.
The door opens. PATRICK walks in wearing a bathrobe --
inspecting several of the suits, he chooses only one.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
Dressed in the suit, PATRICK stands in front of a full-length
mirror, examining himself... hmmm... nope, something isn't quite
right.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK wears a different suit... standing in front of the
mirror, he frowns... this one is no good, either.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK wears yet another suit... he turns around in front of the
mirror, inspecting himself from all sides, but -- he's still not
satisfied.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK has returned to the first suit he tried on. He closely
examines his hair in the mirror... was EVELYN right?
PATRICK smiles at his beautiful reflection. PERFECT.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, HALLWAY - MORNING
PATRICK puts on his raincoat, taking a white scarf off the
coatrack near the door...
...the scarf is embroidered with a cute, blue whale; something a
child might wear. One corner of the scarf has been splattered
with mysterious dark brown stains.
PATRICK drapes the scarf around his neck. EXIT.
EXT WALL STREET - MORNING
Wall Street roars to life... it's showtime.
EXT PIERCE & PIERCE BUILDING - MORNING
The offices of P&P are housed in an imposing building on Wall
Street. The building's architecture suggests the Roman Empire at
its height.
A taxi cab pulls up. PATRICK steps out, his chest swollen with
the kind of confidence that only money can buy.
INT P&P LOBBY - MORNING
PATRICK strides through the crowded ornate marble lobby, a Wall
Street journal tucked neatly under his arm.
Colleagues pass by, courteously greeting PATRICK before
disappearing into the swirling crowd: Good Morning, Mr.
Bateman!... Congratulations Flanagan!... Hey Goodsen, drinks?
Harry's, seven o'clock... PATRICK smiles widely, unfazed as...
PETER FALLOW, a disheveled, drunken reporter last seen in Bonfire
Of The Vanities materializes out of thin air...
Obnoxious as hell, FALLOW attempts to block PATRICK, waving a
folded up newspaper inches from PATRICK's face, rapidly firing
off questions:
FALLOW
Did Sherman McCoy kill Henry Lamb?
How well do you know Mr. McCoy? Is
there anything you'd like to say to
the dead boy's family?
PATRICK picks up speed, a bull, unstoppable... trailing several
feet behind his quarry, FALLOW unfolds his newspaper, holding it
out in front of him -- the headline in bold, black letters: HONOR
STUDENT IN COMA, COPS SIT ON HIT AND RUN...
FALLOW comes to a stand still:
FALLOW
Our streets flow red with the blood of
the innocent. What do you say to
that, Mr. Wall Street?
Ignoring the reporter, PATRICK walks into a crowded elevator,
beaming... he winks at an attractive WOMAN as the elevator doors
slide shut --
FALLOW shouts out to no one, to everyone:
FALLOW
Someone will pay!
INT P&P HALLWAY - MORNING
Elevator doors open. PATRICK steps out...
DOLLY with PATRICK walking down the hall:
...elegantly framed paintings of various wildlife scenes are hung
alongside portraits of powerful men... dark wood, conservative
earth tones... we are in the presence of old family money...
HOLD ON a large PORTRAIT OF A MAN as PATRICK passes by without
notice:
...written on the brass plate beneath it: SEAN BATEMAN, SNR.,
1920-1987, OUR FOUNDING FATHER... a MAN in his mid-fifties with
sharp, memorable features... his expression stern, almost
hostile... he bears an uncanny resemblance to his son, PATRICK
BATEMAN.
INT PATRICK'S OUTER/INNER OFFICE - MORNING
A tastefully decorated waiting room: large leather sofa, two
matching chairs, recent issues of Fortune, Money and Life
Magazine neatly arranged on a glass coffee table...
...a framed reproduction of Salvador Dali's "Metamorphosis Of
Narcissus" brings much needed color to the room...
PATRICK's secretary, JEAN, 26 years old, attractive,
approachable, sits at her desk wearing an improbably expensive
outfit by Chanel. She is a class act.
JEAN's cluttered workspace has been personalized with small
signs, plaques and pictures:
...KNOW THYSELF... God grant me the serenity to accept the things
I cannot change, courage to change the things that I can and
wisdom always to tell the difference... a drawing of a cup of
cappuccino overflowing with froth, the words: THE FUTURE in black
letters...
PATRICK makes a grand entrance. JEAN looks up, smiling shyly:
JEAN
Good morning, Patrick.
PATRICK
What a good morning it is, Jean.
PATRICK's smile lights up the room...
Though strictly professional, there exists between JEAN and
PATRICK an undeniable chemistry, something far deeper than sexual
attraction.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Did you see the Patty Winters Show
this morning?
JEAN
No. How was it?
PATRICK
I don't remember... I think I was
hallucinating while watching it... I
can't be sure.
(beat; then)
I really don't know.
PATRICK arches an eyebrow, flirting...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Any messages?
JEAN
Charlie Babbitt has to cancel today.
He didn't say what it was he is
canceling or why.
PATRICK
Charlie imports sports cars... I'm
thinking of buying one from him.
Anyone else?
PATRICK walks past his secretary and opens the two large doors to
his magnificent office -- JEAN gets up from behind her desk...
nice ass.
PATRICK enters his office, JEAN following close behind.
JEAN
Doug Coughlin called. He wants to
meet you for a drink tonight.
PATRICK
When?
JEAN
After six.
PATRICK
No can do, Jean. Cancel it.
JEAN
Oh? And what should I say?
PATRICK
Just... say... no.
JEAN
Just say no?
PATRICK
Is there an echo in here? I could
swear I just heard an echo. You'd
better check it out.
(beat; then)
Okay, Jean. I need reservations for
three at Camols at twelve-thirty and
if not there, try Crayons. All right?
JEAN
Yes, sir.
PATRICK
Oh wait... and I need reservations for
two at Arcadia at eight tonight.
For a brief moment, JEAN's face betrays her: she is crushed... a
consummate professional, she recovers quickly:
JEAN
Oh, something... romantic?
PATRICK
No, silly. Forget it. I'll make
them. Thanks.
JEAN
(insisting)
I'll do it.
PATRICK
(waving her off)
No, no. Be a doll and just get me a
Perrier, okay?
JEAN turns to leave. Before reaching the doors, she turns back
to PATRICK, already seated, his feet up on the desk:
JEAN
You look nice today.
Smiling, PATRICK says nothing as he puts on a pair of black Ray-
Bans.
JEAN looks down, embarrassed. She exits, OUT OF FRAME.
PATRICK's large desk is surprisingly barren:
...a vintage German beer stein holding pens and pencils... a
computer terminal... a multi-line telephone... a glass
paperweight with a fish struggling to get out... a Rubix Cube...
an issue of Sports Illustrated...
Scanning the desk, PATRICK picks up the RUBIX CUBE: the very
definition of frustration, it is totally scrambled -- a puzzle
begging to be solved.
Unable to resist its charm, we hear the unmistakable WHIR of the
cube in motion as PATRICK's hands twist and turn, gliding over
its surface, giving it everything he's got:
...two rows of solid white, three rows of solid white... only one
more row of white is needed to complete the side... almost
there... almost... SHIT!
A stubborn red square prevents PATRICK from completing the fourth
row of white; PATRICK's hand movements intensify as he battles
the defiant toy, his fuse visibly lit.
PAN through PATRICK's office:
...soft, muted colors... gigantic windows look out over Wall
Street's financial institutions... uninspiring...
...a sleek, modular stereo system... an antique table with
matching chairs... a life-size ceramic Doberman... an umbrella
stand, unused... a George Stubbs painting on the wall... floor to
ceiling, built-in bookshelves...
ZOOM ON a prominently displayed hardcover edition of Donald
Trump's classic, The Art Of The Deal...
VOICE (O.S.)
Hello Patrick.
BACK TO PATRICK AT DESK:
DONALD TRUMP walks INTO FRAME looking like a million bucks.
PATRICK remains calm, as if there is nothing at all unusual about
TRUMP's appearance --
PATRICK
Mr. Trump... this is a... surprise.
TRUMP
Please. My friends call me Don.
Getting comfortable, TRUMP sits on the edge of PATRICK's desk.
PATRICK
Don, I'm a real... I'm a huge fan of
yours...
TRUMP
That's great Patrick. I see you have my
book.
PATRICK
It's like, my bible.
TRUMP
I'm a rich man. Did you know that,
Patrick?
PATRICK
Ummm... yes... yes I did.
TRUMP
You and me, we're a lot alike, Patrick.
People think I have everything... people
say, Oh Donald Trump, what more could he
possibly want?
PATRICK
Well... umm...
TRUMP
All my life I've wanted only one thing. A
secretary like Jean. You're a lucky man,
Patrick. Be good to her.
TRUMP smiles, lightly slapping PATRICK across the knees, a
fatherly gesture. He gets up and walks... OUT OF FRAME.
PATRICK reclines in his chair, relaxed... tuned out, lost behind
dark sunglasses in a world of his own design.
A VOICE INTRUDES --
JEAN (O.S.)
Patrick? Patrick? Here's your
Perrier...
Startled, PATRICK nearly jumps out of his chair... frantic, he
looks around --
-- but DONALD TRUMP is nowhere to be found.
JEAN stands over him, concerned. She sets a bottle of Perrier on
his desk...
JEAN
You have a reservation at Camols at
twelve-thirty, non-smoking section.
(beat; then)
I brought you the Ransom file...
Patrick? Is something wrong?
PATRICK returns to reality:
PATRICK
Don't wear that outfit again.
CLOSE IN on PATRICK's black sunglasses...
EXT MANHATTAN SKYLINE, AERIAL - NIGHT
Bright lights, big city...
EXT HARRY'S - NIGHT
As old as Wall Street itself, Harry's is the watering hole of
choice after a hard day's work in the world of high finance.
INT HARRY'S - NIGHT
A dark, cigar-smoke filled room. Large, yet somehow
claustrophobic. An old-world saloon for the nouveau riche:
Red velvet curtains draped over large areas of exposed wall
suggest a sense of tradition, power, wealth...
Black and white Depression-era photos hang framed on the walls...
set next to a young, upwardly-mobile clientele, their effect is
surreal, almost comical.
Dominating most of one wall is an antique, stained oak bar,
tended by FREDDY: early fifties, well groomed, a likable guy.
His crowd, mostly regulars, drinks martinis and bottled beers...
The usual, sir? You bet, Freddy!
It's busy in here tonight: groups of men sit huddled at the bar,
at tables, in dark booths... the din of conversation is broken
only by sudden outbursts of laughter... individuals move from
table to table, from group to group, shaking hands and smiling.
AT A TABLE NEAR THE FRONT:
PATRICK sits with CRAIG McDERMOTT and DAVID VAN PATTEN,
colleagues from P&P. Both in their late twenties, CRAIG and
DAVID are model-handsome... slicked-back hair, horn-rimmed
glasses and suspenders -- neither of them have ever worried about
getting a date.
Not yet drunk, DAVID and CRAIG are well on their way:
PATRICK (V.O.)
Sitting in Harry's with Craig
McDermott and David Van Patten,
tonight's topic of conversation is
familiar: fashion do's and don'ts.
CRAIG
(to PATRICK)
Here's my question: is it proper to
wear tasseled loafers with a business
suit or not?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Inseparable since birth, David and
Craig have an on-going bet to see who
will get in the Question and Answer
column of GQ Magazine first.
CRAIG
(to PATRICK)
Don't look at me like I'm insane.
PATRICK
Well guys...
(beat; then)
The tasseled loafer is traditionally a
casual shoe...
CRAIG
But it's become acceptable just
because it's so popular, right?
PATRICK
Yeah. As long as it's either black or
cordovan it's okay.
DAVID
What about brown?
PATRICK
Too sporty for a business suit.
TIM walks up to the table, handing PATRICK a cocktail. Taking
the seat across from PATRICK, he sits down and crosses his legs.
TIM
What are you fags talking about?
(beat; then to PATRICK)
Luis Carruthers is here.
PATRICK
(looking around)
Where? Where?
TIM
Over at the bar. Go say 'hi'.
WE SEE:
LUIS standing at the bar, waving his money, desperately trying to
get FREDDY's attention... everyone else is served, but... LUIS IS
IGNORED.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I honestly don't know what Courtney
sees in this guy. I mean, look at his
suit, for Christsake.
BACK TO SCENE
DAVID
Okay, okay. This is my question. A
two-parter: are rounded collars too
dressy or too casual? Part two, which
tie knot looks best with them?
TIM
It's a very versatile look, David. It
can go with both suits and sports
coats. It should be starched for
dressy occasions and a collar pin
should be worn if it's particularly
formal.
(beat; then)
With a blazer it can be worn either
pinned or unpinned. You want the
collar to look soft. Since it's a
traditional preppy look it's best if
balanced by a relatively small four-in
-hand knot.
(sipping drink; then)
Next question?
CRAIG
Buy the man a drink.
DAVID
Price?
TIM
Yes?
DAVID
You're priceless.
CRAIG
Hey Price. You got a question for GQ?
TIM
Yeah, I do.
(beat; then)
If all of your friends are morons, is
it a felony, a misdemeanor or an act
of God if you blow their fucking heads
off with a thirty-eight magnum?
CRAIG
Not GQ material. Try Soldier of
Fortune.
DAVID
Or Vanity Fair.
TIM cranes his neck, looking OFF SCREEN:
TIM
Who is that? Is that David Shawn?
CRAIG
No. That's Nigel Morrison.
TIM
Ahhh... one of those British faggots
serving internship at-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
How do you know he's a faggot?
TIM
They're all faggots. The British.
DAVID
How would you know, Timothy?
TIM
I saw him fuck Bateman up the ass in
the men's room at Morgan Stanley.
PATRICK
When are we going to Tunnel?
DAVID
What in the fuck is Morrison wearing?
Is that really a glen-plaid suit with
a checkered shirt?
TIM
That's not Morrison.
DAVID
Who is it then?
TIM
That's Paul Owen.
PATRICK
That's not Paul Owen. Paul Owen's on
the other side of the bar. Over
there.
WE SEE:
PAUL OWEN, yet another yuppie clone, drinking and laughing with
two other members of his same tax bracket...
CRAIG (O.S.)
He's handling the Fisher account.
PATRICK (O.S.)
Lucky bastard.
DAVID (O.S.)
Lucky Jew bastard.
PATRICK (O.S.)
Oh Jesus, Van Patten.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK is outraged. Zero to sixty in four seconds... is that a
vein popping on his forehead?
PATRICK
What does that have to do with
anything?
DAVID
Listen. I've seen the bastard sitting
in his office, on the phone, spinning
a fucking menorah.
PATRICK
You spin a dreidel, David. Not a
menorah. You spin a dreidel.
TIM
Oh my god, Bateman. What's your
problem?
PATRICK
Just cool it with the anti-Semetic
remarks.
TIM
The voice of reason. The boy next
door.
PATRICK
Yeah, a boy next door who, according
to you, let a British finance intern
sodomize him up the ass.
TIM
I said you were the voice of reason.
I didn't say you weren't a homosexual.
DAVID
Or redundant.
TIM, CRAIG and DAVID enjoy getting a rise out of PATRICK...
TIM
Patrick.
PATRICK
(still pissed-off)
What?
TIM
Patrick, do you remember your first
blow job?
PATRICK
No, Price. I don't.
(beat; then)
Of course I do.
TIM
Did you spit or swallow?
CRAIG and DAVID double over... PATRICK tries hard not to laugh,
but... it's too damn funny. TIM got him good. PATRICK can't
help but smile.
TIM looks OFF SCREEN:
TIM
Look who approaches. Watch me act
thrilled.
BUD FOX, last seen in Wall Street, walks up to the table, a shit-
eating grin on his handsome face.
TIM
Hey, Buddie boy, how you doin'?
BUD
Great Tim, any better it'd be a sin.
CRAIG
Still seeing that sexy French chick?
BUD
No. She asked the wrong question.
DAVID
What was that?
BUD
"What are you thinking?"
(beat; then)
Having sex with her was like reading
the Wall Street Journal.
TIM
She had a heartbeat.
BUD
Wanna bet?
CRAIG
So what? I'd fuck her.
TIM
Buddie, Buddie... Mr. McDermott wants
sloppy seconds.
CRAIG
(seriously)
I don't care. She is beautiful. I
want to fuck her. I want to marry
her. I want her to have my children.
The entire table cracks up laughing...
BUD
Oh wait, guys, listen, I got a joke.
TIM
Bud Fox, you are a joke. By the way,
nice jacket... non-matching but
complementary.
BUD
Ouch. Price, that really hurts...
anyway, what do you call a black
investment banker?
TIM
I don't know... what do you call a
black investment banker?
BUD
A nigger.
DAVID high-fives BUD. TIM nearly falls out of his chair laughing
as... the vein reappears on PATRICK's forehead:
PATRICK
Oh Christ. That's awful.
BUD
Why? It's funny. It's humorous.
CRAIG
Yeah, Bateman. Cheer up.
TIM
For Christ sakes, Bateman. What
bothers you about that?
PATRICK
It's not funny. It's racist.
BUD
Bateman, you are some kind of morose
bastard. You really should lighten
up, stop reading all those serial
killer biographies. Who was it last
week? Ted Bundy? Son of Sam?
TIM
Don't you know, Buddie? Patrick can't
read. He doesn't know how, do you
Patrick?
PATRICK
Fuck both of you. Racist assholes.
BUD
(checking Rolex)
Listen men, I'm off. Will see you
tomorrow.
DAVID
Yeah... same Bat Time, same Bat
Channel.
BUD FOX walks away, OUT OF FRAME.
TIM
What a fucking loser... they should
throw his ass in jail.
PATRICK
(calming down)
Do you know what Ed Gein said about
women?
DAVID
Ed Gein? Maitre d' at Canal Bar?
PATRICK
No. Serial killer. Wisconsin, in the
fifties. He was an interesting guy.
TIM
Oh Christ, Bateman. I don't want to
hear this.
DAVID
Go on, Patrick. What did Ed say?
PATRICK
He said, When I see a pretty girl
walking down the street I think two
things. One part of me wants to take
her out and talk to her and be real
nice and sweet and treat her right.
DAVID
And what does the other part of him
think?
PATRICK
What her head would look like on a
stick.
(beat; then)
Are we going to Tunnel or not?
EXT TUNNEL - NIGHT
A small crowd has gathered behind the velvet ropes outside of
Tunnel, the hippest place to see and be seen. A meet market... a
meat market.
All of the MEN waiting to be let in are dressed in tuxedos. Two
pony-tailed DOORMEN survey the CROWD, admitting a select few,
denying entrance to most.
A HOMELESS PERSON sits nearby, begging for change...
TIM leads PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID around the CROWD, directly up
to the ropes...
...TIM nods to one of the DOORMEN. Recognizing him, the DOORMAN
unhooks the rope, admitting all four of them without any hassle.
The CROWD surges forward, desperate to slide through in their
wake. People shout out, hoping to be recognized... hoping to be
let in.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID acknowledge no one as they
disappear inside the club.
INT TUNNEL, FRONT HALLWAY - NIGHT
A long hallway leading to the actual entrance of the club...
A small LINE OF PEOPLE wait to have their tickets ripped.
The FOUR MEN pass three beautiful WOMEN -- turning their heads to
stare, the WOMEN abruptly stop talking as...
...PATRICK smiles handsomely, pleased with himself, enjoying the
WOMEN's attention... TIM walks right past, aloof... DAVID and
CRAIG follow, clueless:
PATRICK
This is what I call a target rich
environment.
TIM
New Jersey's finest.
DAVID
(to PATRICK)
You live your life between your legs,
Pat.
PATRICK
Van Patten, even you could get laid in
a place like this.
DAVID
I'm telling you, I'd be happy to find
a girl who'd talk dirty to me.
CRAIG
I worry about disease just walking
into this place. These are some
skanky chicks.
DAVID
I told you, dude, white guys can't get
AIDS.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID come to the front of the line...
dance music getting louder... a WOMAN rips their tickets as the
FOUR MEN pass through the turnstiles:
PATRICK (V.O.)
Tim only manages to get two VIP
basement passes. At first this pisses
me off but then it occurs to me that
Tim is probably planning to ditch
Craig and David at some point this
evening so I don't have a panic attack
about it or anything.
INT TUNNEL, VIP STAIRCASE ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Loud dance MUSIC POUNDS -- conversation is possible only by
screaming.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID stand in front of a massive
descending staircase just inside of the club... the staircase is
blocked by an imposing SECURITY GUARD.
TIM hands two small cards to CRAIG and DAVID...
CRAIG and DAVID, taken aback by TIM's generosity, eagerly grab
the passes from his hand.
CRAIG and DAVID proudly display their VIP passes to the SECURITY
GUARD who steps aside, allowing them to descend...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Goodbye, gentlemen.
INT TUNNEL, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT
A darkly lit room filled to capacity, mostly MEN, all holding
champagne flutes.
TIM and PATRICK stand near the edge of the dance floor, an
endless sea of bodies gyrating with the beat of the THROBBING
MUSIC.
TIM shouts something into PATRICK's ear...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Predictably, Price wants to find some
Bolivian Marching Powder and though
I'm not really in the mood for cocaine
tonight, I don't really protest. What
the hell, I'm thinking. This is the
Eighties.
PATRICK nods, good idea...
INT TUNNEL, MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT
TIM and PATRICK huddle in a well-lit toilet stall, the door
closed.
TIM is jittery; his hands shake wildly. PATRICK keeps his cool,
a tiny package of white powder held in the palm of his hand.
PATRICK removes his PLATINUM AMERICAN EXPRESS CARD... holding it
in front of himself, he imitates Karl Malden's famous AmEx
commercial:
PATRICK
Don't leave home without it.
Both MEN giggle, pre-coke nerves... this shit better be good.
Taking his own Platinum AmEx card, TIM gently sticks a corner of
it into the powder and brings it up to his face --
-- TIM inhales sharply. His eyes snap open... gasping, his face
turns bright RED:
PATRICK
Easy, killer... easy.
PATRICK sticks the corner of his AmEx card into the powder and
brings it up to his nose...
CUT ON -- the SOUND of PATRICK INHALING.
INT TUNNEL, CHANDELIER ROOM - NIGHT
An enormous room. Exposed brick walls. A massive crystal
chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling. No WOMEN
anywhere, just an army of PROFESSIONALS from Wall Street wearing
tuxedos.
AT THE BACK OF THE CHANDELIER ROOM:
A steel RAILING overlooking non-functional twin TRAIN TRACKS
garishly lit in shades of blue, green and purple.
TIM and PATRICK lean on the railing, overlooking the tracks, each
with a cocktail...
The music isn't as loud in this room; conversation is possible:
PATRICK
Hey, I'm going out with Courtney
tomorrow night.
TIM
(sarcastic)
Great.
PATRICK
Well, why not? Luis is out of town.
TIM
Might as well hire someone from an
escort service.
PATRICK
Why?
TIM
Because she's gonna cost you a lot
more to get laid.
PATRICK
No way.
TIM
Listen, I put up with it too.
(beat; then MORE)
TIM (CONT'D)
Meredith's the same way. She expects
to be paid. They all do. I hope I'm
not causing you to relose your
innocence, Bateman.
PATRICK
Price?
(sipping from his drink)
You're priceless...
TIM points over his shoulder, indicating the train tracks:
TIM
Where do those tracks go?
PATRICK
I don't know.
TIM's attention returns to the tracks. Hunched over the railing,
TIM disappears inside himself...
The Chandelier Room is filling up quickly... a more even mixture
of WOMEN and MEN.
PATRICK, high on cocaine, scans the crowd, half-heartedly nodding
his head to the beat of the music:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Aren't you high?
TIM stands up straight, murmuring to himself, his attention still
focused on the TUNNEL:
TIM
I'm leaving -- I'm getting out.
PATRICK
(confused)
Leaving what?
TIM raises his glass in a grand sweeping motion, indicating
something large, something unspecified:
TIM
This!
PATRICK
(looking at TIM's glass)
Don't. I'll drink it.
TIM
Listen to me, Patrick. I'm leaving.
PATRICK
Where to?
TIM
I'm leaving! I am leaving!
PATRICK
(laughing)
Well, where are you going?
TIM
Away!
PATRICK
Don't tell me. Merchant banking?
TIM
No, Bateman. I'm serious, you dumb
son-of-a-bitch. Leaving.
Disappearing.
PATRICK plays along...
PATRICK
(laughing)
Where to? Rehab? Where?
TIM downs his drink in one gulp, turning back to the TRACKS.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I need a drink. Price, I'm going to
the bar. Do you want something?
PATRICK waits for a response... nothing. He nudges TIM:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Price, do you-
TIM
(interrupting)
Good bye, Bateman.
PATRICK shrugs, walking OFF SCREEN.
TIM stares off into the BLACKNESS OF THE TUNNEL...
IN THE CROWD, LATER:
It's standing room only tonight. PATRICK has a cocktail in his
hand. He struggles to maneuver back to the train tracks without
spilling it.
As if on cue, CRAIG and DAVID appear in the swirling mob,
thrilled to have found PATRICK. The CROWD closes in on them:
DAVID
Skanky chicks. Beware. No
hardbodies.
CRAIG
Basement sucks.
DAVID
Did you find drugs?
PATRICK
No. Negative. Couldn't find any.
Suddenly distracted, a huge wave of shock washes over CRAIG's
face --
-- speechless, CRAIG grabs PATRICK by the arm. He points OFF
SCREEN, over PATRICK's shoulder:
AT THE BACK OF THE CHANDELIER ROOM:
TIM has climbed up on the railing overlooking the train tracks...
teetering, about to fall, he regains his balance... eyes
closed... head tilted back... arms stretched out, Christ-like, as
if blessing the CROWD.
PATRICK frantically pushes through the CROWD, his eyes locked on
TIM, but... he can't move. HUMAN GRIDLOCK.
TIM's behavior goes largely unnoticed until...
...during a well timed byte of SILENCE, TIM SHOUTS:
TIM
GOODBYE!
He's got their attention now...
TIM
FUCKHEADS!
...the entire CROWD stares at TIM, frozen. What will he do next?
TIM gracefully LEAPS over the railing onto the TRACKS...
...he runs down the train tracks, half-drunk, a champagne flute
bobbing up and down held out to his side...
...stumbling once, twice, TIM barely regains his balance before
DISAPPEARING into the DARKNESS OF THE TUNNEL.
A SECURITY GUARD sits by the railing shaking his head... he says
nothing, does nothing.
The CROWD cheers and yells, applauding TIM's "performance".
PATRICK is STUNNED. A blast of adrenaline pushes him through the
CROWD --
PATRICK
PRICE!
-- but he is soon forced to a standstill... it's just way too
crowded.
PATRICK notices a beautiful young WOMAN passing next to him in
the CROWD... moving away, she LOOKS back over her shoulder --
-- PATRICK returns her LOOK as... CRAIG approaches him from
behind:
CRAIG
Does Price know about a secret VIP
room?
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - NIGHT
Two halogen lamps burn brightly, one on each side of PATRICK's
futon. A crystal ashtray sits on the nightstand, unused.
PATRICK's clothing hangs neatly on a clothes rack... a WOMAN's
clothes lay scattered near the bed.
PATRICK, naked except for Ray-Bans, is on top of the WOMAN from
Tunnel, thrashing wildly... engaged in acrobatic, animalistic
SEX... she moans hysterically beneath him, ecstatic...
PATRICK thrusts into her silently, a machine:
WOMAN
I'm coming, oh god, I'm coming.
PATRICK finishes quickly. Rolling off, he immediately moves to
the opposite side of the bed.
The WOMAN's expression turns from pleasure... to hurt... to
anger... to resignation.
Exhaling loudly, the WOMAN sits up in the bed and reaches for her
purse... opening it up, she removes a pack of cigarettes...
putting one in her mouth, she fumbles around for her lighter.
Without looking at her, PATRICK monotones:
PATRICK
No. Don't.
The WOMAN pauses, an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth...
she looks at the ashtray, then at PATRICK, then back at the
ashtray... what the fuck?
PATRICK stares across the room...
WOMAN
But you have an ash-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Smoking is a filthy habit. Do not
smoke in my apartment or around me.
The WOMAN, visibly upset by PATRICK's sudden outburst, silently
mouths "okay"... the cigarettes are put away.
She closes her eyes tightly, sighing...
PATRICK reaches across the bed, tenderly touching her shoulder:
PATRICK
I think you should go home.
The WOMAN opens her eyes, scratches her neck.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I think I might... hurt you. I don't
think I can control myself.
WOMAN
Okay. Sure.
The WOMAN slowly gets out of the bed, naked... she gathers her
clothes from off the floor, dressing herself:
WOMAN (CONT'D)
I don't want to get too involved
anyway.
PATRICK
I think something bad is going to
happen.
The WOMAN pulls her panties on... checking her hair in the
mirror, she notices PATRICK's reflection:
WOMAN
(nodding)
I understand.
The WOMAN finishes dressing in silence.
PATRICK
(hopefully)
You don't want to get hurt, do you?
WOMAN
That's why I'm leaving.
PATRICK
I think I'm losing it.
EXT/INT XCLUSIVE HEALTH CLUB - MORNING
A state of the art, Upper West Side private health club: weight
machines, free weights, tennis and racquetball courts, two
swimming pools, a sun deck, a café with a juice bar... this place
has it all.
IN THE MAIN CARDIOVASCULAR ROOM:
A vast array of brand new exercise equipment is arranged
throughout the enormous, well-lit room.
Dozens of perfect hardbodies flex, stretch, grind and sweat to
throbbing electronic music...
PATRICK (V.O.)
The private health club I belong to is
located four blocks from my apartment
on the Upper West Side. Membership
runs five thousand dollars annually.
PATRICK works up a sweat on the Stairmaster machine... every
muscle in his well toned body bulges beneath his tight Lycra tank
top and shorts.
The WOMAN exercising on the machine next to him pretends not to
notice, but... she can't help herself:
PATRICK catches her staring... intimidated, the WOMAN turns away.
PATRICK smiles, satisfied.
PATRICK (V.O.)
My fitness program incorporates both
aerobic exercises and weight training.
On the leg machines I do five sets of
ten repetitions. For the back I also
do five sets of ten repetitions. On
the stomach crunch machine I've gotten
so I can do six sets of fifteen and on
the biceps curl machines I do seven
sets of ten. This is followed by
twenty minutes on the exercise bike.
JUMP CUT as PATRICK goes through his exercise regimen:
...leg machines, a stomach crunch machine, curl machines...
riding the exercise cycle while reading Money Magazine, GORDON
GEKKO pictured on the cover... the headline: GEKKO THE GREAT?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Using the free weights I do three sets
of fifteen repetitions each of leg
extensions, leg curls and leg presses
followed by three sets and twenty
repetitions of barbell curls, bent-
over lateral raises, pulley rows, dead
lifts, and bent-over barbell rows.
For the chest I do three sets of
twenty reps of incline-bench presses.
For the front deltoids I also do three
sets of lateral raises and seated
dumbbell presses. Finally, for the
triceps I do three sets and twenty
reps of cable pushdowns and close-grip
bench presses.
JUMP CUT as PATRICK continues to exercise using the free
weights...
INT XCLUSIVE HEALTH CLUB, LOCKER ROOM - MORNING
PATRICK stands in front of a mirror. Dressed in one of his
signature business suits, he splashes water on his face and
adjusts his perfect hairdo. BIG SMILE.
PATRICK (V.O.)
The Patty Winters Show this morning
was about UFOs That Kill.
EXT/INT BARCADIA - NIGHT
A darkly lit dining room. Banquettes are clustered around a
stainless steel sculpture in the center of the room. Modern jazz
is piped in through ceiling mounted speakers...
The restaurant is packed: overflow from the bar spills into the
dining room. Hip and trendy, Barcadia is the flavor of the
month... here today, gone tomorrow. EVERYONE looks good, even
the WAITSTAFF.
PATRICK and EVELYN sit across from each other at a small, candle-
lit table near the back of the dining room:
EVELYN
Gregory's graduating from Saint Paul
soon and will be attending Columbia in
September. I've got to get him a
graduation present and I'm at a total
loss. Any suggestions, hon?
PATRICK
A poster from Les Miserables?
EVELYN
Perfect.
PATRICK
I have no idea who Gregory is. You do
know that, right?
EVELYN
Mr. Bateman. I really like you. I
adore your sense of humor. Ha ha ha.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am sitting in a restaurant
with Evelyn this evening because she
caught me on call waiting while I was
on the other line trying to secure a
reservation at Dorsia which I had
planned to use with Courtney.
EVELYN
Anyway, I was going to tell you what
happened to Melania and Taylor and --
PATRICK's head droops -- he'd rather watch drying paint than have
to listen to more of EVELYN's mindless bullshit:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-- stop looking at my chest, Patrick.
1
Look at me, not my chest.
PATRICK refocuses his attention...
...slowly CLOSE IN on EVELYN's face.
HOLD ON EVELYN's non-stop MOUTH as her droning VOICE gradually
FADES OUT...
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Now anyway, Taylor Grassgreen and
Melania were... you know Melania, she
went to Sweet Briar. Her father owns
all those banks in Dallas? And Taylor
went to Cornell... anyway, they were
supposed to meet --
PATRICK (V.O.)
I keep studying Evelyn's face, bored
by how beautiful it is, flawless
really, and I think to myself how
strange it is that she has pulled me
through so much; how she's always been
there when I needed her the most.
(beat; then)
Our waitress, a total hardbody, flirts
with me every time she passes by our
table. The thought of fucking her
crosses my mind and though I
conclude the odds are in my favor,
it's... just... not... worth it.
(beat; then)
The boxer shorts I am wearing cost
sixty dollars.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-- at the Cornell Club and then
they had a reservation at Mondrian at
seven and he was wearing... no. Le
Cygne. They were going to Le Cygne
and Taylor was... oh god, it was
Mondrian. Mondrian at seven and he
was wearing a Piero Dimitri suit.
Melania had been shopping... I think
she'd been to Bergdorf's, though I'm
not positive - but anyway, oh yes, it
was Bergdorf's because she was wearing
the scarf at the office the other
day... so anyway, she hadn't been to
her aerobics class for something like
two days and they were mugged on one-
PATRICK (V.O.)
Dinner with Evelyn is a chore, an
obstacle for me to overcome, however,
today has not been that bad...
INSERT SEQUENCE -- EVELYN's mouth is still moving...
EXT AUTOMATED TELLER MACHINE - DAY
An ATM spits out five crisp twenty dollar bills. PATRICK neatly
places them in a designer wallet already filled with cash.
PATRICK (V.O.)
After a two hour workout at Xclusive,
I stopped by an automated teller
machine where just for the hell of it
I withdrew another hundred dollars,
feeling better about having an even
five hundred in my wallet.
INT VIDEOVISIONS - DAY
A crowded Upper West Side video rental store.
DIFFERENT ANGLES as PATRICK wanders from aisle to aisle searching
for a videotape, visibly distressed.
Smiling COUPLES aimlessly stroll through the store, holding
hands, in love...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Later in the afternoon I found myself
wandering around VideoVisions, the
video rental store I go to on the
Upper West Side. Membership costs
only two hundred dollars annually.
(beat; then)
I wanted to rent some pornographic
videos, but because the store was more
crowded than usual, I was forced to
browse... but there were too many
fucking movies to choose from.
PATRICK grabs Manhattan off of the display rack...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Feeling ripped off I settled for a
Woody Allen movie but... I still
wasn't satisfied. Then, almost by
rote, as if I'd been programmed, I
reached for Body Double, a movie I
have rented thirty-seven times.
PATRICK approaches the CASHIER with the empty boxes.
The CASHIER smiles politely... seeing the empty box for Body
Double, he looks up and immediately recognizes PATRICK --
-- the CASHIER is horrified; PATRICK does his best to
smile...
INT HARDWARE STORE - DAY
PATRICK and a STORE CLERK stand in front of an endless array of
insecticides and pest killers --
PATRICK (V.O.)
On Evelyn's request, I stopped at a
hardware store on Amsterdam to
purchase something for her insect
problem.
-- PATRICK removes a package from the shelf, inspecting it:
PATRICK
(to STORE CLERK)
Let's see what they say about this
one...
(beat; then)
They tell you what it's ingredients
are... and how it's guaranteed to
exterminate every insect in the world.
But they do not tell you whether or
not it's painless.
(beat; then)
And I say insect or man, death should
always be painless.
PATRICK stands in line, waiting to pay for his items...
PATRICK (V.O.)
In addition to the insecticide, I
purchased a nail gun and a power saw,
both by Black and Decker.
(beat; then)
On impulse I also bought twenty feet
of barbed wire.
INT CHINESE DRY CLEANERS - DAY
A very small, cluttered dry cleaning shop near Columbia.
PATRICK (V.O.)
This was followed by a very tense
scene at my dry cleaners.
PATRICK holds up a linen jacket, pointing to several massive,
dark stains obviously the result of someone's blood. The GORE-
SOAKED jacket is REVOLTING.
An old CHINESE WOMAN jabbers at PATRICK incomprehensibly... she
doesn't really speak English, communicating instead with
exaggerated body language.
An old CHINESE MAN stands next to her, mute... he pulls a blood-
drenched shirt out of the laundry bag resting at PATRICK's feet
and examines it.
PATRICK
Listen, wait...
(beat; then)
You're not... shhh...
(beat; then speaking very slowly)
What are you trying to say to me?
The CHINESE WOMAN's babbling intensifies as her yipping voice
rises another octave...
...the CHINESE MAN removes another bloody shirt from the bag. He
just stares at PATRICK's laundry, a dumb look on his creased
face...
PATRICK nods, pretending to understand... still smiling, he leans
into the CHINESE WOMAN's face:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
If-you-don't-shut-your-fucking-mouth-
I-will-kill-you-are-you-understanding-
me?
The CHINESE WOMAN's eyes open wide, her arms flapping like a
goddamned bird... this is crazy.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Listen. I cannot understand you.
Running a hand through his hair, PATRICK starts laughing:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
What? You didn't hear me? You want
some ham? Is that what you just said?
You want... some ham? Oh Christ.
(beat; then screaming)
You... are... a... fool!
EXT EVELYN'S NEIGHBOR'S BROWNSTONE - DAY
Two police cars are parked in front of Evelyn's neighbor's
brownstone, lights flashing... POLICEMEN are roping off the area
with "CRIME SCENE" tape.
PATRICK (V.O.)
On top of everything else today,
the woman who lives in the brownstone
next to Evelyn's was found murdered
last night.
(beat; then)
So far there are no suspects.
BACK TO SCENE
INT BARCADIA - NIGHT
The entrees have already arrived... haute cuisine: is it food or
is it art? The plates sit untouched, ignored.
Dewey-eyed, EVELYN reaches across the table, tenderly placing her
hand over PATRICK's:
EVELYN
We should do it.
PATRICK
Do what?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. Let's get married.
PATRICK
(his mind elsewhere)
Yeah... and live with me in a
storeroom behind a hardware store in
Fairvale. We'll have lots of laughs.
(focusing)
Are you proposing to me, Evelyn?
EVELYN
(her mind elsewhere)
Weddings are so romantic... a diamond
engagement ring.
(focusing)
You know, Patrick, I won't settle for
less. It has to be diamond.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Evelyn seems to be holding up
relatively well this evening
considering the fact that her
neighbor's head is in my freezer.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
What would we wear?
PATRICK
I would demand to wear Ray-Ban
sunglasses. In fact I would demand
that everyone would have to wear
Ray-Ban sunglasses.
EVELYN
I'd want a zydeco band, Patrick.
That's what I'd want. A zydeco band.
Or mariachi. Or reggae. Something to
shock daddy.
PATRICK
I'd want to bring a Harrison AK-47
assault rifle to the ceremony so after
thoroughly blowing your fat mother's
head off with it I could use it on
that fag brother of yours. And though
I personally don't like to use
anything the Soviets designed, I don't
know, the Harrison somehow reminds me
of... Stoli?
EVELYN
Oh and lots of chocolate truffles.
Godiva. And oysters. Oysters on the
half shell. Marzipan. Pink tents.
Hundreds, thousands of roses.
Photographers. Annie Leibowitz.
We'll get Annie Leibowitz! And we'll
hire someone to videotape it!
PATRICK
Or an AR-15. You'd like it, Evelyn:
it's the most expensive of guns but
worth every penny.
EVELYN
Patrick, I can't wait. I'm so
excited.
INT BEDROOM - NIGHT
A dark bedroom. Light from a streetlamp creeps in through a
window. Visibility is poor.
A MAN and a WOMAN lay in bed together... because of the darkness,
their identity is unclear.
The MAN gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. Standing up, he
runs a hand through his hair before walking across the room... TO
THE CAMERA:
The MAN is PATRICK BATEMAN.
The flame from a cigarette lighter flickers in the dark,
suspended over the bed in mid-air, illuminating the WOMAN's face:
The WOMAN is COURTNEY LAWRENCE.
COURTNEY lights up. Taking a deep drag, the "cherry" of her
cigarette burns a hole into the darkness of the room. PATRICK
turns to face her:
PATRICK
I never knew you smoked.
COURTNEY exhales, blowing smoke toward PATRICK:
COURTNEY
You never noticed.
PATRICK
Okay, I admit I'm embarrassed, but
just a little.
COURTNEY
Listen, Patrick. Can we talk?
PATRICK walks over to the bed:
PATRICK
There's nothing to say, Courtney. You
look marvelous.
(beat; then)
You're going to marry Luis. Next
week, no less.
COURTNEY
Isn't that special?
PATRICK
Read my lips. You look marvelous.
PATRICK leans over, tenderly kissing COURTNEY on the forehead,
unable to make eye contact. He turns and walks out the door...
COURTNEY
Patrick?
...he stops in the hallway just outside COURTNEY's bedroom:
PATRICK
Yes, Courtney?
COURTNEY
Nothing.
EXT MANHATTAN CITY STREET - NIGHT
The antique district below Fourteenth Street. PATRICK walks down
the street passing a newsstand, a dry cleaners, a
church, a diner...
The moon hangs just above the tip of the Chrysler Building.
Steam rises from below the streets, billowing up in tendrils
before evaporating. Bags of frozen garbage line the curbs. The
siren from an ambulance screams... it echoes then fades.
The streets are empty. The only noise breaking up the silence is
from an occasional taxi...
PATRICK (V.O.)
My watch has stopped so I'm not sure
what time it is. I guess it's
probably ten thirty or so. My mind is
a mess. I don't know what to think or
how to feel. The Patty Winters Show
(MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
this morning was about the possibility
of nuclear war, and according to a
panel of experts the odds are pretty
good it will happen sometime within
the next month.
(beat; then)
The videotapes I forgot to return this
evening will cost me a small fortune in
late fees.
PATRICK notices a black BUM laying in the doorway of an abandoned
antique store, asleep.
PATRICK walks OUT OF FRAME.
HOLD ON BUM... heavy-set, fortyish. Next to the BUM is a
shopping cart full of personal belongings: newspapers, bottles,
aluminum cans, etc. On the ground next to him: an empty bottle
of cheap wine...
A handpainted cardboard sign reads: I AM HUNGRY AND HOMELESS
PLEASE HEP ME.
PATRICK walks BACK INTO FRAME and approaches the BUM...
...the BUM yawns, waking up. PATRICK offers his hand:
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
The BUM can barely breathe. He stares dumbly at PATRICK:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
You want some money? Some... food?
The BUM nods gratefully, about to cry. PATRICK reaches into his
pocket and removes a thick wad of cash. He offers the BUM a ten
dollar bill... reconsidering, PATRICK holds out a fiver instead:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Is this what you want?
The BUM clears his throat, nods and looks away... he's still got
his pride:
BUM
I'm so hungry.
PATRICK
It's cold out, too. Isn't it?
BUM
I'm so hungry.
The BUM's entire body shudders with spastic convulsions. He
looks away, embarrassed.
PATRICK
Why don't you get a job? If you're so
hungry, why don't you get a job?
Sobbing, the BUM inhales deeply:
BUM
I lost my job...
PATRICK
Why? Were you drinking? Is that why
you lost it? Insider trading? Just
joking. No, really - were you
drinking on the job?
BUM
I was fired. I was laid off.
PATRICK
(nodding)
Gee, uh, that's too bad.
BUM
I'm so hungry.
PATRICK
I know that, I know that. Jeez,
you're like a broken record. I'm
trying to help you.
BUM
I'm hungry.
PATRICK
Listen. Do you think it's fair to
take money from people who do have
jobs? Who do work?
BUM
What am I gonna do?
PATRICK
Listen. What's your name?
BUM
(softly)
Al.
PATRICK
Speak up. Come on.
BUM
Al.
PATRICK
Get a goddamned job, Al. You've got
a negative attitude. That's what's
stopping you. You've got to get your
act together. I'll help you.
BUM
You're so kind, mister. You're kind.
You're a kind man. I can tell.
PATRICK
Shhh... it's okay.
BUM
Please. I don't know what to do. I'm
so cold.
PATRICK kneels, gently stroking the BUM's face...
PATRICK
Do you know how bad you smell? My
god...
BUM
I can't... I can't find a shelter.
PATRICK
You reek. You reek of... shit. Do
you know that? Goddamnit, Al - look
at me and stop crying like some kind
of faggot.
Overcome with rage, PATRICK closes his eyes tightly, squeezing
the bridge of his nose... he regains control of himself:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Al... I'm sorry. It's just that... I
don't know. I don't have anything in
common with you.
The BUM sobs inconsolably as... PATRICK slowly puts the five
dollar bill back into his coat pocket.
The BUM notices this and sits up. The sobbing abruptly stops...
with his free hand, PATRICK gently touches the BUM's face:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Do you know what a fucking loser you
are?
The BUM nods uselessly as PATRICK removes a long, thin knife from
his coat pocket...
PATRICK pushes half an inch of the blade into the BUM's right
eye.
Shocked beyond words, the BUM opens his mouth but nothing comes
out...
...balancing on his haunches, PATRICK yanks the BUM's pantsuit
down and STABS him in the stomach.
The BUM instinctively covers himself with both hands as --
-- PATRICK repeatedly STABS him in short, staccato motions.
Holding the BUM's head back, PATRICK slowly pushes the tip of the
knife into his other eye.
The BUM finally begins screaming as PATRICK slits his nose in
two, blood spraying from wounds like geysers...
Still kneeling, PATRICK throws a quarter in the BUM's face:
PATRICK
There's a quarter. Go buy some gum
you crazy fucking nigger.
PATRICK stands up... smiling, proud of himself. His jacket is
lightly splattered with the BUM's blood.
PATRICK calmly walks away, OUT OF FRAME.
The BUM is left to DIE.
EXT/INT YALE CLUB DINING ROOM - DAY
An elegant dining room. Every table is occupied: Ivy League
graduates solving the world's problems over three-martini lunches
on expense account.
PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID are seated at a fairly decent table near
the front. They are exceptionally well-dressed, show-stoppers,
as always...
Each man has a cocktail in front of him:
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am sitting with Craig Van Patten and
David McDermott in the dining room of
the Yale Club, having lunch. Since
the three of us have taken the rest of
the afternoon off, we're all getting
massages.
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Van Patten is wearing a glen-plaid
wool-crepe suit from Krizia Uomo, a
Brooks Brothers shirt, a tie from
Adirondack and shoes by Cole-Haan.
McDermott is wearing a lamb's wool and
cashmere blazer, worsted wool flannel
trousers by Ralph Lauren, a shirt and
tie also by Ralph Lauren and shoes
from Brooks Brothers. I'm wearing a
tick-weave wool suit with a windowpane
overplaid, a cotton shirt by Luciano
Barbera, shoes from Cole-Haan and
nonprescription glasses by Bausch &
Lomb.
PATRICK scans the dining room and notices... LUIS CARRUTHERS
sitting at a nearby table --
-- LUIS attempts to make eye contact as PATRICK turns away,
ignoring him:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Luis Carruthers is sitting five tables
away. He's wearing an unidentifiable
suit from some French tailor and he
keeps looking over here, trying to get
my attention.
DAVID
What are the rules for wearing a
sweater vest?
PATRICK (V.O.)
David's question looms over the table,
filling me with a nameless dread.
CRAIG
What do you mean?
PATRICK
Yes. Clarify.
DAVID
Well, is it strictly informal-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Or can it be worn with a suit?
DAVID
Exactly.
PATRICK
Well, according to Bruce Boyer-
DAVID
(interrupting)
Wait. Is he with Morgan Stanley?
PATRICK
No. He's not with Morgan Stanley.
CRAIG
Wasn't he a serial killer? Don't tell
me he was another serial killer,
Bateman. Not another serial killer.
PATRICK
No, McDufus, he wasn't a serial
killer.
(beat; then turning to CRAIG)
That really pisses me off.
CRAIG
But you always bring them up. And
always in this casual, educational
sort of way. I mean, I don't want to
know anything about Son of Sam or the
fucking Hillside Strangler or, or...
Featherhead, for god sake.
DAVID
Featherhead? Who's Featherhead? He
sounds exceptionally dangerous.
PATRICK
He means Leatherface. Leatherface.
He was part of the Texas Chainsaw
Massacre.
DAVID
Oh. Of course.
PATRICK
And he was exceptionally dangerous.
CRAIG
And now okay, go on. Bruce Boyer,
what did he do? Let's see -- skin
them alive? Starve them to death?
Run them over? Feed them to dogs?
What?
PATRICK
(shaking his head, grinning)
You guys. He did something far worse.
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
He was the author of Elegance: A Guide
to Quality in Menswear.
(beat; then)
And no, Craig, he wasn't a serial
killer in his spare time.
CRAIG
What did Brucie baby have to say?
PATRICK
You're a clod. It's an excellent
book. His theory remains we shouldn't
feel restricted from wearing a sweater
vest with a suit.
(beat; then to CRAIG)
Did you hear me call you a clod?
CRAIG
Yeah.
DAVID
But doesn't he point out that a vest
shouldn't overpower the suit?
PATRICK
Yes...
(beat; then)
With discreet pinstripes you should
wear a subdued blue or charcoal gray
vest. A plaid suit would call for a
bolder vest.
CRAIG
And remember, with a regular vest the
last button should be left undone.
SEVERAL TABLES AWAY:
LUIS stands up, wipes his mouth with a napkin and glances over at
PATRICK before EXITING the dining area.
PATRICK
I thought you hadn't read this... this
book.
(beat; then)
You just told me you couldn't tell the
difference between Bruce Boyer... and
John Wayne Gacy.
CRAIG
It came back to me.
PATRICK
Listen. Wearing argyle socks with an
argyle vest will look too studied.
DAVID
You think so?
PATRICK
(to DAVID)
You'll look like you consciously
worked for this look.
(to CRAIG)
Featherhead? How in the hell did you
get Featherhead from Leatherface?
CRAIG
Ah, cheer up, Bateman.
DAVID
Yeah, buddy. Don't worry, be happy.
PATRICK stands up and pushes his chair in:
PATRICK
Listen. I just want everyone to know
that I'm pro family and anti-drug.
Excuse me, gentlemen.
PATRICK leaves the table, walking OUT OF FRAME as DAVID grabs a
passing waiter:
DAVID
Is this tap water? I don't drink tap
water. Bring me an Evian or
something, okay?
PATRICK walks through the main dining room... he smiles and
shakes hands with several men seated at a table as he passes by:
PATRICK (V.O.)
One of the many questions I must now
face: Would Courtney spend more time
with me - the time she now spends with
Luis - if he was out of the picture,
no longer an alternative... if he was
perhaps... dead?
PATRICK exits the main dining room...
THE MEN'S ROOM DOOR... is pushed open by PATRICK.
INT MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
A deserted bathroom. All of the stalls are unoccupied except for
one at the end, its door slightly ajar. The SOUND of a MAN
pissing echoes from it...
PATRICK admires himself in the mirror as he slides on a pair of
black leather gloves. He flashes a big smile and winks at
himself...
PATRICK cautiously approaches the occupied stall:
LUIS CARRUTHERS stands in front of the toilet bowl, his back to
PATRICK, urinating. Sensing movement, LUIS stiffens as the SOUND
of his urine hitting the water abruptly STOPS --
-- PATRICK steps forward, silently encircling his hands around
LUIS' neck, his index fingers touching just above the Adam's
apple...
PATRICK closes his eyes and squeezes tightly, but --
-- strangely, there is no struggle...
PATRICK's grip is loose enough to allow LUIS to turn around...
PATRICK's eyes snap open:
LUIS looks down at PATRICK's wrists, still clasped around his
neck in a stranglehold... PATRICK is unable to react as...
...LUIS lowers his head and gently kisses PATRICK's left wrist.
He looks up at PATRICK with a loving expression that is only half
awkward.
LUIS
God, Patrick. Why here?
This is WAY TOO MUCH for PATRICK to handle... he is FROZEN,
unable to move.
LUIS gently begins running his fingers through PATRICK's hair,
grinning...
LUIS (CONT'D)
I've seen you looking at me. I've
noticed your hot body.
LUIS tries to kiss PATRICK on the mouth as...
...PATRICK snaps out of his trance, backing into the stall door,
accidentally closing it, trapping him.
PATRICK's hands drop from around LUIS' neck... LUIS immediately
replaces them:
LUIS (CONT'D)
Don't be shy.
Still in shock, PATRICK once again drops his hands from around
LUIS' neck...
...LUIS grabs PATRICK by the shoulders and begins working himself
up into a frenzy, squeezing and kneading PATRICK's muscular upper
arms:
LUIS (CONT'D)
You don't know how long I've wanted
it...
PATRICK calmly turns around and opens the door, EXITING the
stall. LUIS trails close behind...
PATRICK stands in front of the large bathroom mirror,
concentrating on his reflection, doing his best to block out LUIS
who has walked over and sat down on the sink next to him:
LUIS (CONT'D)
I want you...
(beat; then)
...too.
PATRICK is beside himself, unable to take it all in...
LUIS makes another feeble attempt to kiss him as --
-- PATRICK BREAKS FREE, storming out of the MEN'S ROOM...
INT PATRICK'S OUTER OFFICE - DAY
JEAN sits at her desk doing paperwork, business as usual...
The telephone RINGS:
JEAN answers it on the first ring...
JEAN
Patrick Bateman's office, may I help
you?
EXT PHONE BOOTH, MID-TOWN MANHATTAN - DAY
PATRICK stands at a phone booth somewhere in mid-town
Manhattan... he is frantic, totally unglued:
INTERCUT:
PATRICK
Jean? Hello, Jean?
JEAN
Patrick? Is that you?
PATRICK doubles over with stomach cramps...
PATRICK
Oh my god.
JEAN
Patrick, what's wrong?
PATRICK
Jean, I'm not going to make it... I'm
not going to... make it... to the
office this afternoon.
JEAN
(alarmed)
What is it, Patrick? Are you alright?
PATRICK
Stop sounding so fucking... sad.
Jesus.
JEAN
Patrick, I'm sorry. I mean I meant to
say-
PATRICK hangs up, cutting JEAN off...
...PATRICK rips the Walkman off his neck and throws it into a
nearby trashcan... steadying himself, PATRICK holds onto the rim
of the trashcan, breathing heavily, his suit jacket tied around
his waist...
BEGIN SEQUENCE -- PATRICK falling apart...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK moves rapidly up Broadway, the
sun melting the mousse on his head, mingling with his sweat... he
runs a hand through his hair, licking greedily at the palm...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK stands on a corner, scowling at
people... bike messengers whiz by, oblivious... no one even
pretends to notice PATRICK's condition...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK appears to have regained his
normalcy... he walks toward a row of storefronts... suddenly, he
doubles over in excruciating pain, literally dropping to his
knees...
He recovers enough to hobble into a nearby pet store:
...large, white rats furiously scramble through elaborate
Habitrail systems... exotic parrots screech... piranhas glide
gracefully behind a glass tank...
PATRICK moves through the aisles, about to explode...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK walks down Broadway, sweating and
moaning, pushing people out of his way, foam pouring out of his
mouth...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK rushes up and down the aisles of
a Gristede's, inspecting a truly baffling array of sundries:
exotic bottled waters, individually wrapped imported cheeses,
wine bottles shaped like fish, cookies shaped like windmills,
Japanese pears, star fruit, red peppers, yellow peppers, green
peppers, purple peppers... it's fucking endless...
PATRICK takes a canned ham off the shelf, looking around
cautiously... when the coast is clear, he conceals the thing
under his jacket...
With the canned meat hidden under his coat, PATRICK calmly walks
to the front of the store... nodding to a clerk, he walks out of
the grocery store, uncaught...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER...PATRICK is in the lobby of a luxury
apartment building... he tries to blend in, hiding behind a
large, stainless steel sculpture... he looks totally deranged...
a DOORMAN watches him, about to say something...
PATRICK opens the canned ham with his keys... he scoops handfuls
of the pink meat into his mouth, like an animal, making
disgusting slurping sounds... the DOORMAN approaches him:
PATRICK
OH GOD!
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK is at a bus stop, chanting while
puking up the canned ham...
PATRICK
I've got to return my videotapes, I've
got to return my videotapes, I've got-
...he leans against a poster for Les Miserables and kisses
Eponine's face, smearing it with bile and vomit as...
...PATRICK backs into a fruit stand in front of a Korean deli,
collapsing stacks of apples and oranges and lemons, sending them
crashing onto the sidewalk, into the street as...
...a KOREAN MAN instantly appears, jabbering away in broken
English... PATRICK apologizes, offering his platinum American
Express card, then a twenty... taxis and busses pass by, crushing
the fruit...
...the KOREAN MAN immediately takes the twenty then grabs PATRICK
by the lapels of his stained jacket, pulling him closer to his
face...
...the KOREAN MAN bursts into the chorus of "Lightnin'
Strikes"... PATRICK pulls away, horrified...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK is in a shabby delicatessen on
Second Avenue... a short, fat Jewish WOMAN slowly approaches
him...
PATRICK
Listen. I have a reservation.
Bateman. Where's the maitre d'? I
know Jackie Mason.
WOMAN
I can seat you... don't need a
reservation.
The WOMAN leads PATRICK to a small table near the back...
PATRICK rushes up behind her, grabs the menu and reseats himself
at a "better" table near the front:
PATRICK
Is this a goddamn joke?
The WOMAN turns and shrugs, resigned... she's seen it all.
Before she can approach the new table, PATRICK holds his hand up
in the air, signaling to her:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
A cheeseburger. I'd like a
cheeseburger and I'd like it medium
rare.
The WOMAN sighs, pointing to a sign up front --
WOMAN
I'm sorry, sir. No cheese. Kosher.
PATRICK tries to remain calm...
PATRICK
Fine. A kosherburger but with cheese,
Monterey Jack perhaps, and - oh god.
PATRICK winces in enormous pain as the cramps return:
WOMAN
No cheese, sir. Kosher-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
What in the fuck is going on?
WOMAN
I'll get the manager-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
No, wait! Bring me a beverage. Bring
me a fucking... vanilla... milkshake.
EXTRA THICK!
CUT TO BLACK
EXT ROCKEFELLER CENTER PLAZA - DAY
CLOSE ON an illuminated, glowing STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
Slowly PULL BACK to reveal an enormous CHRISTMAS TREE...
...PAN DOWN to Rockefeller Center's famous ICE RINK:
Hundreds of skaters appear as bursts of bright color, a graceful
human kaleidoscope...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Days pass. I don't know how many.
(beat; then)
December arrives without warning.
PAN ACROSS to the SIDEWALK --
Two fat MEN dressed as SANTA CLAUS ring bells for the Salvation
Army -- nearby a HOMELESS WOMAN helplessly begs for change... Ho!
Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
PEDESTRIANS jam the PLAZA, loaded down with oversized packages
and shopping bags.
ANGLE ON PEDESTRIANS as thousands of people pass by, anonymous...
...a familiar FACE sticks out from the CROWD --
-- STAY ON PATRICK BATEMAN, moving along with the flow of
traffic...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
My priorities before Christmas include
the following: (1) to get an eight o'
clock reservation on a Friday night at
Dorsia,(2) to find out as much as
humanly possible about Paul Owen's
mysterious Fisher account,(3) to get
myself invited to Donald Trump's
Christmas party and (4) to apologize
to Evelyn without making it look like
an apology.
EXT BLOOMINGDALE'S STOREFRONT - DAY
PATRICK moves with great purpose past enormous storefront window
displays... metallic MANNEQUINS, forever frozen, act out
fragmented scenes from the life of a perfect nuclear family: the
kitchen, the dining room, a day at the beach...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
There are many presents that I still
need to buy and though I could have
sent my secretary Jean to make these
purchases, I feel prepared to deal
with this myself thanks to a vigorous
two hour workout at my private health
club on Manhattan's Upper West Side.
INT BLOOMINGDALE'S - DAY
Christmas SHOPPERS everywhere, chaos... once an upscale
department store, Bloomingdale's is now a virtual war zone.
A QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS --
...as PATRICK wanders through Bloomingdale's, assaulted by a
dizzying array of essentially useless products:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Paisley ties and crystal water
pitchers, tumbler sets and office
clocks that measure temperature,
humidity and barometric pressure,
electric calling card address books
and margarita glasses, sets of dessert
plates and correspondence cards,
mirrors and shower clocks and aprons
and hand-knitted cotton snowflake
sweaters. Porsche-design ski goggles
and diamond earrings. Vodka glasses,
cameras, aftershaves, salt and pepper
shakers, aluminum lunch pails and shoe
horns that cost two hundred dollars.
INT BLOOMINGDALE'S COSMETICS DEPARTMENT - DAY
PATRICK slumps over the counter in the Cosmetics Department,
breathing heavily. The beautiful SALESGIRL behind the counter
abruptly stops her sales-pitch midsentence... the SALESGIRL and
her CUSTOMER stare at PATRICK --
Attempting to stand up straight, PATRICK clutches at his chest,
his face creased with pain... frantically rifling through his
pockets, PATRICK acknowledges the WOMEN with a weak smile --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Some kind of existential chasm opens
before me in Bloomingdale's, filling
me with a nameless dread.
-- PATRICK pops a small black PILL into his mouth, swallowing
spastically... the SALESGIRL and her CUSTOMER turn away.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
A Xanax fails to ward off the panic.
(beat; then)
Saks Fifth Avenue intensifies it...
INT SAKS FIFTH AVENUE - DAY
Another department store... another battlefield.
ANOTHER QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS --
-- as PATRICK darts through Saks Fifth Avenue on the verge of a
full blown panic attack:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Pens and photo albums, electric shoe
polishers and heated towel stands.
Portable palm-sized color TVs with
earphones, birdhouses, ice buckets,
jewelry boxes and scarves, pillow
cases, foreign-currency-exchange
minicalculators, and diamond earrings.
Two hundred dollar shoe horns and
customized tennis balls and--
CUT TO BLACK
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
A light snowfall can be seen in the artificial glow of a street
lamp near EVELYN's brownstone...
...the trees and lampposts lining the street have been tastefully
decorated with red bows, ribbons and miniature white lights:
everything is perfect in this "winter wonderland", except for --
-- the POLICE LINES still up around EVELYN's neighbor's home.
Four limousines are parked in front of EVELYN's brownstone,
idling...
PATRICK (V.O.)
In the weeks leading up to Christmas,
my presence will be required at many,
many cocktail parties -- the majority
of which I would rather not attend.
(beat; then)
The first of them... and by far the
worst, is tonight.
INT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE, LIVING ROOM/DINING ROOM - NIGHT
Tall, full blue spruces covered in white twinkling lights stand
on either side of the fireplace... a BARTENDER wearing a tuxedo
pours champagne and mixes drinks behind a makeshift bar decorated
with poinsettias...
...a long buffet table features a mind-boggling assortment of
exquisite, gourmet food... candles have been lit everywhere, all
of them burning in sterling silver candleholders...
...there are quite a few PEOPLE here tonight: predictably, most
of them are "YUPPIE-TYPES", however several residents of the East
Village also appear to have been invited --"ARTISTE-TYPES" way,
way out of their element...
The mood is light, the evening is young... most of the MEN,
including PATRICK, have a pair of ridiculous-looking paper
antlers tied onto their heads.
EVELYN'S CHRISTMAS PARTY IS IN FULL SWING.
FACES in the CROWD: CRAIG McDERMOTT, DAVID VAN PATTEN, PAUL OWEN,
LUIS CARRUTHERS and, of course, COURTNEY LAWRENCE...
SEVERAL MIDGETS festively dressed in GREEN and RED elf suits walk
around the party with trays of appetizers, offering them to
EVELYN'S GUESTS.
EVELYN approaches PATRICK holding a piece of mistletoe in one
hand, a large candy cane in the other --
EVELYN
Mistletoe alert!
-- EVELYN playfully dangles the mistletoe branch over PATRICK's
head before kissing him dryly on the cheek:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Merry Xmas, Patrick.
PATRICK's hands are full: a plate of Waldorf salad in one, a
martini in the other.
PATRICK
Merry... Xmas.
EVELYN is her usual zombified self, the result of one too many
Xanax... or was it Valium? Too much eggnog? Most likely a
combination of all three.
EVELYN
You're late, honey.
PATRICK
No, Evelyn, darling. I'm not late.
EVELYN
Oh yes you are.
PATRICK looks around the room, uncomfortable... already desperate
to escape:
PATRICK
I've been here. You just didn't see
me.
EVELYN
Oh, stop scowling. You're such a
Grinch.
PATRICK
Bah humbug.
EVELYN
How's the Waldorf salad? Do you think
it tastes alright?
A GUEST passes next to EVELYN --
GUEST
Great party, Evelyn.
-- EVELYN involuntarily turns to her GUEST, ignoring PATRICK...
EVELYN
Are you sure? Are you having a good
time? Did you try the Waldorf salad?
PATRICK
Delicious.
...EVELYN turns what's left of her attention back to PATRICK:
EVELYN
But Mr. Grinch was late. And not a
word about that damn Waldorf salad.
PATRICK
You know, Evelyn, there were a lot of
other Xmas parties in this metropolis
that I could have attended tonight yet
I chose yours. Why? you might ask.
Why? I asked myself. I didn't come up
with a feasible answer, yet I'm here,
so be, you know, grateful, babe.
EVELYN
(sarcastic)
Oh, so this is my Christmas present?
How sweet Patrick, how thoughtful.
PATRICK looks down, noticing a noodle stuck on his shirt cuff...
PATRICK
No, this is. Here.
...he picks the noodle off of his shirt, presenting it to EVELYN
--
-- who delightedly accepts, holding it up to the candlelight,
examining it as if it were the Hope Diamond...
EVELYN
Oh Patrick, I'm going to cry. It's
gorgeous. Can I put it on now?
PATRICK
No. Feed it to one of the... midgets.
EVELYN
Oh, Patrick. They're elves.
Christmas elves. Santa's helpers.
God, what a sourpuss. Look at them.
They're adorable. That one over there
is Rudolph, the one passing out candy
is Blitzen. The other one is Donner-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Wait a minute, Evelyn, wait.
(beat; then)
I... those are the names of reindeer.
Not elves. Blitzen was a reindeer.
EVELYN
Oh... is this true?
PATRICK
Yes, Evelyn... I distinctly remember
Blitzen being a reindeer, not an elf.
EVELYN
Oh, so what. Don't you think it's
Christmasy?
PATRICK
You're absolutely right, Evelyn. I
couldn't agree with you more. It's
very Christmasy.
(beat; then)
Excuse me. I need another drink.
PATRICK manages to break free, as --
-- EVELYN moves onto her next VICTIM, oblivious...
EVELYN
(to no one, to everyone)
Is that Michael J. Fox over there?
...STAY on PATRICK moving through the CROWD.
COURTNEY and LUIS are holding hands, deep in discussion with
another yuppie COUPLE --
-- COURTNEY turns her head slightly, registering PATRICK's
presence.
She pouts her lips at him, silently mouthing the words "call me"
before returning her attention to LUIS and the other COUPLE...
...PATRICK ignores her, steadily moving through the CROWD.
LUIS' face instantly lights up as he sees PATRICK over COURTNEY's
shoulder --
-- suddenly animated, LUIS winks at PATRICK before silently
mouthing the words "I'll call you"... he even goes so far as to
raise his free hand to his ear, thumb and pinkie finger
outstretched, symbolizing a telephone.
Sensing COURTNEY's glare, LUIS abruptly looks away from PATRICK,
gazing into his beautiful girlfriend's eyes --
-- a fake smile plastered on his face, LUIS dutifully gives
COURTNEY a little peck on the lips.
PATRICK rolls his eyes, laughing to himself.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh... my... god.
AT THE BAR:
PAUL OWEN is examining an antique silver pocket watch while
waiting for the BARTENDER to prepare his drinks.
PATRICK approaches, holding out a hand --
PATRICK
Owen!
PAUL
(shaking hands)
Marcus! Merry Christmas! How've you
been? Workaholic, I suppose.
PATRICK
All work and no play makes Jack a dull
boy.
PAUL
We just got back from the Bahamas.
Meredith insisted that I take her, so
what could I do?
PAUL elbows PATRICK in the ribs -- BOTH MEN chuckle knowingly...
SOMEONE bumps into PAUL from behind -- he turns around,
exchanging pleasantries: "Hey Kinsley! Yeah, so do you..."
PATRICK (V.O.)
Paul Owen apparently thinks that I'm
someone named Marcus Halberstam which
I guess is understandable since Marcus
and I both pretty much look the same.
Marcus also works at P&P, in fact
doing the same exact thing I do.
(beat; then)
Being mistaken for Marcus doesn't
really me bother all that much except
for when I accidentally get sent his
junk mail and I have to spend hours
tracking him down. That gets to be a
real fucking nuisance.
PATRICK
Are you still handling the Fisher
account?
PAUL
Yeah. Lucked out, huh, Marcus?
PATRICK
You sure did. Wow...
PAUL
We're going to Nell's later. Limo's
waiting out front.
PATRICK
We should have lunch.
PAUL
Yes, that would be great. Maybe you
could bring...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Shit. Who is Marcus dating? What is
her fucking name?
PATRICK
Cecelia?
PAUL
Yes. Cecelia.
PATRICK
Oh, Cecelia would... adore it.
PAUL
Well, let's do it.
PATRICK
Yes. We could go to... Le Bernardin
for some... seafood perhaps? Hmmm?
PAUL
Le Bernardin is in Zagat's top ten
this year. You know that?
(beat; then)
Sea urchins. Meredith loves the sea
urchins there.
PATRICK
Oh does she?
PAUL
(motioning behind PATRICK)
Meredith! Come here.
PATRICK looks around nervously --
PATRICK
She's here?
PAUL
She's talking to Cecelia over there.
(shouting out to MEREDITH)
Meredith!
MEREDITH POWELL, late twenties, beautiful in a boring way, walks
INTO FRAME with... EVELYN.
MEREDITH
Yes boys? What are you two talking
about? Making up Christmas lists?
PAUL
The sea urchins at Le Bernardin,
darling.
MEREDITH moves in closer, draping an arm over PATRICK's shoulder:
MEREDITH
To die for. Simply to die for.
PATRICK
(suddenly quite interested)
Really? To die for?
MEREDITH
They're absolutely fabulous.
EVELYN
What does everyone think of the
Waldorf salad? Did you like it?
PAUL
Cecelia, darling, I haven't tried it
yet... but I'd like to know why there
are midgets serving eggnog.
EVELYN
Those aren't midgets! Those are
Christmas elves. Patrick, what did
you tell him?
PATRICK
Nothing, Cecelia!
EVELYN
Oh, Patrick. You're the Grinch.
Attempting to draw PAUL and MEREDITH's attention away from
EVELYN's little faux pas, PATRICK lifts a sprig of parsley from
off of one of the ELVE's passing appetizer trays and holds it
over EVELYN's head --
PATRICK
Mistletoe alert!
EVERYONE near the bar ducks for cover as --
-- PATRICK kisses EVELYN on the mouth, taking her completely by
surprise.
EVELYN
Oh Patrick-
Moving quickly, PATRICK forcefully takes her by the arm.
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Cecelia! Come here at once.
(to PAUL and MEREDITH)
Excuse us. We have to talk to that
elf and get this all straightened out.
EVELYN shrugs apologetically as...
EVELYN
(to PAUL and MEREDITH)
I'm so sorry.
...PATRICK drags her away:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Patrick what is going on?
INT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE, KITCHEN - NIGHT
The kitchen is deserted, with the exception of several ELVES
reloading their appetizer trays.
EVELYN is confused, upset:
EVELYN
Patrick? What are we doing in the
kitchen?
PATRICK grabs her shoulders, facing her:
PATRICK
Listen. Let's get out of here.
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. I can't just leave.
Aren't you having a good time?
PATRICK
Why can't you leave? You've been here
long enough.
EVELYN
Patrick, this is my Christmas party.
Besides, the elves are going to sing
'O Tannenbaum' any minute now.
PATRICK
Come on, Evelyn. Let's get out of
here. I want to take you away from
all this.
EVELYN
From all what?
(beat; then)
You didn't like the Waldorf Salad, did
you?
PATRICK
Let's go. Be daring. For just once
in your life, Evelyn, be daring.
(beat; then)
Come on... let this be my Christmas
present.
EVELYN
Oh no, I was already at Brooks
Brothers and-
PATRICK
(interrupting, pleading)
Stop it. Come on, I want this.
EVELYN remains unconvinced... she's not going anywhere.
Unwilling to accept defeat, PATRICK brings out the heavy
artillery:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Mrs. Bateman?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick.
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
The four LIMOUSINES remain in front of EVELYN'S brownstone,
idling.
PATRICK and EVELYN peek around the corner from an adjacent alley:
the coast is clear...
PATRICK leads EVELYN over to the nearest limousine... he opens
the door, pushes her in.
EVELYN
Patrick. This is so naughty. And a
limo-
PATRICK shuts the door, cutting her off.
He walks around the car and taps on the DRIVER's window...
...the DRIVER slowly lowers it, an unlit cigar clenched between
his teeth.
PATRICK holds out his hand...
...but the DRIVER just sits there, expressionless.
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
(beat; then)
Pat Bateman. What, ah, what is it?
The DRIVER rudely stares at PATRICK's head without a word.
PATRICK tentatively raises a hand to his head and is shocked to
find... two pairs of paper antlers!
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Oh Jesus, whoa!
PATRICK rips them off his head and throws them on the ground...
smoothing his hair back into place, PATRICK regains his
composure:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
So, Pat Bateman.
DRIVER
Uh, yeah? Sid.
PATRICK
Listen, Sid. Mr. Owen says we can
take this car, so...
DRIVER
Who's Mr. Owen?
PATRICK
Paul Owen. You know. Your customer.
DRIVER
No. This is Mr. Barker's limo. Nice
antlers, though.
PATRICK
Shit.
PATRICK runs around the limo and opens the door:
EVELYN
Patrick, darling, I love it.
Champagne -- and truffles, too.
EVELYN holds up a bottle of Cristal and a small gold box.
PATRICK grabs her by the arm, yanking her out:
PATRICK
Wrong limo -- take the truffles.
PATRICK gracefully guides EVELYN over to the next limo, opens the
door and pushes her in.
PATRICK approaches the SECOND DRIVER, his hand outstretched:
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
They shake hands.
SECOND DRIVER
Yeah? Hi. Donald Trump. My wife
Ivana's in the back.
PATRICK
Hey, watch it. Listen, Mr. Owen says
we can take his car. I'm... oh damn,
I mean Marcus.
SECOND DRIVER
You just said your name was Pat.
PATRICK
No. I was wrong. I was wrong about
my name being Pat. My name is Marcus.
Marcus Halberstam.
SECOND DRIVER
Now you're sure of this, right?
PATRICK
Listen, Mr. Owen said I can take his
car for the night, so... you know,
let's just get on with it.
SECOND DRIVER
I think I should talk to Mr. Owen
first.
PATRICK
No, wait! Listen, I'm... it's fine,
really. Mr. Owen is in a very, very
bad mood.
SECOND DRIVER
I'm not supposed to do this. No way.
Forget about it.
PATRICK
Oh come on, man.
SECOND DRIVER
It's totally against company
regulations.
PATRICK
Fuck company regulations.
SECOND DRIVER
Fuck company regulations?
PATRICK
Mr. Owen says it's-
SECOND DRIVER
(interrupting)
Listen, mister.
PATRICK
Marcus.
DRIVER 2
Marcus. Whatever. It's company
rules. I'm not gonna break 'em. Good
bye.
The SECOND DRIVER begins rolling up the window, waving "bye-
bye"...
...PATRICK reaches through the window, grabbing him by the lapels
of his uniform:
PATRICK
Let me put it this way... they've got
midgets in there. Midgets who are
about to sing 'O Tannenbaum'... do you
know how scary that is? Elves
harmonizing?
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I'm sorry. I just don't think I can
leave until I get just a little
compassion from you.
PATRICK realizes that he has overstepped a boundary of some sort:
he loosens his grip on the MAN's uniform.
The SECOND DRIVER remains silent, a smug expression on his inbred
face. He starts that waving shit as the window goes up again.
Exasperated, PATRICK reaches for his wallet:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Shit. Here's a hundred.
PATRICK waves two crisp fifties in the DRIVER's unimpressed face
--
SECOND DRIVER
Two hundred.
PATRICK
This city sucks.
-- PATRICK reluctantly removes two more fifties from his wallet
and hands him the money...
SECOND DRIVER
Where to?
INT LIMO - NIGHT
PATRICK and EVELYN have made themselves comfortable in the back
of the plush limousine.
Scraps of wrapping paper have been strewn about everywhere.
Once again, EVELYN looks ready to cry.
PATRICK
What... what did I do?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. It's lovely. I don't
know what to say.
PATRICK
Well... I don't either.
EVELYN holds up a diamond necklace. Wait a minute -- where'd
that come from?
EVELYN
Help me put it on, darling. You're
not the Grinch, honey.
PATRICK
Uh, Evelyn.
EVELYN
It's lovely, oh I love it...
PATRICK
But... that's not...
EVELYN
What? What are you saying? Oh,
honey, you have something else for me?
PATRICK
No, I mean-
EVELYN
(interrupting)
Come on, you devil. You've got
something else. Let me guess. A ring
to match? A matching bracelet? A
brooch? So that's it! It's a
matching brooch.
EXT WEST SIDE HIGHWAY, AERIAL SHOT - NIGHT
The limousine races along the West Side Highway, dwarfed by the
city's awesome skyline.
PATRICK (V.O.)
My luck could be worse. It really
could.
INT LIMO, LATER
EVELYN
Patrick, where are you taking me?
PATRICK
It's hip. It's totally hip.
EVELYN
Have you ever been there?
PATRICK
Millions of times.
EVELYN
Where honey, tell me.
PATRICK
It's a surprise.
EVELYN
Chernoble? No, not Chernoble. Honey,
it's Christmas.
PATRICK
What in the hell does that mean?
EVELYN
I don't understand why you have to
ruin this time of year for me.
(beat; then)
Oh Patrick, please. Honey, it's
Christmas.
PATRICK
You keep saying that as if it meant
something.
(beat; then)
Where would you like me to take you,
Evelyn? The Rainbow Room?
EVELYN
Oh why not, Patrick? They have the
best Waldorf Salad in town at the
Rainbow Room. Did you like mine? Did
you like my Waldorf Salad, honey?
PATRICK
Oh my god.
(beat; then)
Why wasn't Donald Trump invited to
your party?
EVELYN
Not Donald Trump again. This
obsession of yours has got to end!
That's why you were acting like such
an ass.
PATRICK
It was the Waldorf Salad, Evelyn. It
was the Waldorf Salad that was making
me act like an ass!
EVELYN
Oh my god. You mean it, too! I knew
it. I knew it.
PATRICK
But you didn't even make it! It was
catered!
EVELYN
Oh my god. I can't believe this.
INT LIMOUSINE/EXT CLUB CHERNOBLE - NIGHT
The limousine pulls up in front of the club... a CROWD ten deep
is waiting to be let in.
Always the perfect gentleman, PATRICK reaches over to open the
door for EVELYN --
-- she gets out of the car, but... PATRICK remains seated.
PATRICK
You go on inside, Evelyn.
EVELYN
Patrick? What's going on?
PATRICK
There's something I need to pick up.
EVELYN
Oh for god's sake, just buy your drugs
downstairs if you have to.
PATRICK
Evelyn, honey, I'll be back before
midnight.
EVELYN
Patrick, you made me leave my own
goddamned party.
PATRICK
Don't have a hissy fit, Evelyn.
EVELYN
You're impossible. There's something
seriously wrong with you.
PATRICK
Just go on inside and order me a
Foster's, okay? I'll be back.
PATRICK slams the door shut and sits back, relieved...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Don't you bet on it.
...stunned, EVELYN bursts into tears as the limousine squeals
away.
EXT MEAT PACKING DISCTRICT - NIGHT
Manhattan's infamous meat packing district: dark and deserted
except for the occasional PROSTITUTE, PIMP or DRUG PUSHER.
Giant NEON LETTERS on the side of a warehouse: M E A T --
-- the "M" flickering, ready to burn out...
Hot steam rises from deep beneath the city as a black limousine
slowly cruises down the street, a rarity in these parts --
The LOCALS shout out to the passing car: "Hey, big boy! Where
you goin', huh?", "Whachowan, man? I geddit for you!", "I fuck
you real good, baby", etc....
ON THE CORNER:
A WHORE pretends not to notice the commotion caused by the
approaching limousine.
Young and white, this WHORE could easily be mistaken for an NYU
girl --
-- CLOSE UP she's trashy but by no means is she too used up...
blond, slim, pale, fire-engine red lipstick on a pouty little
mouth. She's definitely not dressed for cold weather.
The limousine pulls up next to her, idling.
The young WHORE lingers casually, pretending to be unaware of
what the limousine actually signifies...
...a tinted window is lowered to reveal:
PATRICK BATEMAN, smiling a rictus.
The WHORE quickly looks away --
PATRICK
I haven't seen you around here.
WHORE
You just haven't been looking.
PATRICK
Do you take American Express?
The WHORE glares at him: go fuck yourself, Mr. Limousine.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Just a joke, I'm only kidding...
(beat; then)
Would you like to see my apartment?
The WHORE looks at PATRICK, then at the LIMOUSINE, then back at
PATRICK... is she playing "hard to get"? My god...
WHORE
I'm not supposed to.
PATRICK reaches for his wallet; the WHORE has trouble hiding her
delight.
PATRICK
(chuckling)
What's the matter? Are you afraid of
me? Do I look dangerous?
PATRICK removes a thick wad of cash, mostly hundreds. He
holds out a hundred dollar bill, offering it to her...
...without a word, the WHORE greedily takes the money.
PATRICK
Do you want to come up to my apartment
or not?
WHORE
I really shouldn't, but...
The WHORE looks around cautiously --
WHORE (CONT'D)
I can make an exception.
-- before she opens the door and gets in...
INT PATRICK'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Silence. PATRICK and the WHORE lay in the bed, sleeping...
The WHORE restlessly shifts in her sleep -- rolling over, she
mumbles something incomprehensible...
She brushes up against PATRICK's wrist --
-- his eyes immediately SNAP open:
PATRICK
Don't touch my fucking Rolex.
The WHORE doesn't wake up... instead, she snuggles up to PATRICK,
an almost involuntary reaction on her part: rubbing his well-
defined chest muscles, she moves down... down... down... BINGO!
Disgusted by the WHORE's pathetic attempt at intimacy, PATRICK
abruptly rises from the bed -- the WHORE barely registering his
absence.
STAY ON PATRICK walking across the bedroom --
-- he stops to check his reflection in the mirror above the
armoire: it's been a rough night but PATRICK is still the perfect
vision of male beauty -- and he knows it.
OFF SCREEN, the groggy WHORE beckons PATRICK: "baby, come back to
bed... baby, come here..."
SOMETHING on the armoire catches PATRICK's attention --
-- with the concentration of a neurosurgeon, PATRICK arranges and
then, apparently unsatisfied, rearranges the items on top of his
dresser.
At last PATRICK turns around, facing the WHORE --
-- IN HIS HAND: a rusty coat hanger and a large jar of seasoning
salt:
PATRICK
We're not through yet...
PATRICK walks OUT OF FRAME, approaching the bed.
The WHORE can be heard OFF SCREEN: "what are you doing? no,
no, don't... stop it... you're hurting me..."
PATRICK (V.O.)
She leaves an hour later, bleeding but
well paid.
CUT ON the SOUND of the WHORE SCREAMING IN AGONY.
EXT MANHATTAN SKYLINE (SUMMER) - DAY
A panoramic view of the World's Greatest City.
PATRICK (V.O.)
For a limited period of time I am
actually capable of being halfway
cheerful and outgoing.
INT BARNEY'S - DAY
A TWO-YEAR-OLD BABY'S FACE fills the FRAME --
-- smooth pink skin, bright blue eyes, all grins and giggles...
awww, how cute!
PATRICK (O.S.)
(sing-song, babytalk)
I'm a psychopathic murderer, oh yes I
am...
PATRICK playfully lifts the BABY up over his head:
PATRICK
(shaking his head, smiling)
I like to kill people, oh yes I do,
honey, little sweetie pie, yes I do...
A beautiful young WOMAN standing next to PATRICK waits for a
SALESCLERK to ring up her purchases, an empty stroller at her
side...
...PATRICK eyes the WOMAN up and down before handing the BABY
over to her. Nicely dressed, thin, classy: she easily passes his
inspection.
The WOMAN gently takes the BABY from PATRICK, placing her in the
empty stroller.
WOMAN
I think she likes you.
PATRICK
What a beautiful baby... she looks
just like you.
WOMAN
(blushing, looking down)
She's not actually mine. I'm just
watching her.
(beat; then)
Do I know you from somewhere?
PATRICK continues to play with the BABY, waving his American
Express card in front of her face...
PATRICK
I don't know... do you?
WOMAN
Are you a model? I could swear I've
seen you in a magazine or somewhere.
PATRICK smiles, says nothing...
WOMAN (CONT'D)
Ohmygod, I know who you are! You're
that actor! You were in... um...
PATRICK
No. Flattering, but no.
WOMAN
Are you sure?
(beat; then)
So... what do you do?
PATRICK
I'm into, oh, murders and executions
mostly. It depends.
WOMAN
Do you like it?
PATRICK
Umm... yeah, sometimes. I guess so.
Why do you ask?
WOMAN
Well, most guys I know who work in
mergers and acquisitions don't really
like it.
PATRICK
That's not what I said.
Without warning, LUIS CARRUTHERS materializes out of thin air,
literally BUMPING into PATRICK.
LUIS' physical appearance has undergone something of a
transformation: it's very subtle, difficult to pinpoint. The
blond highlights in his expensive haircut are new... the silk
scarf around his neck belongs only in a caricature --
-- LUIS looks and acts so flamboyantly gay, he GLOWS!
LUIS
Patrick? Ohmygod, Patrick? Is that
you?
The sexual energy built up between PATRICK and the WOMAN
instantly disappears --
-- derailed, PATRICK shakes LUIS' outstretched hand, making a
huge production of it.
PATRICK
Luis Carruthers. Well, well.
PATRICK looks around nervously, trying to wipe off his right hand
without being noticed. There is a brief moment of uncomfortable
silence:
PATRICK
We were just--
LUIS
(interrupting)
What a cute baby!
LUIS can't help himself: he immediately departs for a distant
planet where unicorns freely run through open fields of brightly
colored flowers, leaping over rainbows to the sound of Judy
Garland singing her heart out...
...the WOMAN's attention turns from PATRICK to the BABY as she
journeys with LUIS to Planet Queer.
LUIS kneels down in front of the stroller: aww, coochie-coochie-
coo... my, you're a big girl, oh yes you are... you sure are, my
little buttercup...
The WOMAN is completely overcome as her maternal instincts take
over, destroying her capacity for rational thought and adult
conversation, rendering her "gaga".
PATRICK squints his eyes tightly as he squeezes the bridge of his
nose: try to stay calm PATRICK, try to stay calm...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh my god.
PATRICK looks around nervously -- time for a graceful exit:
PATRICK
I think I need... to be... alone right
now.
LUIS and the WOMAN can't be reached -- they're way too busy being
"cute" with the baby...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Excuse me, I have to purchase a tie.
PATRICK turns away from LUIS, the WOMAN and the BABY --
-- his departure barely registering with either of them.
STAY ON PATRICK walking:
PATRICK
(under his breath)
Fuck, fuck, fuck...
PATRICK grabs a towel from a display rack and vigorously wipes
off his right hand, cleansing himself of LUIS...
...PATRICK drops the towel on the floor and WALKS OUT OF FRAME.
INT BARNEY'S, TIE DEPARTMENT - DAY
Row after endless row of neckties in every size, shape and color:
a monumental achievement in the fine art of retail display.
Humbled, PATRICK thoughtfully examines a necktie.
He thinks it over carefully, weighing his options before setting
it back on the rack...
...PATRICK gently runs his hand across a row of colorful silk
ties, closing his eyes, enjoying the sheer physical sensation of
the beautiful material.
A VOICE INTERRUPTS --
LUIS (O.S.)
(whispering)
What are you doing here?
LUIS has magically reappeared.
Standing next to PATRICK, LUIS picks up a tie, pretending to look
it over...
...PATRICK does his best to ignore him, but... LUIS persists:
LUIS
Patrick, why won't you look at me?
Look at me.
PATRICK
Please, please leave me alone, Luis.
LUIS
Come on, let's have a drink at Sofi's
and talk about this.
PATRICK
Talk about what?
LUIS
Well... about us.
PATRICK
Did you follow me in here?
LUIS
(innocently)
Me? Follow you?
(scoffing at PATRICK)
Oh come on. Jesus.
PATRICK
Luis. Please leave me alone. Go
away.
LUIS
Patrick. I love you very much. I
hope you realize this.
(beat; then)
Patrick, what are we doing here?
PATRICK
Well, I'm trying to buy a tie -- and
you're trying to give me head, figure
it out. Jesus, I'm getting out of
here.
LUIS
Patrick, we've got to talk.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT FIFTH AVENUE - DAY
PATRICK battles his way through the Mid-town crowd, his stress
level at an all time high...
PATRICK (V.O.)
...I find myself cursing the earth and
everything I have been taught: morals,
choices, knowledge, prayer - all of it
was wrong, without any final purpose,
yet I am still able to find solace in
many things: the new compact disc from
Huey Lewis and the News, dress shirts
from Ralph Lauren, the fact that I
don't live in a trailer park or work
in a bowling alley, the dinner
reservations I have this evening with
Paul Owen, the Patty Winters Show this
morning was about shark attack
victims...
INT TEXARKANA - NIGHT
A flashy new restaurant unremarkable in every way, except...
where are all the people? This place feels deserted: the bar is
empty and only five tables have people at them in the dining
area.
PAUL OWEN sits alone in a booth near the back.
PATRICK approaches PAUL smiling, his hand extended...
PAUL
(checking his Rolex)
You're late.
PATRICK
(laughing)
Hey, I'm a child of divorce. Give me
a break.
They shake hands as PATRICK sits down.
PAUL motions to a WAITER, silently ordering a round of drinks by
pointing to his already empty martini glass.
PAUL
This is really a beehive of, uh,
activity, Halberstam.
PATRICK
Listen, I tried making a reservation
at Dorsia, but--
PAUL
(interrupting)
I know, I know. Forget it. They've
got a twelve-month waiting list.
Twelve months, can you believe it?
For Christ sake, Stallone can't even
get in there!
PATRICK
I didn't hear about this.
PAUL
Yeah. Last week... they turned away
Rambo himself.
PATRICK
Just... say... no.
PAUL
How've you been, Marcus?
PATRICK
Great. Great... and you?
PAUL
Terrific. Never better.
PATRICK
Are you still handling the Fisher
account?
PAUL
Yeah. Lucked out, huh?
PATRICK
How'd you get it?
PAUL
Things just fell into place.
The WAITER reappears with the drinks...
PATRICK
Wow...
(beat; then)
So how were the Bahamas? You just got
back, right?
PAUL
Well, Marcus, let me tell you --
travelers looking for that perfect
vacation this summer may do well to
look south, as far south as the
Bahamas and the Caribbean islands.
There are at least five smart reasons
to visit the Caribbean...
DISSOLVE TO LATER
PAUL's martini is nearly gone... PATRICK's remains almost full.
PAUL (CONT'D)
...those who can't take a full week
away will find the Caribbean an ideal
spot for the alternative weekend
escape.
PATRICK
This is enlightening.
PAUL is just about completely shit-faced... he slams the rest of
his drink in one huge, drunken gulp as the WAITER silently
delivers him a fresh martini:
PAUL
For the active vacationer there is
mountain climbing, cave exploring,
sailing, horseback riding, white-
water river rafting...
DISSOLVE TO LATER
The entrees have been served: mostly uneaten, they remain
beautiful works of culinary art.
PAUL continues to pound down the martinis as quickly as they
arrive...
PAUL (CONT'D)
...for those who wish to gamble, there
are casinos on many of the islands.
As for dining out, the islands have
attracted numerous world class chefs -
American, British, French, Italian...
even Dutch expatriates own many of the
restaurants.
PATRICK
My life is a living hell... and there
are many more people I, uh, want to...
want to, well, I guess, murder.
PAUL
What you need is a vacation,
Halberstam. You and that beautiful
lady of yours, what's her name?
PATRICK
Cecelia, Paul. My girlfriend's name
is Cecelia.
PAUL
That's right. You and Cecelia should
really think about... getting away.
PATRICK
Where would you suggest? The Bahamas,
perhaps?
PAUL
(genuinely surprised by the idea)
Why not? She'll love it.
(beat; then)
Do you golf, Marcus? The golf courses
and tennis courts in the Bahamas are
unlike anything you've ever seen.
During the summer months, the pros at
many of the resorts are made more
available...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Paul Owen is so drunk by the time
dinner is over that I (1) make him pay
the check, which comes to over two
hundred and fifty dollars, (2) make
him admit what a dumb son-of-a-bitch
he really is...
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Every light in the apartment is on; the venetian blinds are
closed.
PAUL is slumped over PATRICK's mini-bar, doing his best to pour a
glass of wine...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...and (3) get him back to my place,
where he makes himself another drink.
PAUL staggers through the living room, stopping near the stereo
system to examine PATRICK's enormous CD collection.
A white aluminum folding chair has been set up in the center of
the living room, the floor beneath it covered with newspaper...
hmm, that's odd.
PATRICK silently enters the living room wearing a shiny new
raincoat -- IN HIS HAND: a very large AX...
Unaware of PATRICK's presence, PAUL straightens up and slowly
stumbles backward, sipping from his wineglass...
...he seats himself in the folding chair, comfortably numb.
PATRICK slowly continues his silent approach, buttoning up the
raincoat with his free hand.
Still getting settled in the flimsy chair, PAUL looks around,
drunk and confused:
PAUL
(slurring)
Hey, Halberstam.
PATRICK
Yes, Owen.
PAUL
Why are there, um, copies of the Style
section all over the place? Do you
have a dog? A chow or something?
PATRICK arrives at the folding chair...
PATRICK
No, Owen.
Standing directly in front of PAUL, PATRICK raises THE AX high
above his head --
-- but PAUL is so wasted that he doesn't even notice...
PATRICK brings the AX down, STOPPING just short of his target.
Reconsidering, PATRICK changes his grip on the AX, instead
holding it like a baseball bat. He lowers it to his waist as if
preparing to swing at an oncoming ball...
PAUL
Anyway, I used to hate Iggy Pop but
now that he's so commercial I like him
a lot better than-
The AX HITS PAUL midsentence, straight in the face, finally
shutting him up.
PAUL weakly grabs at the handle of the AX, the force of the blow
having sapped his strength, a rustling SOUND filling the room as
newspapers tear beneath PAUL's kicking feet...
PATRICK pulls the AX out, almost yanking PAUL out of the chair by
his head -- blood slowly pouring out of his massive facial
wounds.
PATRICK STRIKES HIM with the ax ONCE AGAIN, directly in the
face...
...PAUL falls to the floor, bleeding profusely.
PATRICK
FUCKING STUPID BASTARD! FUCKING
STUPID BASTARD!
(beat; then calming down)
Things just fell into place, buddy.
FADE TO RED --
PATRICK (V.O.)
It takes Paul five minutes to finally die.
Another thirty to stop bleeding.
FADE TO BLACK --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
The aftermath: no fear, no confusion.
INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - DAY
Seated comfortably behind his desk, PATRICK is once again hard at
work... attempting to solve the Rubix Cube. The soothing SOUNDS
of soft jazz fill the room.
PATRICK's hands feverishly TWIST and TURN... bright squares of
color come to life in a WHIRL of hypnotic moving patterns...
PATRICK's INTERCOM BUZZES:
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
Patrick?
PATRICK
What is it?
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
Patrick, a Mr. Donald Kimball is here
to see you.
PATRICK
Who?
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
(hesitating)
Detective Donald Kimball.
PATRICK's hands STOP moving. He sits up, alert. Did she say...
detective?
PATRICK
Tell him...
(beat; then)
Tell him I'm at lunch.
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
Patrick... I think he knows you're
here.
(beat; then)
It's ten-thirty.
PATRICK considers his limited options --
PATRICK
Well... send him in.
-- and realizes that there is NO WAY OUT of this.
PATRICK takes a deep breath before rising from his chair...
...he walks over to a large mirror and checks his hair.
PATRICK stares into the mirror, lost in his own beauty.
WE HEAR A DISTANT, FAMILIAR VOICE:
WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
Are you a model?
The FAMILIAR VOICE is none other than that of the WOMAN with the
cute BABY from Barney's...
WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
Ohmygod, I know who you are! You're
that actor!
PATRICK smiles confidently. Who cares about the detective?
The doors to PATRICK's office fly open --
-- as DETECTIVE DONALD KIMBALL ENTERS.
KIMBALL is in his late twenties: clean cut, good-looking,
casually hip in a slightly disheveled Armani suit, an apparent
victim of one too many episodes of "Miami Vice".
PATRICK waves him in, offering his outstretched hand.
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
The MEN shake hands...
KIMBALL
Donald Kimball.
PATRICK sits down behind his desk, motioning for KIMBALL to be
seated:
KIMBALL
I'm sorry to barge in on you like
this, but I was supposed to talk to
Luis Carruthers and he wasn't in
and... well, anyway, you are, so...
KIMBALL surveys PATRICK's desk: next to the Rubix Cube, several
magazines lay open to pictures of women in bikinis.
KIMBALL (CONT'D)
I know how busy you guys can get. If
it's any problem for you, I can--
PATRICK
(interrupting)
No. It's no problem at all.
PATRICK very nonchalantly tries to clear his desk by pulling out
a drawer and sweeping everything into it --
PATRICK (CONT'D)
So... how can I help you?
KIMBALL
I've been hired to investigate the
disappearance of Paul Owen.
PATRICK
Ah, I see... yes.
(beat; then)
You're not with the FBI or anything,
are you?
KIMBALL
No, no. Nothing like that. Just a
private investigator.
PATRICK
So... no one's dealing with the
homicide squad yet or anything, right?
KIMBALL eyes PATRICK: that was a very strange question...
KIMBALL
No... no... I just have some, you
know, basic questions. For my file.
PATRICK
For your file.
KIMBALL
About Paul Owen. About yourself-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Coffee?
KIMBALL
No, I'm okay.
PATRICK
Perrier?
KIMBALL
No, really. I'm fine.
KIMBALL removes a small notebook and a pen from his coat
pocket... he opens it up, finds the right page and begins
writing.
PATRICK BUZZES JEAN:
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
Yes, Patrick?
PATRICK
Jean, can you bring Mr. --
PATRICK pauses, looking over to KIMBALL for help with his name...
KIMBALL
Kimball.
PATRICK
Mr. Kimball a bottle of San Pelle-
KIMBALL
(interrupting)
Oh no, really, that's not necessary.
PATRICK
It's no problem at at all.
KIMBALL scribbles in his notebook. He frowns, scratching it
out...
JEAN ENTERS THE OFFICE:
She sets down a bottle of San Pellegrino along with a crystal
tumbler on the desk in front of KIMBALL.
KIMBALL looks up at JEAN and smiles politely --
-- PATRICK scowls at her: GET OUT!
JEAN EXITS QUICKLY.
PATRICK sits up in his chair, clasping his hands together:
PATRICK
So. Where were we then?
KIMBALL
The disappearance of Paul Owen.
PATRICK
Oh right. Well, I haven't heard
anything about Paul Owen's
disappearing act...
(beat; then jokingly)
At least not on Page Six.
KIMBALL
I think his family wants this kept
quiet.
PATRICK
That's understandable.
PATRICK gestures toward the untouched bottle of water:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Lime?
KIMBALL
No, really. I'm okay.
PATRICK
You sure? Because I can always get
you a lime.
KIMBALL
I just have a few questions for you
and then I'll be on my way--
PATRICK shuts both eyes tightly. He squeezes the bridge of his
nose. Beads of sweat glisten on his brow. PATRICK is not doing
very well right now --
KIMBALL (CONT'D)
Pardon me, but... are you okay?
-- PATRICK's eyes open wide:
PATRICK
Why do you ask?
KIMBALL
You seem... nervous.
PATRICK reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of
aspirin...
PATRICK struggles with the child-proof bottle... he finally
manages to get it open, in the process spilling most of the pills
all over his desk:
PATRICK
Nuprin?
KIMBALL
Uh... no thanks.
PATRICK quickly pops two of the little white pills into his
mouth, gulping them down without any water.
KIMBALL pulls out a pack of Marlboros, laying them down on the
desk next to an unused crystal ashtray --
-- PATRICK fearfully stares at the offensive package:
PATRICK
Bad habit.
KIMBALL
I know. I'm sorry.
PATRICK continues staring, consumed --
KIMBALL (CONT'D)
Do you... would you rather I not
smoke?
PATRICK
No... no... I guess it's okay.
KIMBALL
You sure?
-- PATRICK snaps out of his trance:
PATRICK
Of course. It's no problem at all.
KIMBALL takes out a cigarette and lights it, sucking in hard
while looking through his notebook...
...he finally exhales an enormous cloud of cigarette smoke:
KIMBALL
Where were you on the night of Paul
Owen's disappearance?
EXT CENTRAL PARK ZOO - DAY
The Central Park Zoo: New York's wildest animals behind bars, a
sanctuary from the urban sprawl. Horsedrawn carriages pass in
front of the entrance gates...
...DRUG DEALERS hang out, hoping to make a sale... a BLIND MAN
gnaws on a jumbo pretzel, his mouth open... two drunk FAGGOTS
console each other on a park bench as a young MOTHER publicly
breast feeds her INFANT...
The tips of skyscrapers and apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue
peek out high above the surrounding trees.
PATRICK enters the zoo:
PATRICK (V.O.)
Unable to maintain a credible public
persona, I find myself roaming the zoo
in Central Park.
A SERIES OF SHOTS -- various animals...
...dirty polar bears lay across giant slabs of concrete... an
alligator floats across an oily pond... puffins and toucans stare
out from their cages, bored...
EXT CENTRAL PARK ZOO, SEAL EXHIBIT - DAY
Seals dive off artificial rocks into a pool of murky water...
they resurface, barking as a ZOO KEEPER rewards them with fish.
A small CROWD has gathered in front of the seal tank: mostly
ADULTS, a few accompanied by CHILDREN... they APPLAUD and CHEER
mechanically.
PATRICK joins the CROWD, quickly making his way to the front for
a better view of the action...
...he notices a SIGN:
COINS CAN KILL - IF SWALLOWED, COINS
CAN LODGE IN AN ANIMAL'S STOMACH AND
CAUSE ULCERS, INFECTIONS AND DEATH.
DO NOT THROW COINS IN THE POOL.
PATRICK looks around cautiously --
-- before tossing a handful of change into the seal's tank...
PATRICK SMILES, pleased with himself.
INT PENGUIN HABITAT - DAY
A dark, cavernous room. A large banner, "EDGE OF THE ICEPACK",
hangs on the wall. Penguins lazily glide underwater behind
gigantic glass walls as FAKE PENGUIN NOISES play over a cheap
sound system...
A large, NOISY CROWD watches the graceful, flightless birds.
IN THE CROWD:
A five year-old BOY watches the penguins, captivated by their
charm as he chews on a candy bar.
His MOTHER, early thirties, average in every way, smiles lovingly
at her SON as he finishes his candy bar and hands her the empty
wrapper...
The MOTHER gives the wrapper back to the BOY, POINTING OFF SCREEN
as she speaks to him, smiling and nodding...
...the BOY nods, understanding what she wants him to do... he
smiles and happily skips OUT OF FRAME.
The MOTHER smiles, pleased. Her attention returns to the
penguins.
AT THE BACK OF THE PENGUIN HABITAT:
The BOY approaches a large trash can in a dimly lit corner of the
room. Standing on tiptoes, he carefully throws the wrapper into
the trash.
Crouched behind the trash can, PATRICK peeks out, smiling:
PATRICK
Psst... hi.
The BOY stands still --
-- he looks at PATRICK apprehensively, yet fascinated...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Would you like... a cookie?
The BOY nods up and down, smiling.
In one swift move, PATRICK reaches into his coat pocket, pulling
out a knife as he lunges forward --
-- GRABBING the unsuspecting BOY.
BACK TO THE CROWD:
The MOTHER is still watching the penguins, unaware...
PATRICK MOVES INTO FRAME, joining the CROWD.
PATRICK stands next to an attractive WOMAN. He taps her shoulder
and winks as he points to a penguin preparing to dive...
...the WOMAN smiles back at PATRICK, openly flirting.
The MOTHER scans the CROWD, craning her neck for a better view --
-- turning around she sees SOMETHING OFF SCREEN.
She smiles, relieved.
The MOTHER walks toward the back of the room, OUT OF FRAME...
AT THE BACK OF THE PENGUIN HABITAT:
Clearly visible behind the trash can are two tiny feet, slowly
kicking up and down...
...the MOTHER approaches, smiling:
MOTHER
Are you playing hide-and-seek, honey?
BACK TO THE CROWD:
PATRICK and the WOMAN continue to flirt, PATRICK occasionally
craning his neck to scan the room...
A WOMAN'S SCREAMS PIERCES THROUGH THE NOISE OF THE CROWD.
Several PEOPLE turn in the direction of the SCREAM, however most
ignore it, content just to watch the goddamned birds.
PATRICK instantly turns around, his handsome face a mixture of
horror and genuine concern --
-- he runs toward the screaming MOTHER, pushing PEOPLE out of his
way:
PATRICK
I'M A DOCTOR! MOVE BACK, I'M A
DOCTOR!
THE TRASH CAN HAS BEEN PULLED AWAY FROM THE WALL --
-- the young BOY lies on the floor, gasping for breath, grabbing
at his throat, his legs kicking weakly --
-- his face covered with BLOOD.
The MOTHER kneels next to the BOY, hysterical.
PATRICK drops to his knees and delicately lifts the little BOY's
head while checking for a pulse, desperate to save his young
life...
MOTHER
DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING!
Unable to ignore the MOTHER's screaming, the CROWD focuses its
collective attention, forming a semi-circle around PATRICK, the
MOTHER and the BOY.
Members of the CROWD gasp in horror as A WAVE OF PANIC surges
through the penguin habitat...
SOMEONE runs from the CROWD to "go get help" --
-- a TOURIST with a camera takes flash pictures...
The penguins freak out, slamming themselves into the glass wall
behind the CROWD.
PATRICK holds the BOY, soothing him as the MOTHER totally loses
control, shrieking and wailing... PATRICK harshly slaps her face,
a futile attempt to calm her down.
NO ONE blinks twice at any of the "DOCTOR's" actions...
Two ZOO OFFICIALS and a SECURITY GUARD burst through the main
doors, running to the bleeding BOY --
-- the SECURITY GUARD pushes PATRICK away, carefully lifting the
BOY's limp body, carrying him outside...
The MOTHER runs after them, PATRICK right behind her --
-- as the CROWD follows, chasing the excitement.
EXT PENGUIN HABITAT - DAY
The SECURITY GUARD gently lays the BOY down on the ground as a
ZOO OFFICIAL removes the BOY's blood soaked shirt.
An EMERGENCY MEDICAL TEAM arrives -- but it's too late.
THE BOY GASPS, DIES.
PARAMEDICS fight to restrain the hysterical MOTHER.
Two POLICE OFFICERS arrive on the scene...
POLICE OFFICER
Okay, people -- let's go! Keep
moving... keep moving.
HIGH ANGLE on PATRICK as he blends back into the CROWD, his hands
and suit stained with blood.
PATRICK slowly backs away, UNCAUGHT.
INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - NIGHT
PATRICK is at his desk finishing up some paperwork. It's late;
way past quitting time...
PATRICK (V.O.)
My appearances in the office the last
month or so have been sporadic to say
the least. I have all the
characteristics of a human being --
flesh, blood, skin, hair -- yet I feel
empty, hardly here at all. I am only
imitating reality.
(beat; then)
These are terrible times.
JEAN gently knocks on PATRICK's half-open door --
-- without looking up, PATRICK motions for her to enter...
JEAN approaches PATRICK's desk, delivering a file... she looks
especially attractive this evening, more so than usual.
JEAN
Doin' the crossword puzzle?
PATRICK silently nods... JEAN walks behind his desk for a better
look:
JEAN (CONT'D)
Need help?
ON THE DESK --
A crossword puzzle, every square filled in with the words "MEAT"
and "BONE"... next to the puzzle is a small pile of no. 2
pencils, snapped in half...
JEAN emits a slight gasp before dutifully picking up the broken
pencils. PATRICK has the greatest secretary in the world: she is
completely and totally devoted to her boss.
JEAN turns to leave --
PATRICK
Jean?
JEAN
Yes, Patrick?
PATRICK finally looks up from the crossword puzzle:
PATRICK
Would you like to accompany me to
dinner? That is, if you're not...
doing anything.
JEAN has dreamt of this moment for a very long time...
JEAN
(embarrassed; looking down)
Oh no. I have no plans.
JEAN is putty in his hands... PATRICK turns on the charm:
PATRICK
Well, isn't this a coincidence?
(beat; then)
Where should we go?
JEAN
Anywhere you want?
PATRICK
No, no, no. How about anywhere you
want.
JEAN
Oh Patrick. I can't make this
decision.
PATRICK
Come on. Anywhere you want. I can
get us in anywhere.
JEAN
How about...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Don't say Dorsia, don't say Dorsia,
don't say Dorsia...
JEAN
...Dorsia?
PATRICK
S-o-o-o... Jean wants to go to Dosia?
Dorsia it is.
Too proud to back down, PATRICK casually picks up the telephone
and dials, smiling...
PATRICK (into TELEPHONE)
Can you take two tonight, oh, let's
say, in around twenty minutes?
(beat; then)
Oh, really? That's great!
(beat; then)
See you then.
PATRICK hangs up, smiling --
-- but JEAN is confused... something is bothering her:
PATRICK
Yes? You look... fine.
JEAN
(puzzled)
You didn't give them a name.
PATRICK
They know me.
INT DORSIA, ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Manhattan's hippest, busiest restaurant... it is a cool,
happening place, but come on -- a twelve month waiting list for
dinner reservations?
The CROWD is an eye-pleasing mix of YUPPIES, MODELS and assorted
SCENE-MAKERS... their NOISE is deafening.
The MAITRE D' is dressed entirely in black, his greying hair
pulled back into a "hipper-than-thou" ponytail...
...he leaves his post to seat a glamourous young COUPLE.
PATRICK and JEAN approach the podium.
The reservation book lies open, unguarded...
Awestruck, JEAN looks around as PATRICK casually leans over the
podium, trying his best to read the reservation book without
being too obvious about it...
PATRICK carefully scans the book... most of the names have
already been crossed out: this is not good... his eyes dart back
and forth across the page... JACKPOT!
HE SEES:
9:00 2 PEOPLE SCHRAWTZ
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh Jesus.
BACK TO SCENE
The MAITRE D' has just seated the first COUPLE... already on his
way back, he's cris-crossing through the dining room --
-- PATRICK looks around nervously:
PATRICK
Why don't you go to the women's room?
JEAN
What?
PATRICK
Don't you want to use the ladies'
room?
JEAN
Why? I mean... do I?
The MAITRE D' is getting CLOSER!
PATRICK
Just... go.
JEAN
But I don't need to go, Patrick.
PATRICK
Oh Christ.
The MAITRE D' arrives at the podium, an eyebrow quizzically
raised as he inspects PATRICK and JEAN from head to toe:
MAITRE D'
Yes?
PATRICK
Reservations at nine... for two.
MAITRE D'
Yes? Name?
PATRICK
Um, Schrawtz. Mr. and Mrs. Schrawtz.
JEAN is absolutely STUNNED... what in the hell is going on?
Without a second thought, the MAITRE D' crosses the name off in
the reservation book and grabs two menus...
MAITRE D'
Follow me.
PATRICK turns to JEAN, grinning like an idiot, a very handsome
idiot... he takes her hand, leading her into Dorsia's crowded
dining room.
INT DORSIA, DINING ROOM - LATER
PATRICK and JEAN have been seated at a small table for two near
the open kitchen... it's not the best table in the restaurant,
but hey -- it's better than nothing!
A WAITER drops off their drinks, disappears.
JEAN is absorbed in the menu, studying it like a text book...
every now and then she glances up at PATRICK and giggles. She
couldn't be happier.
Straight through the dining room, PATRICK has a perfect view of
the podium:
A flashy young COUPLE has just arrived... there seems to be some
confusion, some problem with the reservation book... oh my god,
no!
The MAITRE D' glares at PATRICK from across the entire restaurant
-- if looks could kill...
PATRICK
Something bad is happening.
His face turning beet red, the MAITRE D' marches through the
dining room with the real MR. AND MRS. SCHRAWTZ following close
behind...
JEAN
Why? What's wrong?
They arrive almost instantly, the MAITRE D' looming over the
table:
MAITRE D'
(sternly, to PATRICK and JEAN)
Mr. and Mrs.... Schrawtz?
EXT SIDEWALK - NIGHT
The sidewalk in front of Dorsia: a homeless MAN desperately cries
out for spare change...
PATRICK
(chanting)
I should have known better... I
should have known better... I should
have known better...
JEAN skips ahead, laughing.
JEAN
That was so funny. Your sense of
humor is so spontaneous.
(beat; then)
Where to now, Mr. Schrawtz?
DISSOLVE TO:
INT ARCADIA - NIGHT
Arcadia is pure elegance: WAITERS in tuxedos silently move
through a dimly lit dining room decorated entirely with paintings
and sculptures of characters from Greek Mythology.
PATRICK and JEAN are enjoying a candle-lit dinner at a secluded
table near the back -- hanging above their table is a framed
reproduction of Nicholas Poussin's "Echo and Narcissus".
JEAN stares lovingly into PATRICK's eyes, listening to his every
word... she focuses on his lips, the shape of his perfectly
formed mouth... his recently manicured, almost feminine hands...
JEAN is spellbound.
PATRICK is really coming into his own, thoroughly enjoying
himself: talking, smiling, he even pauses to refill JEAN's wine
glass, lingering for a moment to appreciate just how physically
beautiful she really is, how... delicate she seems.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT JEAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
A classy Upper East Side apartment building: not too shabby,
JEAN. A DOORMAN stands in the lobby, suspicious of EVERYONE.
It's a beautiful, clear night... a curtain of stars, miles of
them, glow scattered across the sky.
PATRICK and JEAN are standing in front of her apartment building,
tense with expectations... what now?
JEAN
Well. Here we are.
PATRICK
Here we are.
JEAN
Dinner was wonderful. Thank you very
much.
PATRICK
Actually, the food was mediocre, but
you're welcome.
JEAN
Do you want to come up?
PATRICK
Do you have any peyote?
JEAN
What?
PATRICK
Just a joke.
(beat; then)
I'd love to but I have to return some
videotapes.
JEAN
(checking her watch)
Now? It's almost midnight.
PATRICK
Well, yeah...
JEAN
Then, I guess... it's good night, Mr.
Bateman.
PATRICK and JEAN are both giddy, like teenagers on a first date -
- the evening has gone quite well... maybe it shouldn't be ending
just yet.
PATRICK awkwardly reaches out to JEAN --
-- they shake hands, but...
...JEAN won't let go.
PATRICK and JEAN lock eyes --
-- as she throws her arms around PATRICK,
KISSING HIM ON THE MOUTH.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am so used to imagining everything
happening the way it occurs in movies,
that I almost hear the swelling of the
orchestra...
...an orchestra suddenly swells up, the string section bursting
forth with the promise of a never-ending romance --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...can almost hallucinate the camera
panning low around us...
-- PAN AROUND PATRICK and JEAN as they kiss, starting low,
gradually rising --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...as fireworks burst overhead in slow
motion...
-- as colorful fireworks EXPLODE high above...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...the seventy-millimeter image of her
lips parting, murmuring "I want
you..."
EXTREME CLOSE UP OF JEAN'S LIPS glistening as she seductively
mouths "I want you..."
BACK TO SCENE
Back to REALITY: the fireworks are gone, the orchestra has cut
out...
PATRICK is FROZEN, tense -- JEAN continues kissing him, her eyes
closed...
...but PATRICK remains frigid. He lightly pushes her away.
JEAN looks away, embarrassed and confused...
PATRICK
Listen, I've got to go.
(beat; then)
I don't want any... late fees.
JEAN
Okay. Bye.
PATRICK
Night.
PATRICK turns, walks away...
JEAN shouts out to him:
JEAN
Patrick! Don't forget you have a
breakfast meeting... tomorrow...
JEAN can't decide if she wants to cry or jump for joy, her
intense crush on PATRICK leaving her powerless over her own
strong emotions...
...watching him disappear into the darkness, she wonders: does he
feel the same way?
EXT INTERSECTION, UPPER EAST SIDE - NIGHT
Very few PEOPLE are out tonight... it's quiet, tranquil.
PATRICK hails a passing TAXI CAB.
The cab pulls over, PATRICK gets in...
INT TAXI, MOVING - NIGHT
PATRICK sits in the back of the cab, emotionally and physically
exhausted. He takes a deep breath, relaxing.
PATRICK silently stares at the bizarre assortment of signs and
stickers decorating the interior of the cab:
..."God is my co-pilot"..."Peace, love, happiness"..."Don't
worry, be happy"..."Abused? Battered? Get help"..."Say no to
drugs"..."Bush & Quayle '88"...
PATRICK's attention drifts...
He leans back in the seat, staring at the ceiling... staring at
nothing --
INSERT SEQUENCE:
EXT CENTRAL PARK - DAY
A beautiful spring day. Central Park looks surreal, heavenly:
the trees are in full bloom, the grass has never been greener,
there's not a cloud in the endless blue sky...
The park is empty, except for:
PATRICK and JEAN, both casually dressed in blue jeans and a white
T-shirt...
...they chase each other through the park, smiling and laughing
like little children.
On PATRICK's left hand: A SILVER WEDDING BAND --
-- on JEAN's left hand: AN ENORMOUS DIAMOND RING.
PATRICK finally catches up to JEAN --
-- he takes her hand... she smiles.
They passionately KISS ON THE MOUTH as...
...a MAN SELLING BALLOONS magically appears.
His balloons are visually stunning, breath-taking in their
simplistic beauty: red ones, yellow ones, blue ones, green
ones...
JEAN jumps up and down, thrilled as --
-- PATRICK gives the MAN some money...
The MAN smiles, handing the balloons over to JEAN. He waves
"good-bye" and WALKS OFF.
PATRICK and JEAN look deep into each other's eyes...
AIN'T LOVE GRAND?
PATRICK smiles, "accidentally on-purpose" tripping JEAN --
-- she falls down, playfully dragging PATRICK with her.
They KISS --
-- JEAN's hand opens, letting go of the balloon strings...
The BALLOONS FLOAT AWAY quickly, forever lost --
-- their bright colors FRAMED against the clear blue sky, they
rise... higher and higher...
...until they drift OUT OF FRAME.
INT LUKE - NIGHT
A bistro almost too chic for its own good: nouvelle Chinese
cuisine served with a Creole flair... only in Manhattan.
The atmosphere is surprisingly calm and subdued given the fact
that nearly every table is occupied.
PATRICK and EVELYN are seated at a decent table near the front,
their entrees already served.
PATRICK stares off into space, daydreaming...
EVELYN
(smiling)
Patrick? Yoo-hoo, Patrick.
EVELYN waves her hand in front of his face.
PATRICK snaps out of it --
-- he looks at EVELYN with a sheepish grin:
PATRICK
I'm back.
EVELYN
What's the matter, honey?
PATRICK
Nothing. I've just got a lot on my
mind. You know, work.
EVELYN
What work? What work do you do? I
don't understand.
PATRICK
Evelyn... did you... take your
medication?
EVELYN
Why don't you just quit? You
practically own that damn company.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I wonder if Evelyn would sleep with
another woman. Probably not; the odds
don't look good.
(beat; then)
But what if I forced her at gunpoint?
A BUSBOY clears the table.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
For dessert I've arranged something
special.
A WAITER arrives carrying a large plate covered by a shiny silver
dome...
EVELYN's eyes LIGHT UP in anticipation...
...PATRICK smiles, enjoying his GIRLFRIEND's reaction.
With EVELYN distracted by the WAITER, PATRICK quickly empties the
contents of her water glass into a nearby ficus, setting the
empty glass down in front of her.
The WAITER makes a huge production of presenting the plate to
EVELYN, expertly milking the moment for every possible ounce of
drama before lifting up the silver dome:
WAITER
Voi-ra!
UNDER THE SILVER DOME:
A Godiva box wrapped in a silk bow sits on a large porcelain
plate, attractively garnished with fresh, colorful flowers.
EVELYN coos with delight as the WAITER sets a spoon down next her
empty water glass...
EVELYN
Patrick, that's so sweet.
EVELYN smiles as she eagerly unwraps the gold box.
IN THE GODIVA BOX:
A single mouth-watering oval-shaped piece of chocolate...
EVELYN (CONT'D)
I adore Godiva.
PATRICK smiles, waving the WAITER away when he tries to set down
another spoon...
EVELYN anxiously hovers over her dessert, concerned:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Aren't you having any?
PATRICK
I'm not hungry. Dinner was...
filling.
EVELYN leans down, smelling the brown oval:
EVELYN
Are you... sure?
PATRICK
No, darling. I want you to eat it.
There's not a lot there.
EVELYN takes her first bite, chewing dutifully --
-- but something isn't right: this doesn't taste like Godiva
chocolate...
Nearly gagging, EVELYN manages to swallow... she grimaces and
shudders before taking another tentative bite.
The BUSBOY appears with a pitcher of ice water --
-- PATRICK quickly waves him away before he can pour any into
EVELYN's empty glass...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Earlier today I stole a urinal cake
from the men's room at the '21' Club,
took it home, covered it with
chocolate syrup and froze it.
PATRICK
How is it? Go on... eat it.
EVELYN
It's so...
PATRICK
Yes? It's so... what?
EVELYN's face twists and contorts with displeasure. Anxious to
please PATRICK, she swallows a second mouthful.
EVELYN
It's so... minty.
(beat; then)
It just... so minty.
EVELYN involuntarily reaches for her water glass --
-- only to find it EMPTY!
Desperate to rid her mouth of the putrid taste, she grabs
PATRICK's full glass of water and drains it in a heartbeat.
She pushes the tainted plate away, smiling appreciatively...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Though satisfying, watching Evelyn eat
something that I and countless others
have pissed on is a poor excuse to put
up with her for three hours. Nothing
is worth this... endless torture.
EVELYN signals for the WAITER to remove her plate...
EVELYN
I want a firm commitment.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh my god.
PATRICK
I think, Evelyn, that... that we've
lost touch. We need to talk.
EVELYN
Why? What's wrong, Patrick?
(beat; then)
If you're going to start in again on
why I should have breast implants, I'm
leaving.
PATRICK
Just... just hear me out, Evelyn. My
need to engage in... homicidal
behavior on a massive scale cannot be,
um, corrected. But I -- I have no
other way to express my blocked needs.
(beat; then)
It's over, Evelyn. It's all over.
EVELYN
Touchy, touchy.
PATRICK
I'm serious. It is fucking over. Us.
This is no joke.
EVELYN
Let's just avoid this subject, all
right? I'm sorry I said anything.
EVELYN rummages through her handbag --
PATRICK
I'm not going to push the issue, but--
EVELYN
(interrupting)
How uncharacteristic of you, Patrick.
-- and pulls out a compact... she checks her lipstick in the tiny
mirror.
PATRICK
Why must you constantly undermine my
stability?
(beat; then)
Evelyn. This has got to end.
(beat; then)
I don't think we should see each other
any more.
EVELYN closes the compact, looking directly at PATRICK:
EVELYN
But your friends are my friends. My
friends are your friends. I don't
think it would work.
(beat; then)
You have a tiny fleck on the top of
your lip. Use your napkin.
Exasperated, PATRICK brushes the fleck off his lip...
PATRICK
Listen, I know that your friends are
my friends and vice versa. I've
thought about that. You can have
them.
EVELYN
You're really serious aren't you?
PATRICK
Yes I am.
EVELYN
Do you have something against me,
Patrick?
PATRICK
Evelyn. I'm sorry. You're just...
not terribly important... to me.
EVELYN's calm facade is about to crack... barely able to contain
her hysteria, she opens her handbag and takes out a designer
pillbox...
EVELYN
Well, who is? Who do you think is,
Patrick? Who do you want?
(beat; then)
Cher?
EVELYN unsnaps the pillbox, her hands shaking --
-- swallowing hard, she nearly chokes as the bitter pill goes
down...
PATRICK
(smiling, confused)
Cher? Cher? What are you talking
about?
(beat; then serious)
Forget it. I know my behavior is
erratic sometimes-
EVELYN
(interrupting)
Oh god, Patrick. You're so lousy.
You're inhuman.
A large, wet tear runs down EVELYN's cheek -- the dam is ready to
burst!
PATRICK
No, I'm... in touch with humanity.
(beat; then)
I'm...
EVELYN
You... are not...
PATRICK
I'm not what?
EVELYN
You are not all there. You don't add
up.
PATRICK
I do too. I do too add up.
(beat; then)
Listen, Evelyn. I've assessed the
situation and I'm going.
EVELYN reaches across the table, taking PATRICK's hand --
EVELYN
Don't. Please don't go.
PATRICK
I'm leaving Evelyn.
EVELYN
Where are you going? Tell me,
Patrick, where are you going?
PATRICK
I'm just leaving.
EVELYN
But where?
PATRICK has reached the end of his rope -- he throws his hands up
in the air:
PATRICK
Jesus Christ, does it matter, Evelyn?
I'm going to Libya, ALRIGHT? LIBYA!
DEAD SILENCE.
EVERYONE in the dining room STOPS MOVING --
-- ALL EYES ARE ON PATRICK.
He looks around, caught off-guard... what next?
PATRICK finally stands up, ready to leave:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Because of your outburst I'm not
paying for this meal.
EVELYN breaks down sobbing...
...PATRICK EXITS.
EXT TRIBECA STREET - NIGHT
Just past midnight on an empty Tribeca street. It's misty, on
the verge of rain. PATRICK walks along peacefully, passing
storefronts and boarded-up restaurants.
A young MAN in a white beret plays a very beautiful but cliched
saxophone solo in the doorway of an abandoned
bistro -- at his feet, an open umbrella with a dollar and some
change in it.
Unable to resist, PATRICK approaches the SAXOPHONE PLAYER --
-- who is grateful to have an audience.
The SAXOPHONE PLAYER nods at PATRICK before launching into a new
song -- his head leaned back, the MAN lifts his instrument up,
blowing with everything he's got, really putting his heart and
soul into it.
PATRICK is not immune to the strong emotions evoked by the
melancholy sound of the saxophone --
-- he can actually feel the power of the music working on him,
tugging on his heart-strings, sweeping him along...
In one fluid motion, PATRICK removes a .45 CALIBER PISTOL from a
holster beneath his coat, expertly screwing a SILENCER onto it.
The SAXOPHONE PLAYER opens his eyes, immediately NOTICING the GUN
in PATRICK's hand --
-- he stops playing, the tip of the saxophone still in his mouth.
PATRICK nods for him to continue...
...the MAN tentatively resumes playing as --
-- PATRICK RAISES THE GUN to his face.
Terrified, the MAN continues blowing into his sax.
PATRICK PULLS THE TRIGGER IN MIDNOTE.
A huge crimson ring instantly appears behind the SAXOPHONE
PLAYER's head as...
...the BOOMING SOUND of a gunshot rings out, stunning PATRICK.
THE SILENCER DIDN'T WORK!
The SAXOPHONE PLAYER falls to his knees, collapsing onto his
bloody instrument.
PATRICK angrily pops the clip, replacing it with a full one...
goddamn silencer!
Without warning, A POLICE SIREN PIERCES THE NIGHT --
-- where the fuck did that come from?
PAN OVER to a POLICE CAR, slowly cruising down the street, it's
red and blue lights FLASHING...
PATRICK casually walks away from the trembling SAXOPHONE PLAYER,
as if innocent...
...but the POLICE CAR accelerates, a VOICE BLASTING out of its
loudspeaker:
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE
Halt! Stop! Put down your weapon!
Don't move! Drop your weapon!
PATRICK breaks into a full-fledged run --
-- the POLICE CAR screeching after him...
...PATRICK makes a left onto Broadway, heading down toward City
Park Hall, the SQUAD CAR CLOSING IN FAST.
PATRICK ducks into an alleyway --
-- the SQUAD CAR follows him but only manages to make it halfway,
a spray of BLUE SPARKS flying out before it gets stuck as the
alley narrows...
...exiting the alley, PATRICK sprints onto Church Street,
flagging down a passing CAB.
PATRICK hops in the front seat, waving his gun at the CAB DRIVER,
a young Iranian GUY:
PATRICK
LET'S GO! GET OUT OF HERE! FAST!
The CAB DRIVER is STUNNED -- hands held up high, he cries out in
mangled English:
CAB DRIVER
Don't shoot me, please don't kill me!
PATRICK
Oh shit! JUST FUCKING DRIVE!
CAB DRIVER
Oh don't shoot me man don't shoot--
PATRICK
Fuck yourself!
PATRICK raises the gun to the CAB DRIVER's face and PULLS THE
TRIGGER --
-- SPLATTERING THE DRIVER'S HEAD OPEN.
PATRICK opens the door, pushing the corpse out onto the street...
...he slams the door shut and starts driving, BUT --
-- HE CAN'T SEE THROUGH THE BLOODY WINDSHIELD!
PATRICK veers sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on
collision with another taxi cab...
...instead CRASHING into the side of a parked LIMOUSINE.
Frantic, PATRICK turns on the windshield wipers and shifts into
reverse...
...he attempts to clean off the inside of the windshield with his
gloved hand while blindly racing down Greenwich.
PATRICK COMPLETELY LOSES CONTROL, swerving into a Korean deli --
-- the cab rolls over fruit stands, smashing through a glass wall
into a karaoke restaurant full of JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN, the BODY
of a CASHIER thudding across the hood...
...PATRICK tries to put the cab in reverse, BUT --
PATRICK (V.O.)
Patrick tries to put the cab into
reverse, but...
-- NOTHING HAPPENS.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...nothing happens.
PATRICK staggers out of the car --
-- shaken, he leans against it, surveying the situation:
TOTAL CHAOS.
...the BODY on the hood of the taxi moans in agony, smashed
tables everywhere, JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN taking flash pictures,
speaking in tongues, smashed fruit, a karaoke tape still
playing...
PATRICK
Nice going, Bateman.
PATRICK limps out of the newly destroyed restaurant, shaking his
head in disbelief...
ACROSS THE STREET:
A COP RUNS toward PATRICK, yelling into his walkie-talkie.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Patrick has no idea where the cop
across the street has come from.
Patrick is stunned, but...
PATRICK lunges out, knocking him to the sidewalk before the COP
can get to his gun --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...still manages to surprise him,
lunging out before the cop can get to
his gun.
PATRICK and the COP struggle, the COP wheezing from exertion as
he tries to wrestle the pistol from PATRICK's grip.
A CROWD has gathered to watch the struggle, to stare at the
wreckage...
...BUT NO ONE HELPS THE COP.
PATRICK and the COP roll into the street --
-- two pairs of hands holding the same gun.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Patrick feels infected, like gasoline
is coursing through his veins instead
of blood.
A sudden surge of adrenaline enables PATRICK to bring the gun up
to the COP's face -- HE PULLS THE TRIGGER.
The first bullet DOESN'T KILL the COP --
-- but the SECOND ONE DOES.
...some of the SPECTATORS scream, some do nothing, some hide,
some run back into the restaurant...
PATRICK gets up, still holding the gun, as...
...a SQUAD CAR appears, SCREECHING TO A HALT --
-- PATRICK trips over the curb, collapsing onto the sidewalk, at
the same time reloading the pistol.
THE DISTANT WAIL of approaching POLICE SIRENS fills PATRICK's
ears:
What now?
The POLICE OPEN FIRE --
PATRICK (V.O.)
Patrick realizes that he is involved
in an actual gunfight...
-- PATRICK returns their gunfire from his belly, bullets flying
in both directions as he CRAWLS FOR COVER behind the corner of a
nearby building...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...I have no idea what I've done to
increase my chances of getting caught.
I shot a saxophonist? A saxophonist?
Who was probably a mime too? For that
I get this?
...a SECOND SQUAD CAR arrives.
PATRICK FIRES REPEATEDLY, no longer bothering to aim.
One of PATRICK's stray bullets hits the gas tank of the first
POLICE CAR --
-- its headlights dim before... IT BURSTS APART!
A THUNDEROUS EXPLOSION shakes the ground as a fireball billows up
into the darkness, the bulb of a streetlamp above it exploding in
a burst of yellow-green sparks, flames washing over the BODIES of
POLICEMEN, shattering dozens of windows...
...PATRICK RUNS OFF, disappearing into the darkness.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT TRIBECA STREET - NIGHT
It's raining. Fog drifts through the passageways created by the
skyscrapers.
PATRICK sprints down the street, uncaught...
PATRICK (V.O.)
There's no use in denying it: this has
been a bad week.
FADE TO BLACK as PATRICK disappears into the night.
EXT OUTDOOR CAFÉ - DAY
A small sidewalk café on Columbus, near Central Park. WAITERS in
white aprons attend to a cluster of little white tables roped off
from the relentless crush of Sunday morning PEDESTRIANS.
PATRICK and JEAN sit at one of the tables, enjoying the beautiful
day, each sipping a cappuccino.
PATRICK scowls at the passing PEDESTRIANS, lost in thought...
JEAN tries to get his attention:
JEAN
Come on, Patrick. Smile. You have no
reason to be so sad.
PATRICK snaps out of it, disarming her with his handsome smile:
PATRICK
I know. You're right, but...
(beat; then)
It's... tough to smile -- these days.
At least for me it is.
JEAN registers this comment, unsure what to make of it...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
You know what I think?
(beat; then)
I think that we're all in our private
traps. Clamped in them tight. And
none of us can ever get out. We
scratch and claw, but only at the air.
Only at each other. And for all of it
we never budge an inch.
JEAN
Sometimes we deliberately step into
those traps.
PATRICK
I was born in mine.
(beat; then)
I don't mind it anymore.
JEAN
Awww, poor baby.
JEAN leans across the table, taking PATRICK's hand --
JEAN (CONT'D)
Listen, Patrick. We need to talk
about something. Or at least I need
to talk about something.
-- JEAN falters, unsure if she should continue:
JEAN (CONT'D)
I've learned what it's like to be
alone and... I think I'm in love with
you.
PATRICK smiles tenderly, holding a finger up to his lips:
PATRICK
Shhhh...
(beat; then)
I was at a restaurant the other
night... and I saw some guy in the
men's room... a total Wall Street guy.
JEAN nods, puzzled by PATRICK's response.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I saw...
CUT AWAY:
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
ANGLE ON THE HAND FROM THE OPENING SEQUENCE... we see ONLY the
HAND and the first two neatly written letters: KI.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
...he was writing...
BACK TO SCENE:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
...something on the wall over the...
urinal he was standing at.
CUT AWAY:
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
ANOTHER ANGLE on the writing HAND... additional letters now
visible: LL Y.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
When he saw me come in...
SLOWLY PULL BACK to reveal more of the HAND... the sleeve of a
designer suit, expensive cuff-links...
BACK TO SCENE:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
He stopped writing -- like he was
nervous or something... then he
left the room.
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Anyway... I went over to use the
urinal and... I leaned over... to read
what he wrote.
JEAN
Which was?
CUT AWAY:
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
ANOTHER ANGLE AS THE HAND FINISHES WRITING...
SLOWLY PAN ACROSS the entire message: KILL ALL YUPPIES.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Kill... all... yuppies.
PULL BACK FURTHER to reveal the UNKNOWN WRITER's identity:
PATRICK BATEMAN is standing in front of the urinal, a Mont Blanc
pen in his hand.
BACK TO SCENE:
JEAN
Gosh, Patrick...
PATRICK
How many people in this world do you
think are like me, Jean?
JEAN
I don't... think anyone.
PATRICK
Let me rephrase the ques -- wait, how
does my hair look?
JEAN
Uh, fine.
PATRICK
Okay. I think... uh, you know how
they say no two snowflakes are alike?
JEAN nods slowly, unsure -- what is this guy talking about?
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Well, I think a lot of snowflakes are
alike... and I think that a lot of
people are alike, too.
JEAN
What are you saying, Patrick?
PATRICK
Appearances can be deceiving.
JEAN
No. I disagree. I don't think they
are deceiving.
PATRICK
Sometimes, Jean, the lines separating
appearance -- what you see -- and
reality -- what you don't -- become,
well, blurred.
JEAN
That's not true. That's simply not
true.
JEAN's emotional outpouring has left PATRICK uncharacteristically
vulnerable: he struggles as years of repressed emotions threaten
to surface. He does his best to hold it all inside, to appear
strong...
PATRICK
Really?
...but it's a losing battle: PATRICK CANNOT HIDE FROM WHO HE
REALLY IS.
JEAN reaches across the table, tenderly taking PATRICK's
trembling hand in hers:
JEAN
Patrick... talk to me... don't be so
upset.
PATRICK
I think it's... time for me to... take
a good look... at the world I've
created.
INT DR. NOVA'S OFFICE - DAY
A sparsely furnished PSYCHIATRIST's office.
PATRICK, stretched out on the leather sofa, stares up at the
ceiling --
-- just out of PATRICK's view is DR. NOVA, seated in a matching
leather chair: early thirties, looking sharp in a slightly
ruffled Armani suit... an academic doing his best yuppie
impersonation.
DR. NOVA flips through a file, making notations on a legal pad...
he resets a small stopwatch and clears his throat:
DR. NOVA
Let's pick up where we left off last
week, shall we Patrick?
PATRICK nods, exhales deeply...
The room falls DEAD SILENT, except for --
-- the SOUND of the stopwatch: TICK, TICK, TICK...
CLOSE ON PATRICK struggling to form a sentence --
-- beads of sweat glistening on his beautiful, tortured face...
WELCOME TO HELL, PATRICK.
PATRICK'S HALLUCINATION MONTAGE - LATE EIGHTIES
(A variation of CAMERA ANGLES and OPTICAL PROCESSES underscore
the almost SURREAL sense of TERROR and CONFUSION during this
RAPID-FIRE MONTAGE).
...black and white news footage of buildings exploding... police
cars... neatly cut lines of cocaine... a CLIP of "Wheel of
Fortune": Vanna White turning two letters in a new puzzle,
subtitled "EVENT" -- xxxxxxDDxx... the American flag, proudly
blowing in the wind... a CLIP of RONALD REAGAN's Address on
Defense and National Security, March 23, 1983:
RONALD REAGAN
My fellow Americans, thank you for
sharing your time with me tonight.
...a cooing, happy baby... a sharpei... the Mets winning the 1986
World Series!... a CLIP of Huey Lewis and the News' video for
"Heart and Soul" -- Huey and his girl open a closet door and come
face to face with a speeding steam locomotive... BACK to REAGAN's
Address on Defense and National Security:
RONALD REAGAN
...I want to offer hope for the
future.
...a CLIP of "Alf"... PATRICK and LUIS French kissing... MORE
"Wheel of Fortune": a contestant spins the wheel... raw meat
hanging on a hook... nuclear reactors on Three Mile Island... the
Challenger exploding... a CLIP of TED BUNDY's FINAL DEATH-ROW
INTERVIEW:
TED BUNDY
...I grew up in a wonderful home with
two dedicated and loving Christian
parents...
...an Apple Macintosh computer... semi trucks on a freeway... an
AIDS rally: SILENCE = DEATH!... lottery balls being drawn by a
hardbody in a bikini... MORE "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna turning
another letter in the puzzle -- xxMxxxDDxx... a commercial for
shampoo: a woman looks into the camera, "Don't hate me because
I'm beautiful"... a CLIP of REAGAN's First Inaugural Address,
January 20, 1981:
RONALD REAGAN
From time to time, we have been
tempted to believe that society has
become too complex...
...the Royal Wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles... a
CLIP of the Smurfs... a CLIP of the video game "ZAXXON"... MORE
of the Challenger exploding... MORE of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
...I don't want to infer that I was
some helpless victim...
...crime scene tape around EVELYN's neighbor's brownstone... MORE
raw meat hanging on a hook... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS
French kissing... a CLIP of Berlin's video for "Sex"... dead fish
floating on the ocean... FLASHBACK to PAUL OWEN'S DEATH, blood
and gore everywhere... freight trains in a switching yard... MORE
of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
...I'm not blaming pornography for
what I've done...
...a black BMW BURNING in the middle of Fifth Avenue -- WITHOUT
SOUND... Pope John Paul blessing a crowd... a CLIP of "First
Blood - Part II": Sylvester Stallone firing a machine gun, biceps
bulging... a CLIP of REAGAN's State of the Union Address, 1985:
RONALD REAGAN
Of all the changes in the past twenty
years, none has more threatened our
sense of national well-being than the
explosion of violent crime.
...a CLIP of RONALD REAGAN being shot... a CLIP of the video game
"PAC-MAN": Pac-Man gobbling his way through a phosphorous maze,
four ghosts following close behind... a CLIP of GORDON GEKKO's
famous speech from WALL STREET:
GORDON GEKKO
...greed is good.
...automobiles rolling off an assembly line... a CLIP of WWF
Wrestling... Liberace playing the piano... MORE "Wheel of
Fortine": Pat Sajak saying, "Big money, come on, BIG MONEY!"...
Bernhard Goetz in a courtroom... hundred dollar bills rolling off
a printing press... BACK TO GORDON GEKKO:
GORDON GEKKO
Greed works, greed is right.
...a CLIP from "Body Double": a WOMAN being impaled by a power
drill... an ultrasound of a fetus... BACK TO REAGAN's 1985 State
of the Union Address:
RONALD REAGAN
There can be no economic revival in
ghettos when the most violent among us
are allowed to roam free.
...FLASHBACK: PATRICK killing PAUL OWEN... lines of unemployed
factory workers... Mikhial Gorbachev addressing a crowd... a CLIP
of the video game "Double Dragon": a computer-generated woman
being repeatedly whipped by cartoonish gang members... MORE OF
TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
People need to realize that those of
us who have been so influenced by
violence in the media--
...a CLIP of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks... Japanese
businessmen singing karaoke... EVELYN looking into the camera, "I
love you, Patrick"... footage of an airline disaster... MORE OF
TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
-- in particular pornographic
violence --
...a CLIP from a cheap PORNO: a WOMAN, "Oh god, fuck me, FUCK
ME!"... a severe automobile accident, blood and guts spilled on
the pavement... MORE of "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna turning the
letter "G" -- ARMAGxDDxx... FLASHBACK to PATRICK killing the
BLACK BUM... a CLIP of RONALD and NANCY REAGAN's Campaign Against
Drug Abuse speech, September 14, 1986:
RONALD REAGAN
Drugs are menacing our society.
They're threatening our values and
undercutting our institutions.
...oil soaked birds... a hungry rat... the crime scene tape
around EVELYN's neighbor's brownstone... a trailer park, rows and
rows of mobile homes... MORE lines of cocaine... MORE of TED
BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
-- are not inherent monsters. We are
your sons and we are your husbands.
And we grew up in regular families.
...a CLIP of the "CALIFORNIA RAISINS" dancing and singing...
FLASHBACK to PATRICK torturing the WHORE... a CLIP of REAGAN's
1984 State of the Union Address:
RONALD REAGAN
For a time we forgot the American
dream...
...a commercial for Kool-Aid, the "Kool-Aid Man" running through
a suburban yard... a CLIP of MTV's famous "Apollo rocket" station
identification... Moammar Quadaffi... a CLIP of REAGAN's address
to the nation after the Challenger disaster, January 28, 1986:
RONALD REAGAN
I know it is hard to understand, but
sometimes painful things like this
happen.
...a CLIP of MMMMMMAX HEADROOM!... Jim and Tammy Faye Baaker
crying... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS kissing... a
crucifix... the aftermath of the bombing in Beirut... a
commercial for Budweiser featuring Spuds Mackenzie... a CLIP of
RONALD and NANCY REAGAN'S Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
Today there's a new epidemic: smokable
cocaine, otherwise known as crack.
...a CLIP of the movie "Gremlins"... famine in Africa... a Toy's
R Us COMMERCIAL: "I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toy's R Us
Kid"... a CLIP of Genesis' video for "Land of Confusion"... MORE
OF THE SILENTLY BURNING BLACK BMW... MORE "Wheel of Fortune" --
the spinning wheel lands on BANKRUPT... BACK TO GORDON GEKKO:
GORDON GEKKO
Greed clarifies, cuts through, and
captures --
...Jimmy Swaggert crying... a commercial for Meow Mix: cats
singing along with a WOMAN... MORE footage of an airline
disaster... MORE of GORDON GEKKO:
GORDON GEKKO
-- the essence of the evolutionary
spirit.
MORE of the Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
NANCY REAGAN
...so much has happened over these
last years, so much to shake the
foundations of all that we know and
all that we believe in.
...babies crying... black and white footage of the Hindenberg
disaster... FLASHBACK: PATTY WINTER's Show about multiple
personalities... a CLIP of CNN... MORE of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
...we're talking about an influence
which was an indispensable link in the
chain of behavior--
...a CLIP of "The Cosby Show"... FLASHBACK: PATRICK wrestling
with the COP... a CLIP of "Miami Vice"... MORE of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
-- the chain of events that led to the
assaults, murders...
...MORE lines of cocaine... a CLIP from a JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER
DAY SAINTS public service announcement... a CLIP of the video
game, "Marble Madness"... MORE of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
Alcohol... with the use of pornography
reduced my inhibitions...
MORE of the Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
NANCY REAGAN
Say yes to your life. And when it
comes to drugs and alcohol just say
no.
...factories belching out filth and pollution...a CLIP of the
KEEP AMERICA BEAUTIFUL public service announcement: an AMERICAN
INDIAN surveys the land as a tear rolls down his cheek... MORE
"Wheel of Fortune": a contestant saying , "I'd like to solve the
puzzle, Pat"... MORE of the video game "Pac-Man": the ghosts
catch up to Pac-Man, ending his "life"... MORE of the Campaign
Against Drug Abuse Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
Think for a moment how special it is
to be an American.
...DETECTIVE KIMBALL: "I've changed my mind. I think I will take
that lime, Patrick"... a CLIP of ABC's video, "How To Be a
Zillionaire"... a CLIP of the television show, "Night Flight"...
MORE "Wheel of Fortune": the contestant carefully pronouncing,
"Arm-a-ged-don" -- the audience CHEERS!... MORE of the Campaign
Against Drug Abuse Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
To some extent, we are also victims of
our own success.
...a CLIP of "USA For Africa" musicians... a CLIP of the video
game "Sinistar": an evil face appears spinning through outer
space, laughing, "I HUNGER! I LIVE!"... a CLIP of a nuclear bomb
exploding... MORE famine in Africa... stainless steel surgical
instruments... a KKK rally... MORE of REAGAN's 1986 State of the
Union Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
This is reality. Closing your eyes
will not make reality disappear.
...a CLIP of OLIVER NORTH testifying before Congress... poachers
shooting elephants... crash test dummies... footage of the US
bombing of Libya... a CLIP of REAGAN's 1988 State of the Union
Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
How well prepared are we to enter the
Twenty-First Century?
...FLASHBACK: JEAN, "I think I'm in love with you"... FLASHBACK:
PATRICK killing the spider... a trailer park destroyed by a
tornado... MORE Japanese businessmen singing karaoke... Mt.
Fuji... POLICE shooting targets at a firing range... MORE of
REAGAN's 1983 State of the Union Speech:
RONALD REAGAN
Are we at the end?
...an anti-abortion protest... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS
kissing... MORE of the Challenger explosion... a commercial for
Wendy's, "Where's the Beef?"... MORE of MAX HEADROOM... a CLIP of
the 1984 presidential debate:
RONALD REAGAN
Where's the beef?
...MORE "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna finishes turning the remaining
letters -- ARMAGEDDON -- the contestant jumps up and down, Pat
and Vanna smile brightly... MORE of TED BUNDY:
TED BUNDY
What I hope will come of our
discussion is that society deserves
to be protected from itself...
-- a very loud RINGING ALARM from DR. NOVA's stopwatch INTERRUPTS
THE MONTAGE.
BACK TO SCENE
CLOSE ON PATRICK --
-- tears streaming down his face...
DR. NOVA (O.S.)
I'm sorry, Patrick. Our time is up.
INT BARNEY'S, MEN'S DEPARTMENT - DAY
ON PATRICK wandering through the men's department of an upscale
department store...
SOMETHING CATCHES HIS EYE --
-- he STOPS in front of a MALE MANNEQUIN stylishly dressed in an
expensive designer suit.
The strangely familiar MANNEQUIN bears far more than just a
passing resemblance to PATRICK... so life-like, yet so dead.
PATRICK stares in awe at the MANNEQUIN, devastated by how
impossibly hip the MANNEQUIN's suit actually is: the cut, the
fabric, the color, the pricetag...
PATRICK remains motionless, weakened by the MANNEQUIN's power,
gripped by a burning desire to... OWN THIS SUIT!
A VOICE INTERRUPTS PATRICK'S TRANCE --
LUIS (O.S.)
Patrick? Is that you?
PATRICK SNAPS back to REALITY:
LUIS CARRUTHERS has once again appeared without warning.
Virtually unrecognizable from his first appearance, LUIS has
successfully transformed himself into a SCREAMING QUEEN: jaguar-
print silk evening jacket, deerskin gloves, a felt hat, fur-lined
knee-high boots, aviator sunglasses...
LIBERACE, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh... my... god.
LUIS smiles expectantly, thrilled to have found his "MAN":
LUIS
Patrick? Hello?
PATRICK
Don't make me say it, Luis.
PATRICK casually looks over at LUIS, taking it all in stride...
even LUIS' presence can't make PATRICK forgot how fucking cool,
how utterly desirable the MANNEQUIN's designer threads really
are.
PATRICK has to have that goddamned SUIT!
LUIS
Patrick? What do you mean?
PATRICK
I'm ignoring you, Luis. Can't you
tell? I'm ignoring you.
LUIS carefully removes his expensive, yet hideous gloves --
LUIS
Patrick, can't we just talk?
-- THROWING them at PATRICK, hitting him in the head.
LUIS (CONT'D)
Patrick -- look at me!
PATRICK does his best to ignore LUIS' little outburst:
PATRICK
There is nothing, nothing to talk--
LUIS
(interrupting)
We can't go on like this. I can't go
on like this.
PATRICK
You are sick.
LUIS oh-so-casually examines his hand, checking his nails, trying
to avoid PATRICK's stare...
LUIS
If I'm sick it's because of you.
Because of you I am sick and I will
not get better.
PATRICK
You have distorted this obsession of
yours way out of proportion. Way, way
out of proportion.
LUIS
But I know you have the same feelings
I do. And I know that just because...
(beat; then)
Just because you won't admit...
certain feelings doesn't mean you
don't have them.
PATRICK tries to stay cool, but -- HE'S LOSING HIS GRIP!
The MANNEQUIN, the SUIT, LUIS... NO ONE deserves to go through
anything like this.
PATRICK
What are you trying to say?
LUIS whips off his sunglasses, dramatically illustrating his
point:
LUIS
That I know you feel the same way I
do.
(beat; then)
Is it so wrong to love you, Patrick?
PATRICK
Jesus Christ, Luis. Get a hold of
yourself.
LUIS
To want you? To want to be with you?
Is that so wrong?
PATRICK
What is this continuing inability you
have to evaluate this situation
rationally? Huh?
(beat; then)
Go away.
LUIS bursts into tears, falling to the floor at PATRICK's feet...
LUIS
Oh god, Patrick, why don't you like
me?
PATRICK looks around, embarrassed. THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS.
PATRICK manages to keep it together, but...
...LUIS is really, REALLY pushing the envelope.
PATRICK
Get up. Get up.
LUIS pounds his fist on the floor, crying like a baby, grabbing
at PATRICK's leg with his free hand...
Several other SHOPPERS pass nearby, gawking at the unbelievable
spectacle unfolding in the men's department.
PATRICK smiles and shrugs helplessly...
LUIS
Why can't we be together?
LUIS is having a complete and total NERVOUS BREAKDOWN on the
floor of the men's department in Barney's!
PATRICK looks around to see if he knows ANYONE in the store:
PATRICK
Because I... don't--
(beat; then almost whispering)
-- find you... sexually attractive.
PATRICK closes his eyes, trying to stay calm --
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I can't believe I actually said that.
(beat; then)
Leave me alone. Please.
LUIS
Please, Patrick, please don't leave
me.
-- but it's too late: PATRICK's face is bright red:
PATRICK
Listen to me, Luis. If you do not
stop crying, you fucking pathetic
faggot, I am going to slit your
fucking throat. Are you listening to
me? I mean it, Luis.
LUIS
(sobbing incoherently)
Oh just kill me. If I can't have you,
I don't want to live. I want to die.
PATRICK is at the end of his rope --
-- he grabs LUIS by the shoulders, SHAKING HIM VIOLENTLY:
PATRICK
Listen to me. ARE YOU LISTENING TO
ME? I don't usually warn people, so-
be-thankful-I-am-warning-you.
LUIS tenderly looks up at PATRICK, still dreaming the impossible
dream...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
You want to die, Luis? I'll do it, I
swear to god, Luis, I'll fucking kill
you. I'll rip your fucking stomach
open and cram your intestines down
your fucking faggot throat until you
choke on them.
LUIS
Please, Patrick, please. Listen to
me--
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Shut up, Luis. My god, just shut the
fuck up.
LUIS
I love you.
Realizing something, PATRICK CALMS DOWN...
PATRICK
I'm convinced Luis. You've convinced
me. Now get up.
PATRICK extends his hand --
-- LUIS takes it, pulling himself up off the floor...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Just, you know, have the guts to face,
uh, reality.
LUIS smiles sheepishly, blushing as --
-- PATRICK looks away, staring off into the distance at the rows,
the endless rows of well-dressed MANNEQUINS, all of which are
lifeless, inanimate carbon-copies of... PATRICK BATEMAN.
INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - DAY
PATRICK is comfortably reclined in his large leather chair,
expensive designer shoes defiantly kicked up on the desk, his
face buried in a book -- PETER FALLOW's bestseller, THE REAL
McCOY AND THE FORGOTTEN LAMB...
The INTERCOM BUZZES, interrupting his concentration:
JEAN (V.O., INTERCOM)
Patrick? Tim Price would like to see
you.
PATRICK stops reading -- he can't believe his ears. TIM PRICE?
PATRICK is too spaced out to even bother asking questions...
PATRICK
Send him... in.
Still recovering from the initial shock, PATRICK carefully sets
down his book and stands up as --
-- the office door BURSTS OPEN:
TIM PRICE enters the office, smiling, radiating confidence.
TIM looks remarkably well -- in fact, he has never looked better.
Inexplicably, there is a dark smudge in the shape of a cross on
TIM's forehead... very, very strange.
The two MEN shake hands, smiling.
PATRICK
Price. Where have you been?
PATRICK notices the smudge on TIM's forehead: my god, what in the
hell is that? Does he have AIDS? Sweet Jesus...
TIM
Oh, just making the rounds. But hey,
I'm back.
PATRICK gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, motioning
for TIM to have a seat...
Sitting down, TIM notices the RUBIX CUBE on PATRICK's desk.
He grabs the scrambled puzzle, absent-mindedly playing with it as
he talks to PATRICK, too cool to care about anything.
PATRICK
Far out. How was... it?
TIM
It was... surprising.
(beat; then suddenly quite far away)
It was... depressing.
(beat; then refocusing)
Hey, how are you, Bateman?
PATRICK
I'm okay. Just... existing.
TIM
And Evelyn? How is she?
PATRICK
Well, we broke up.
TIM
That's too bad. Courtney?
PATRICK
She married Luis.
TIM smirks, continues playing with the RUBIX'S CUBE...
...PATRICK falters, missing a beat as his mind struggles to make
sense of this bizarre encounter:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
You've been gone, like, forever, Tim.
What's the story?
TIM abruptly stands up.
TIM
I've been back. You probably just
missed me. Lost track, you know?
PATRICK picks up a dish of colorful jellybeans, offering them to
TIM:
PATRICK
Would you like a jellybean?
TIM declines, shaking his head --
TIM
You're a madman, Bateman. An animal.
-- as he drops the RUBIX CUBE on PATRICK's desk.
TIM (CONT'D)
A total animal.
TIM smiles widely, victorious.
PATRICK's eyes nearly POP out of his head when he notices --
-- all six sides of the RUBIX CUBE now display solid colors.
TIM PRICE SOLVED THE PUZZLE!
PATRICK slowly shakes his head, FLABBERGASTED.
PATRICK
I can't disagree.
INT TAXI CAB - DAY
PATRICK sits in the back seat of a taxi slowly making its way
through Mid-town gridlock.
Wearing his favorite pair of black Ray-Bans, PATRICK half-
heartedly reads the Wall Street Journal as his Walkman blasts out
music loud enough to be heard a mile away.
The bearded, Middle Eastern TAXI DRIVER suspiciously eyes PATRICK
in the rearview mirror --
-- PATRICK notices the TAXI DRIVER's stare as he carefully
refolds the newspaper, putting it down.
PATRICK looks away, avoiding the TAXI DRIVER's eyes --
-- but it's too late... the TAXI DRIVER knocks on the plexiglass
divider, motioning for PATRICK to remove his headphones.
PATRICK slowly removes the WALKMAN, visibly irate.
A LOUD CLICK as the car doors automatically LOCK SHUT.
The cab lurches forward, breaking out of traffic as it turns onto
the West Side Highway, heading down to Wall Street...
PATRICK
(irritated)
Yes? What?
The cab swerves into the far right lane, speeding.
TAXI DRIVER
Hey, don't I know you?
PATRICK
No.
PATRICK begins to put his headphones back on --
TAXI DRIVER
You look familiar.
PATRICK
No I don't. You don't either.
(beat; then attempting to be friendly)
Chris Hagen.
A sly, knowing smile creeps across the TAXI DRIVER's face...
TAXI DRIVER
Come on. I know who you are.
PATRICK
I'm in a movie. I'm an actor. A
model.
TAXI DRIVER
Nah, that's not it.
(beat; then stuggling to remember)
I've seen your face somewhere.
PATRICK
You have? Really? Interesting. Just
watch the road, Abdullah.
PATRICK reopens the newspaper, flipping through it as the TAXI
DRIVER continues staring at him, trying to remember where he has
seen PATRICK before...
...the TAXI DRIVER's face suddenly lights up:
TAXI DRIVER
I know. Man, I know who you are.
The car rapidly accelerates, running through a RED LIGHT.
TAXI DRIVER (CONT'D)
You're the guy who kill Solly.
PATRICK lowers his sunglasses, glaring at the TAXI DRIVER:
PATRICK
Who, may I ask, is Sally?
TAXI DRIVER
Man, your face is on a wanted poster
downtown.
PATRICK takes a deep breath...
PATRICK
I think I would like to stop here.
TAXI DRIVER
You're the guy, right?
PATRICK slowly shakes his head "no"... this isn't happening, this
CAN'T be happening... trembling, PATRICK removes a pen from his
briefcase:
PATRICK
I am going to take your license number
down--
TAXI DRIVER
(interrupting)
You kill Solly. You son-of-a-bitch!
EXT DOWNTOWN DOCKS - DAY
A speeding yellow taxi cab swerves off the highway, racing into a
deserted parking lot...
INT TAXI CAB - DAY
The TAXI DRIVER races through the parking lot, CRASHING into a
rusty aluminum fence, knocking it down --
-- PATRICK IS TERRIFIED, his hands twisted into paralyzed fists,
his knuckles white.
WHAT IS THIS CRAZY FUCKING CAB DRIVER DOING?
A flock of seagulls scatter as the car nears water...
The TAXI DRIVER stops the car and turns around --
-- pointing a HANDGUN at PATRICK:
TAXI DRIVER
The watch.
PATRICK
Is this some kind of prank?
TAXI DRIVER
Get out.
A LOUD CLICK as the DOORS UNLOCK --
TAXI DRIVER (CONT'D)
Get the fuck out of the car.
PATRICK gathers up his briefcase, opens the car door and
cautiously steps out of the vehicle.
The TAXI DRIVER remains seated behind the wheel as he leans out
the window, his gun pointed at PATRICK's head:
TAXI DRIVER (CONT'D)
The watch, you scumbag.
PATRICK
Listen, I don't know what it is you
think you're going to accomplish or
what it is you think you're going to
be able to do. I've never been
fingerprinted, I have alibis--
TAXI DRIVER
(waving the gun, interrupting)
Shut up! Just shut your fucking
mouth!
PATRICK
I am innocent.
The TAXI DRIVER cocks the gun.
TAXI DRIVER
The watch.
PATRICK unhooks his ROLEX, sliding it off his wrist... he
reluctantly hands it to the TAXI DRIVER.
TAXI DRIVER (CONT'D)
Wallet. Just the cash.
PATRICK slowly opens his wallet, handing over the cash.
PATRICK
What are you going to do? Isn't there
a reward of some kind?
TAXI DRIVER
No. No reward.
PATRICK
How do you know I'm not going to call
you in and get your license revoked?
TAXI DRIVER
Because you're guilty.
PATRICK removes a small blood-stained knife from his coat
pocket... where'd this come from? He examines it cautiously,
offering it to the TAXI DRIVER --
PATRICK
Like you know.
TAXI DRIVER
The sunglasses. Get the knife away
from me.
PATRICK
How do you know I'm guilty?
TAXI DRIVER
Look what you're doing, asshole. The
sunglasses.
PATRICK
These are expensive.
Immediately realizing his mistake, PATRICK lamely attempts to
correct himself...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I mean cheap. They're very cheap.
Just... isn't the money enough?
TAXI DRIVER
The sunglasses. Give them now.
PATRICK removes his Ray-Bans and hands them over. The TAXI
DRIVER tries them on -- he looks at himself in the rearview
mirror and smiles before taking them off and putting them in his
jacket pocket.
PATRICK
You're a dead man.
TAXI DRIVER
And you're a yuppie scumbag.
PATRICK
You're a dead man. Count on it.
The TAXI DRIVER starts up the cab...
TAXI DRIVER
Yeah? And you're a yuppie scumbag.
Which is worse?
...and steps on the gas, SQUEALING AWAY.
PATRICK IS STRANDED.
Humiliated and broken, PATRICK slowly begins the painful walk
back to the highway, Manhattan's SKYLINE LOOMING dramatically in
the distance...
PATRICK slows down, choking back a sob:
PATRICK
(chanting under his breath)
I just want to... keep the game going,
I just want... to keep... the game...
going... I just want...
A crusty old HOMELESS WOMAN hobbles out from behind a "Les
Miserables" poster at a deserted bus stop. She holds out a puffy
red hand, begging for change.
PATRICK tries to shoo her off --
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Oh, will you please go away?
-- but she won't go down without a fight:
HOMELESS WOMAN
Get a decent haircut.
PATRICK stares at her, ASTONISHED --
-- pushed over the edge, PATRICK breaks down CRYING hysterically,
HOWLING like an animal.
INT HARRY'S - NIGHT
Harry's is jam-packed tonight. A quick scan of the CROWD reveals
the usual host of familiar YUPPIES FACES -- yet something is
different about Harry's tonight... something has changed.
Several large television monitors hang suspended from the
ceiling.
ON EVERY TELEVISION SET:
RONALD REAGAN has just begun delivering his farewell address to
the nation --
RONALD REAGAN
It's been the honor of my life to be
your president. So many of you have
written the past few weeks to say
thanks, but I could say as much to
you. Nancy and I are grateful for...
-- REAGAN's speech drones on, barely audible above the NOISE of
the CROWD.
PATRICK sits at a table near the back with CRAIG McDERMOTT and
DAVID VAN PATTEN. The three MEN mostly ignore each other, each
lost in his own private vision of hell:
CRAIG concentrates on the portable stock-quotation device sitting
on the table in front of him as --
-- DAVID half-heartedly watches REAGAN's speech on a nearby
television, lazily sipping from his martini --
-- and PATRICK scans the CROWD looking for BABES, bored...
SOMEONE catches PATRICK's eye --
-- he squints, rubbing his eyes...
OH MY GOD!
Seated three tables away is PAUL OWEN -- ALIVE and WELL!
PATRICK nearly falls out of his chair... IT CAN'T BE!
He looks over at PAUL OWEN's table again, but --
-- PAUL IS NO LONGER THERE... in his place: a generic YUPPIE look
alike.
PATRICK runs a nervous hand through his hair, relieved... of
course PAUL OWEN isn't in Harry's tonight! PAUL OWEN is not here
tonight because... HE IS DEAD!
CRAIG and DAVID remain oblivious to PATRICK's "discovery".
PATRICK takes a long sip from his cocktail, turning his attention
to RONALD REAGAN.
ON TELEVISION:
RONALD REAGAN
It's been quite a journey this decade,
and we held together through some
stormy seas. And at the end,
together, we are reaching our
destination.
Fortified by his cocktail, PATRICK once again finds the strength
to look around the room:
PAUL OWEN is definitely not in HARRY's tonight, although...
...DONALD TRUMP is standing at the bar!
PATRICK bursts out laughing... DONALD TRUMP, of course!
CRAIG and DAVID laugh along with him, involuntarily, not wanting
to be left out --
RONALD REAGAN (O.S.)
America is respected again in the
world and looked to for leadership...
-- predictably, their attention quickly returns to the television
set...
PATRICK once again looks over at the BAR:
Not only is DONALD TRUMP still standing at the bar -- he has now
been joined by... PAUL OWEN! The two of them laugh and smile,
patting each other on the back, old friends.
Noticing PATRICK, they BOTH turn around and raise their champagne
flutes, offering a toast from across the room --
-- PATRICK smiles, laughing out loud as he raises his glass in
response, returning the gesture...
TIM PRICE walks up to the table, taking a seat next to PATRICK.
Nursing a fresh cocktail, TIM watches RONALD REAGAN's televised
speech in horrified silence, methodically sucking on each one of
his ice cubes before spitting them back into the cocktail glass.
TIM is obviously not pleased with the PRESIDENT's speech: he
rapidly graduates from spitting the ice cubes out to crushing
them between his perfect set of teeth, his frustration level
reaching new heights.
ON TELEVISION:
RONALD REAGAN
Common sense told us that when you put
a big tax on something, the people
will produce less of it. So, we cut
people's tax rates, and the people
produced more than ever before. The
economy bloomed like a plant that had
been cut back and could now grow
quicker and stronger...
TIM motions to the nearest television monitor, to RONALD REAGAN's
enormous techni-color head:
TIM
How can he lie like that? How can he
pull that shit?
This comment gets everyone's full attention -- all eyes are now
on TIM:
PATRICK
Oh Christ. What shit? What the hell
are you talking about?
TIM continues to stare at the television, slack-jawed...
TIM
I don't believe it. He looks so...
normal. He seems so... out of it.
So... undangerous.
CRAIG
He is totally harmless, you asshole.
Just like you are totally harmless.
Look at Bateman over there... I'll bet
he's totally harmless, aren't you
buddy?
PATRICK
(doing a terrible REAGAN impression)
I have no recollection of any wrong
doing whatsoever.
DAVID and CRAIG laugh, high-fiving each other...
TIM
I just don't get how someone, anyone,
can appear that way yet be involved in
such total shit.
RONALD REAGAN (O.S.)
The lesson of all this was, of course,
that because we're a great nation, our
challenges seem complex.
DAVID
How about because Nancy was right
behind him? Because Nancy did it all?
TIM turns away from the television, focusing on DAVID:
TIM
How can you be so fucking, I don't
know -- cool about it?
DAVID
Some guys are just born cool, I guess.
PATRICK looks around, noticing other familiar FACES in the CROWD:
PETER FALLOW, BUD FOX, and the WHORE from the Meat-packing
District are sitting four tables away, laughing and talking...
...ANOTHER ANGLE -- DETECTIVE KIMBALL and the WOMAN FROM BARNEY'S
sitting at another table conversing with the MAITRE 'D from
DORSIA...
...ANOTHER ANGLE -- the LIMO DRIVER and AL THE BUM are in a booth
talking to two gorgeous MODELS...
...ANOTHER ANGLE -- the beautiful WOMAN FROM TUNNEL walks by
PATRICK's table, pouting her full red lips, silently blowing him
a kiss...
PATRICK bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of this entire
situation: TIM's overreaction, DAVID's lame response, the DEAD
walking among the LIVING... it's all too much.
TIM is having a difficult time tolerating PATRICK's wild fit of
laughter --
TIM
And Bateman -- what are you so fucking
zany about?
PATRICK
I'm just a happy camper. Don't worry,
Price. Be happy.
CRAIG
Be all that you can be.
TIM
Oh brother. Look...
(beat; then pointing at the television)
He presents himself as a harmless old
codger. But inside...
(beat; then looking at the GUYS)
But inside...
CRAIG
Inside? Yes, inside? Go on, Tim.
TIM does his best to come up with an intelligent response, some
kind of answer, but... he comes up with nothing.
Desperate, he turns to PATRICK:
TIM
Bateman - help me out, here. What do
you think about this?
PATRICK neatly folds his hands, resting them on the table as he
carefully considers what he wants to say... eventually he finds
the magic words:
PATRICK
Inside... doesn't matter.
THERE IS NO RESPONSE.
CRAIG, DAVID and TIM turn their attention back to REAGAN...
Fed up with the whole situation, PATRICK turns around, facing the
back of Harry's --
-- his mind a complete mess, PATRICK manages to focus his
attention on the red velvet drapes partially covering the back
door to Harry's...
RONALD REAGAN (O.S.)
...a final word to the men and women
of the Reagan revolution, the men and
women across America who for eight
years did the work that brought
America back. My friends: We did it.
(MORE)
...above the door there is a SIGN, clearly legible from PATRICK's
POV --
RONALD REAGAN (CONT'D, O.S.)
We weren't just marking time. We made
a difference. We made the city
stronger, we made the city freer, and
we left her in good hands. All in
all, not bad, not bad at all.
-- THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.
ROLL CREDITS.
INTERRUPT CREDITS --
-- EXTREME CLOSE UP on PATRICK BATEMAN:
PATRICK
I've been a big fan of Genesis ever
since the release of their 1980 album,
Duke. Although I found all of their
previous albums to be too artsy, too
intellectual, I was able to embrace
Duke, mainly because the music became
more modern, the drum machine became
more prevalent and the lyrics started
getting less mystical, more specific.
Complex, ambiguous studies of loss
became, instead, first-rate pop songs.
A classic example of this is
"Misunderstanding", which not only was
the group's first big hit of the
Eighties, but also seemed to set the
tone for the rest of the decade.
Duke was followed almost immediately
by ABACAB, yet another weapon in an
increasingly impressive musical
arsenal. Once again the songs
reflect dark emotions, focusing on
people who feel lost or are in
conflict. Sound depressing? Hardly.
The production and sound, courtesy of
producer Hugh Padgham, are gleaming
and upbeat. One of my favorite songs,
"Who Dunnit?" profoundly expresses the
theme of confusion over a funky groove
and what makes this song so exciting
is that it ends with its narrator
never finding anything out at all--
CUT TO BLACK as --
-- Alfred Hitchcock's infamous "PSYCHO" strings fill the theater.
THE END