Review by James Burgess
Outgoing artistic director of the Almeida, Rupert Goold, bows out of his tenure (before assuming the same post at The Old Vic) by again directing this powerhouse revival, which was his inaugural production here, back in 2013. It’s based on Bret Easton Ellis’s infamously controversial novel, so much so, that for such a New York-based setting, it ironically underperformed on Broadway in 2016, perhaps seen as too extreme by some of the very people it was satirising? An absolute star-making performance from Christian Bale was immortalised on film in 2000, with Mary Harron’s brilliant version.
A lacerating satire on eighties post-modernist consumerism, this current version has lost absolutely none of its visceral impact and dollops of dark humour, in fact, quite the opposite. In an age where lives are documented for self-affirmation, themes of conformity and popularity in our instantaneous doom-scrolling era, as well as the advent of so-called toxic masculinity, remain as disturbingly prescient as ever.
These are characters who are the very encapsulation of vacuous, Upper East-Side materialism.
The personification of this is the ultimate anti-protagonist, Patrick Bateman. He seems to have it all: looks, wealth, success, the best business card of his co-workers and yet, those titular, pre-curser tendencies, are perpetually bubbling up under the surface. In one brilliant moment at his birthday party, his girlfriend Evelyn remarks that there’s no knife to cut the cake, to which he quickly replies: ‘I have one’, suddenly producing a knife from his suit pocket. Cue audible, stunned tension from the audience, before snapping us back into gripped silence.
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| Photo by Marc Brenner. |
Arty Froushan is absolutely terrific as Bateman. Charming and funny one minute, in stylish shades, murderously cold the next, it’s a gradually unravelling, constantly difficult balancing act between flashes of, if never understanding, then at least occasional vulnerability. Wall Street banker by day in mergers and acquisitions (or, over the noise of the club, was that ‘murders and executions?’), followed by ‘engaging in homicidal activity on a massive scale’. Froushan handles the switch between personable, coolly collected and macabre, magnificently.
All that matters is what designer you’re wearing, skincare routine, which music you listen to (the Walkman - remember them?), which high-end restaurant you can secure reservations at, and what you order on the menu: (I’ll have the tomato reduction’). It’s also chillingly up to date, never pulling its punches. When trying to book a table at their much-frequented Dorsia, a character says: ‘Not even (a high profile, deceased figure whose name is at the epi-centre of a colossal scandal in the news at the moment) can get in there’. Terrifyingly, Bateman’s role-model is also Trump no less, another reason why reviving it now has become so horribly relevant. Aspiring to live by Trump’s The Art Of The Deal, but never managing to buy a copy – ‘it’s sold out everywhere’ - is a metaphor for Bateman never quite being as on the button with pop culture as he assumes he is: ‘Cocktail with Tom Cruise, a shoo-in for the Oscar’. This satirical humour succeeds in both being played for laughs (Oli Higginson turns Trump himself into a brief elevator cameo), whilst also acting as a timely reminder of our present political turmoil.
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| Photo by Marc Brenner. |
When his murderous intentions do come to bloody fruition, the intimacy and immersion of the Almeida is the ideal theatre to be as close to the thrilling intensity of the horror as possible. I was lucky enough to be on the front row, often locking eyes with the cast as Bateman’s murderous escapades ensued. One of my favourite moments is the now iconic axe-wielding scene with a raincoat (Burbury, of course), set to the sunny incongruity of Huey Lewis And The News’s Hip To Be Square. The violence itself is never graphically shown, but is totally effective in its simplicity, as well as how it’s explained: ‘I spilt some cranberry juice on my shirt’…
Thanks to Es Devlin’s clever, neon set – lots of red strobe lighting, gingerly used theatrical blood - I didn’t need a raincoat myself! A rising central platform works so well, because it can represent many forms: Patrick’s office, his shower, the stalls of a Broadway theatre, or a yellow taxi. Finn Ross’s video design, even turns the raised rectangular block of staging, into a swimming pool.
But it’s the human ensemble who always work best. Their tight, slick synchronicity is astounding. Deservedly, Lynne Page’s choreography is Olivier-nominated. Endlessly inventive, the movement is just as sharp whether they’re in gym (Hardbodies) the erratic whirl of a downtown club (Killing Spree) or exclusive opulence of a Christmas party (Mistletoe Alert).
Not all of Duncan Sheik’s songs are memorable; the electro-synth pop feel of most of them can meld into one occasionally - but the sheer dynamism of the yuppie staging aesthetic, coupled with a back catalogue of eighties hits, including New Order’s True Faith and Phil Collins’s In The Air Tonight – means it hardly matters.
I just wish its run was on for longer. It’s a brilliant satirical comment on how the vapid, hollow, ultra-wealthy elite can be psychologically driven to the ultimate extremity. Uncompromising, bitterly funny and utterly striking, it’s also up for Best Musical Revival. Froushan’s excellent tour-de-force performance, absolutely should’ve been recognised too. He’s magnetic casting, unpredictably charismatic and steals it completely.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
American Psycho runs at the Almeida Theatre in London until Saturday 21st March 2026. All performances are sold out. https://almeida.co.uk/whats-on/american-psycho-2026/
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| Photo by Marc Brenner. |
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