The Bret Easton Ellis novel American Psycho; a dark; violent satire of the "me" culture of Ronald Reagan's 1980s; is certainly one of the most controversial books of the '90s; and that notoriety fueled its bestseller status. This smart; savvy adaptation by Mary Harron (I Shot Andy Warhol) may be able to ride the crest of the notoriety; prior to the film's release; Harron fought a ratings battle (ironically; for depictions of sex rather than violence); but at the time the director stated; "We're rescuing [the book] from its own bad reputation." Harron and co-screenwriter Guinevere Turner (Go Fish) overcome many of the objections of Ellis's novel by keeping the most extreme violence offscreen (sometimes just barely); suggesting the reign of terror of yuppie killer Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) with splashes of blood and personal souvenirs. Bale is razor sharp as the blank corporate drone; a preening tiger in designer suits whose speaking voice is part salesman; part self-help guru; and completely artificial. Carrying himself with the poised confidence of a male model; he spends his days in a numbing world of status-symbol one-upmanship and soul-sapping small talk; but breaks out at night with smirking explosions of homicide; accomplished with the fastidious care of a hopeless obsessive. The film's approach to this mayhem is simultaneously shocking and discreet; even Bateman's outrageous naked charge with a chainsaw is most notable for the impossibly polished and gleaming instrument of death. Harron's film is a hilarious; cheerfully insidious hall of mirrors all pointed inward; slowly cracking as the portrait becomes increasingly grotesque and insane. --Sean Axmaker