Editorials
‘American Psycho: The Musical’ Delivers Killer Looks and Catchy Hooks in Chicago [Event Report]
There is no exit for American Psycho. Bret Easton Ellis‘ hilarious and grisly novel has hardly gathered dust since its 1991 publication, thanks to the shock and awe of the narrative, the ensuing cultural reaction, and, no doubt, Mary Harron‘s slick 2000 feature adaptation that re-introduced Christian Bale to a post-Newsies generation (and also nabbed him the cowl). Blame it on the dark humor, the ’80s nostalgia, or our predilection for primal indulgences, but Patrick Bateman remains one of the rare cultish enigmas of the 21st century. One that is seemingly impervious to memes, merch, and even a middling DTV sequel.
But what about a musical? These days it’s perhaps no surprise that even Ellis isn’t immune to Broadway’s IP-driven pursuits. Yet there was admittedly a slight reluctance in seeing this particular story leap from page to stage. After all, the journey to celluloid alone was paved with myriad What-ifs and it nearly perished in development hell. Alas, we’re now 10 years into its run (the show premiered back in 2013 with Matt Smith in London — sheesh), and, you know what, it’s hard to imagine ever doubting this could work. Songwriter Duncan Sheik and playwright Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa pieced together a musical both hilarious and delectable.
Photo by Evan Hanover
That much was obvious this past weekend at Chicago’s Chopin Theater, where director Derek Van Barham kept the musical fresh and vital with an intimate production that married the bisexual aesthetics of Harron’s feature and the sugary cynicism of Ellis’ source material. The setup was invigorating: a slim runway fitting for models, glossed over with business cards, and lightning you’d imagine would flood Bateman hangouts like Tunnel, Canal, Au Bar, or Nell’s. They do a lot with very little space, whether it’s through wise blocking (a post-Huey Paul Owens is incorporated wisely) or through props (chairs do some heavy lifting).
Of course, none of it would work without a star that could not only match Bale’s iconic turn but also give us something different. For Chicagoans this past season, that tough, tall task went to Kyle Patrick. To say he delivered is an understatement: Beyond his chiseled looks — there’s a lot of skin in this production — Patrick grooved within Sheik’s New Wave anthems and cruised through the cast with the grace of a veteran shark. More importantly, though, he managed to inject enough pathos into Bateman’s neutered underbelly, those gasps when we see the “real” man within, and it’s those moments Patrick sliced into with glee.
Photo by Evan Hanover
Die-hard readers of Ellis will revel in seeing a number of memorable sequences from the pages, be it Tom Cruise’s elevator cameo to Bateman’s purgatorial visit to the Hamptons. Granted, a few of these inclusions add some heft to the runtime, but they also spotlight a side of the novel that is often overshadowed by the humor and the set pieces. Sheik and Aguirre-Sacasa saw right into the existential dilemma at the center of the novel in ways that the feature only scratches. That alone is worth the admission (particularly for readers), and adds a little more weight to a musical that could have easily leaned on strictly camp.
Again, this production has been around for 10 years, so perhaps there’s no new knowledge that can be extracted from my telling and this review has meant nothing. But, speaking candidly, it was quite a revelation to see IP utilized in a way that didn’t feel gluttonous or an overcapitalization. This musical — or, at least, how it was envisioned by Kokandy Productions here in Chicago — was an absolute delight. It’s crazy, it’s sexy, and there’s a cool to it all that’s in line with the source material, where killer looks and catchy hooks is the real high to each day-to-day. Being a part of that for two hours felt like a new drug.
For more information, visit Kokandy Productions.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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