Bret Easton Ellis once believed American Psycho was impossible to adapt for the screen, yet Mary Harron’s 2000 film quickly became a cult classic. The question then becomes how a story so tied to excess, abstraction and inner monologue can translate into a stage musical.
When Rupert Goold first premiered this version at the Almeida in 2013, the result was bold and divisive. Now, in a full circle moment, Goold returns to the material for his final production as Artistic Director. More than a decade on, the revival feels sharpened, sleeker and more psychologically driven, carving out a new identity while acknowledging the show’s notorious history.
Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s book keeps close to the film’s narrative beats. Patrick Bateman, an ambitious Wall Street investment banker, hides a violent double life as a serial killer behind designer labels and an obsessive quest for reservations at the elusive Dorsia.
The danger, the satire and the shallowness all swirl together as status becomes its own form of currency. Anyone who saw the Broadway transfer will know that it leaned heavily into blood splatter and graphic gore. This revival pares that back, giving the story a more psychological twist.
Arty Froushan’s Patrick is key to this shift. His cool, almost porcelain exterior suggests control, yet beneath it flickers a twitchy neurosis. Froushan resists caricature: he allows us, disconcertingly, to sympathise with Patrick’s desire to be seen and validated, even as the bodies begin to pile up. In a world dominated by greed and self‑mythology, he becomes both predator and product.
Es Devlin’s set design reinforces the psychological tilt. The stage resembles a sleek catwalk, its surface illuminated by shifting LED patterns that create locations, mood and even the illusion of blood splatter, all without resorting to literal gore.
Pair this with Lynne Page’s choreography, precise to the point of militaristic, and the result is a world where marching, conformity and surface perfection reflect the era’s obsession with image. The 1980s excess becomes almost ritualistic. Even the looming presence of Donald Trump, referenced repeatedly as an avatar of aspiration and narcissism, feels eerily contemporary.
Duncan Sheik’s score leans into the darker corners of the narrative. There is an unmistakable eighties synth undercurrent, yet the music acts more as commentary than crowd‑pleaser. This is not a score you hum on the tube home, but its atmospheric pulse deepens the story’s anxiety and sense of dislocation.
This American Psycho cast deliver across the board, creating a world where charisma and cruelty operate in the same breath. Oli Higginson is a standout as Timothy Price, capturing the swaggering bravado of the Wall Street elite with sharply observed precision. Anastasia Martin brings quiet emotional weight to Jean, offering one of the production’s few points of genuine warmth. Her understated performance becomes essential, grounding the production in humanity and reminding us of the real people obscured by Bateman’s fantasies.
Alex James-Hatton is superb as Sean Bateman, combining crisp vocals with a knowing confidence that perfectly fits Patrick’s younger and more reckless brother. Emily Barber is delightful as Evelyn Williams, her bright social veneer masking insecurities that occasionally flicker through, and Daniel Bravo’s Paul Owen exudes a stylish, effortless cool that makes his rivalry with Patrick both amusing and chilling.
Overall, this is a company that understands American Psycho’s tonal balance, embracing its satire, its horror and its hollowness with equal commitment. And if the ending leaves audiences strangely hesitant to head straight for the exit, that only reinforces Goold’s achievement. Like the film’s famously ambiguous finale, this revival lingers unsettlingly in the mind, refusing to supply neat answers. Goold’s final Almeida production is a slick and sinister triumph.
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