American Psycho at Almeida Theatre

From Bret Easton Ellis’s diabolical novel to Christian Bale’s iconic screen portrayal, the American Psycho himself, Patrick Bates has been fascinating (and shocking) audiences for over 30 years. But the dark satire of American vanity and greed seems as relevant as ever, so it’s apt timing for director Rupert Goold to bring this musical adaptation back to the stage at the Almeida Theatre. Musical theatre might not seem a natural choice of genre for a story about a violent psychotic, but this full-throttle onslaught of a show is as compelling as it is relentless.

For the uninitiated, American Psycho takes us back to late-80s New York, an era of big money, big egos and big hair. Patrick Bateman, turning 27, is living the yuppie dream: a high-rolling investment banker, he and his crew are obsessed with wearing the latest fashions and hitting the coolest clubs. But amidst all this excess, Patrick feels an emptiness in his life – one that can only be filled by a very dark nocturnal hobby.

Returning to a show he’s directed before, Goold is clearly at ease – American Psycho is a slick production. The staging and choreography (the latter from Lynne Page) are exceptional, encapsulating the frenetic energy of Manhattan and Bateman’s inner rage. The set from Es Devlin features a trapdoor, which Goold uses frequently to great effect, with characters eerily sliding in and out of view. Brilliant lighting, video and sound design (Jon Clark, Finn Ross and Dan Moses Schreier, respectively) give the show a jagged, juddery edge, emulating Patrick’s chaotic worldview.

These technical choices perfectly set the tone of the show, a black comedy that juxtaposes extreme vanity with extreme violence. It’s jarring but purposefully so. It’s also wonderfully funny, thanks to the book from Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, but carries some deeper truths as well. Much of this is conveyed by lead Arty Froushan; the cast are all fantastic, but the production truly belongs to him. Froushan is phenomenal as Bateman, exceptionally charming but always with the hint of insecurity and violence that lies beneath. It also doesn’t hurt that he embodies Bateman’s good looks, with a jawline as sharp as one of Patrick’s axes.

There are some elements of American Psycho that might deserve criticism, but the show pulls them off with its irrelevant, satirical approach. Duncan Sheik’s original music, for example, isn’t particularly memorable, and the best numbers are clever reworks of 80s pop hits. But that falls in line with the show’s tongue-in-cheek humour: full-blown belters would be far too earnest for Patrick’s vacuous world. Similarly, if the show drags a little in act one (after the umpteenth scene about suits or skincare or restaurant reservations), that’s sort of the point: we’re bored of it because Patrick’s bored of it.

This is Goold’s goodbye as Artistic Director of the Almeida, before he takes over the reins at The Old Vic. It’s a fitting farewell – a near-faultless production that uses all the tools of good theatre to tell a brilliant, thought-provoking story.