American Psycho at the Almeida Theatre is as slick, unsettling and darkly exhilarating as Bret Easton Ellis’s notorious novel, and as culturally incisive as the cult film that followed. Under Rupert Goold’s direction, this revival feels both reverent and fiercely contemporary, carving out something tense, modern and unmistakably theatrical.

The opening image alone establishes the production’s authority. Patrick Bateman’s silhouette emerges centre stage behind a steamed-up glass shower, a striking visual that immediately evokes his obsession with surfaces, bodies and control. It’s cool, clinical and iconic, landing with absolute precision. From that moment on, the production never loosens its grip.

At its centre is Arty Froushan’s extraordinary Patrick Bateman, a performance of remarkable control and ferocity. Razor-sharp and seductively charming one moment, terrifying the next, Froushan navigates Bateman’s psychological fragmentation with chilling ease. His physical precision, vocal restraint and sudden explosive releases feel meticulously calibrated. For anyone who saw his recent work in The Line of Beauty, this performance confirms him as one of the most compelling actors working today: magnetic, intelligent and utterly fearless.

Equally unforgettable is Asha Parker-Wallace, whose performance contains one of the production’s most harrowing moments. Her scream, raw, visceral and impossible to shake, reverberates long after the lights go down. It cuts cleanly through the stylisation, landing with brutal emotional clarity and reminding us of the very real human cost beneath the satire.

Anastasia Martin is quietly superb as Jean, grounding the chaos with warmth and vulnerability. Her performance provides one of the show’s most affecting counterpoints to Bateman’s hollow world: a painfully human presence amid the excess. Oli Higginson and Alex James-Hatton also impress, navigating multiple roles with precision, humour and menace, contributing to an ensemble that is sharply defined and never anonymous.

The set design is modern, oppressive and unrelenting: all clean lines and cold surfaces, a glossy cage that mirrors Bateman’s meticulously curated life. It shifts constantly without ever offering relief, reinforcing a sense of surveillance, repetition and moral emptiness. Lighting and sound work in lockstep to maintain a relentlessly taut atmosphere, oscillating between moments of blinding excess and sudden, unnerving stillness.

Musically, the production leans fully into pop-inflected theatrical storytelling. The original score channels the era’s synthetic sheen and emotional artificiality, and the songs don’t interrupt the narrative — they are the narrative. Storytelling through song is handled with thrilling confidence, propelling the plot while deepening character psychology. The contrast between glossy musicality and extreme violence is exploited to devastating effect.

Movement and choreography are equally powerful, often communicating more than dialogue ever could. Bodies move in rigid unison before fracturing into chaos; power dynamics are articulated through posture, proximity and repetition. The physical storytelling is sharp, deliberate and deeply unsettling, making the quiet moments — the pauses, the stillness, the withheld violence — almost unbearable in their intensity.

Rupert Goold’s direction deserves particular praise. He resists the temptation to sensationalise, trusting both the material and the performers. The result is a production that is stylish without being hollow, shocking without being gratuitous, and darkly funny without ever undercutting its menace. The humour opens the door; the horror slams it shut.

Drawing from Ellis’s original novel while remaining in constant conversation with Mary Harron’s film starring Christian Bale, this American Psycho understands its legacy and confidently steps beyond it. This is not nostalgia, but a sharp, modern re-interrogation of masculinity, consumerism, identity and violence, delivered with precision and nerve.

By the final moments, the theatre seemed to hold a collective breath: laughter caught in throats, silence thick with unease. It’s rare to encounter a production that balances spectacle, psychological depth and formal innovation with such assurance. The Almeida has delivered something bold, disturbing and electrifying — a night of theatre that lingers, scratches at you, and refuses to let go.

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