That's right, folks. The story of an uptight, button-down, 1980's Wall Street-er so desperate to escape his repressed, workaholic, cocaine-infused lifestyle that he starts murdering all those around him... starting with co-workers, then friends, then an ex (haven't we all wanted to do this? Okay, maybe TMI...) and then finally round after round of hookers, until he finally confesses his misdeeds to a guy at an office party... who doesn't believe him. Why? Because one of the co-workers Michael Bateman (Christian Bale's character) has just confessed to killing is ALIVE and in the NEXT ROOM. How could this be, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you. It's because the author -- Bret Easton Ellis -- is a genius. And because IT NEVER HAPPENED. Bateman concocted the entire reality simply to escape his unhappy, greed-fueled existence. He never actually killed anybody... though he may have wanted to.
And now, dear Reb Debs, Michael is leaping down from the big screen to the stage. Not sure if I'll actually go see a wannabe psychopathic killer's rampage set to Sondheim, but I'm sure -- for those who do choose to partake -- it'll be a *killer* time. (Okay, corny, I know -- give me a break! What am I, a theatre reviewer?)