The Monstrous Men of Mary Harron

Mary Harron’s films reveal the impotence of the male abuser

by Rose Gunn

On the night of August 8th, 1969, four followers of failed-musician-turned-cult-leader Charles Manson murdered five people, including the actress Sharon Tate, who was eight months pregnant at the time. It was an act meant to set off a race war—known as “Helter Skelter”—which Manson had preached to his followers about for weeks, leading up to what are now referred to as the Tate-Labianca Murders.

Manson’s violence allowed him to gain a cultural notoriety that he was unable to find in music. He’d previously failed to get a recording contract from record producer Terry Melcher, and even within his own inner circle felt his status being threatened by Tex Watson, one of the few men in the cult. While “Helter Skelter” never happened, the almost mythic notoriety of the Manson cult cast a dark shadow across the Seventies and turned Charles Manson into a counter-cultural symbol far beyond his incarceration and eventual death.

America has a fascination with killers. Despite the monstrosity of Manson’s actions, there is an element of rebellion to him that allows for a distorted romanticization of his image. 

Mary Harron’s American Psycho shows how the capitalist and patriarchal values of America make such serial killers a natural occurrence. Its main protagonist, Patrick Bateman, is less a man than he is a product of the system itself. In fact, despite the horrific violence on screen, the ultimate horror of American Psycho is that even if a man like Patrick wanted to change, there is no room in the system for that to happen. Men like Patrick must exist at the top for this machine to operate. 

While the original Brett Easton Ellis book American Psycho shares most of the same themes as Mary Harron’s adaptation, it’s notable which areas of the story Harron chooses to focus on—and, at times, alter. While the novel is narrated in first-person perspective and set in the immediate reality of the 1980s, the film has a more objective third-person viewpoint on Patrick, filming him in bright flat shots, surrounded by emptiness like some kind of museum specimen. Despite being filled with Eighties iconography, Harron’s camera and editing choices manage to turn the story into something more universal. It’s a film about the monstrous men that American society creates: not as abnormal “bad” men, but as logical outgrowths of a system built on a white patriarchal hierarchy where accumulation is the only goal.

The depiction of Charles Manson in Harron’s 2019 film Charlie Says in many ways echoes this depiction of Bateman. By telling the story through the memories of the Manson girls (Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel, and Linda Kasabian), we get a version of Manson which is less a terrifying cult leader and more of a sadly common kind of abuser.

Both films deconstruct a particular kind of violent male archetype: that of the all-powerful patriarch. By identifying the similarities between both characters across two starkly different contexts, we can see how Harron identifies the monstrosity of patriarchal violence that American society not only allows, but encourages.

Bateman obsessively repeats his morning routine—not for self-improvement, but because there is nothing else left for him to do.

This deconstruction starts at the casting level. Harron fought hard to get Christian Bale to star as Patrick Bateman, and the reason why is obvious: not only does Bale look absurdly strong and handsome to an almost uncanny degree, but he brings the exact theatricality needed to the role. Bateman isn’t “cool” or manly; in fact, he doesn’t even seem happy about being a man. Masculinity is simply part of the role he struggles to perform.

His obsession with fitness comes off as a kind of body dysmorphia: beauty is a costume, but not a liberating one. His ritualistic morning routine—with its endless facial creams, moisturizers, and body scrubs—is intended to maintain one specific version of Patrick Bateman. He does a thousand crunches every day, despite this being an inefficient way of building strength. Patrick has already reached “perfection”, but he’s not happy. And so he continues to obsessively repeat these routines—not as an act of self-improvement, but because there is nothing else left for him to do.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Matt Smith as Charles Manson relies on the actor’s unthreatening appearance. Instead of the extreme exaggeration of masculinity in Bale’s performance, Matt Smith appears like a whiney, insecure theater kid. He looks skinny and awkward, with big puppy dog eyes. While the approach may be different, the result is similar: both men have their immaculately crafted self-image slowly dissolved until we see that underneath is something painfully mediocre. 

In Charlie Says, we see Charles Manson bathing naked outside Spahn Ranch while one of his cult members brings a girl up to him. As Manson attempts to use his charms, we can see the girl is utterly unimpressed, looking with disgust at Manson and with concern at the girls. She insults him, turning his nudity from threatening to painfully vulnerable. Manson stands naked, covering himself like a little boy. It’s a completely emasculating moment.

As the girl leaves and we return our focus to the cult, we can now fully understand what a complete con this whole situation is. Not just the things Manson preaches, but the idea of Manson himself. Our cultural image of Manson as some demonic hypnotist of women is completely wrong: there is nothing particularly powerful about him. Like many abusers, he is a weak man who abuses women to feel strong. Misogyny and racism happen to be the most accessible levers of power for him as a white man. But for all of his evil, Manson is painfully mediocre.

Bateman, too, abuses women to feel strong. This is shown quite explicitly through the image of Bateman flexing at himself in a mirror while having sex. This entire sequence of Bateman—which starts with him picking up and taking home a sex worker and ends with a moment of violent abuse—may be the most clear example of Harron’s feminist take on this story.

Bateman names the sex worker “Christie”. (A similar gesture is reflected in Charlie Says in a scene where Manson gives the girls new names.) The film version ages up Christie quite a bit: she is de-sexualized, and so is Patrick despite his physique. The whole thing has an odd sterility to it except for Christie herself, who is vibrantly human in a way the other characters aren’t. She speaks naturally, reacts in the moment to things, and genuinely enjoys the luxuries that Patrick is unable to appreciate.

Ultimately, Christie has more humanity than any other character in the film. Her emotions feel real and natural, in contrast to Bateman’s horrible facade. She smiles and relaxes in Patrick’s bath, truly enjoys his wine, even shows some empathy for him. There is a sense that this may be part of Patrick’s reason for hiring her: he can see the women experience things that he does not understand. He’s a man surrounded by luxuries he will never appreciate. He can’t even enjoy sex, because he’s too focused on what it represents. The extreme pain to which he subjects these women clearly triggers something resembling an emotion in him; it’s likely that Christie’s pleasure has a similar effect. 

For all of his evil, Manson is painfully mediocre.

Christie undercuts Patrick’s power. She pointedly stares at him—not with fear, but pity and curiosity. She’s bored by his conversation. In one particularly cutting moment, Patrick asks “Do you want to know what I do?” and receives only a polite “No.” in response.

Harron’s work shows women to have a power that men fear. Christie’s mere expression of boredom is enough to make Patrick appear impotent, even in the middle of sex. For both Bateman and Manson, part of their hatred of women comes from the need to be respected by them. They need the women more than the women need them, and they find this fact infuriating. 

Charlie Says takes on the perspective of the aforementioned Manson girls, and through their eyes we can see Manson for how pathetic he truly is. He is jealous, insecure, and desperate for approval, and he uses violence to make up for his incompetence. All Manson wants is to be taken care of by women who will never leave him and, as his mythos begins to fall away, violence becomes a crucial method to maintain control.

In a shocking moment of sobriety after being beaten by Manson, one of the women— Susan—tells Leslie, “Getting hit by the man you love is no different than making love to him. Charlie just gives me what I need.” This sentiment is one shared by many victims of domestic abuse, and ultimately that is what these women are. Despite the crimes they committed, Charlie Says frames the Manson women as primarily victims. They are not perfect victims, but victims just the same.

Charlie Says asks us to imagine justice as truly rehabilitative, and to recognize the problem with trying to separate people into good and bad, particularly in how this black and white concept of morality intersects with social ideas of “bad women”. The film frames the story from the perspective of a woman working to help the Manson women inside of prison. They’ve been locked away in their own private holding area away from the general population, left to die, and seen as monsters. The story puts us in the shoes of one of the few people who feels sympathy for them, and asks us to do the same. 

While not violent like the Manson girls, it’s clear that Christie in American Psycho would be labelled a “bad woman” by most of society. Indeed, this is why Patrick is able to target her for abuse. Despite the justice system’s claims of protecting vulnerable women, laws that criminalize sex work frequently push women into places where they cannot be helped. Who is Christie supposed to turn to when she’s attacked? As shown by the ending of the film, even Patrick Bateman can’t get himself arrested. No, Christie and Patrick both know exactly how unfair their circumstances are, which is why Christie goes with him again, despite having endured abuse the first time. This violence exists whether Bateman is the one enacting it or not.

Abusers don’t appear as monsters immediately. They are often talented at appearing harmless.

The Manson girls, too, are making this kind of trade: many of them likely faced a similar kind of violence outside of the cult. Manson picks up these women precisely because they are already vulnerable, then sells them a kind of compromise by inviting them to live a more beautiful kind of life that nonetheless relies on a patriarchal structure. There’s a kind of romance and comfort in being able to escape from your old life without losing the basic rules of it. As shown through bits of dialogue, the women in the cult are not feminists even if they desire freedom from society. Some even take pride in their lack of knowledge. Their inexperience and contradictory beliefs make them even more vulnerable to Manson’s persuasion.

Abusers don’t appear as monsters immediately. They are often talented at appearing harmless. Manson emphasizes consent at the beginning of his journey with the girls. He tells girls they “don’t have to do anything [they] don’t want to”. He charms them, offers them a better life, even appears willing to let them go. He talks like a free love hippie. And in many ways, he does give the girls something beautiful—until things turn bad. His peace-loving hippie affectation is nothing but a cover for his abusive behavior. However, by that point the girls are so materially reliant on Manson that to disagree with him becomes physically dangerous. They’ve had their money taken away, they’ve cut off all outside contact and are routinely being drugged by Manson. All this renders them extremely vulnerable, both physically and mentally.

Denial is a complex mental condition. It’s unclear what caused the Manson girls to remain convinced of his ideology for so many years after his death. The main cause that Charlie Says emphasises is self-protection. For these women to recognize what they’d been through and what they’d done, that may be the greatest pain of all. Manson didn’t kill these women, but he stole their lives. And as they sit in the pain of this realization, we as the audience must sit with the greater understanding that the system is not going to help them, that the truth will not set them free. 

Despite the violent men at the center of both films, a feminist perspective shines through in Mary Harron’s work. There is a plea for empathy beneath the cold exterior. American Psycho uses the feminine perspective to underline both the monstrosity and comic absurdity of patriarchy. Charlie Says pushes this idea further and challenges us to view the world through the eyes of women who are both the victims and perpetrators of violence, denying the perfect victim narrative and arguing instead for a more complex understanding of justice.

There is no mythologizing in Harron’s narratives. We are left instead with the banality of evil: the realization that the most horrible violence in this world is not the malevolent action of monsters, but the deeds of average people just following the values of the society around them. There is nothing unique or interesting about Bateman, just as there is nothing special about Charles Manson. Bateman is like the other misogynistic elites around him, just a little bit more extreme. The same is true of Manson and the music industry people who come to Spahn Ranch in order to sleep with his “girls”. The misogyny, racism, greed and violence of both men is a reflection of the society they come from. Patrick’s confession is ignored, the justice system fails to protect the victims of Manson, and everything continues as normal.

The men who destroy the world are not mythical monsters. They’re mediocre, empty, dull, pathetic, conformist, and as Patrick says: their confessions mean nothing. It’s time we stop listening to them.

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