Ugly American

Christian Bale has perfectly depicted an ugly American. A rotten mutant made from the consumer society of America at the dawn of 90s.

He has certainly done a great job of pushing the audience towards a sickening point with his hysterical performance. a well-off social elite with everything but snaps at his colleague's shinier name card - classic and genius.

when i see pat, i see a person who has put up enough with the soulless, depriving life of wall street, all he needs is a tipping point to pour all the wrong in his body down to the society.

the depiction of the ugly american is so acute and upsetting - every conversation pat had with his friends is something to savor. when his friends roll their eyes about not getting fancier life, better reservation or swankier night life, pat started rumbling about solving the problems of humanity out of sheer awkwardness. suddenly the craziest turns to be the sanest.

he talked with all the muscles on his face stretched, quivering and intense like he whole-heartedly cares about humanity. how disturbing.

but oh, he cares. he cares each cut through the skin, each desperate cry of the victim, each late breath from a blood-soaked body. when a person has been deafened from the voice of his innocence, when his life tastes like a diluted, warm whisky in soho, when each cell of his body is rejecting the touch of love, kindness and faith, when he no longer feels his existence from being alive, he turned to death as a final resort.

he is hardly an icon of anything, but he is definitely a piercing thorn pining down a junkie, sick, PSYCHO american society - a whole society grows obsessively just for the sake of growing. acquiring, taking and consuming.

 "you are what you have, you are what you are paying for."

successful as pat, he is willing to pay as much as he could to sustain his ego. well-being doesn't matter any more, what's essential is I AM BETTER THAN OTHERS. so he paid for his relationship, his sex, his handsomeness and eventually, he thought he could pay his way out killing.

in the last scene, deranged and scattered, pat sat back to his seat in the vip lounge. he looked around, pompousness perfuses in the air of the space from every talking face. at that moment, i see an reassuring power sedating pat's panic - it s alright, really, all this madness, suddenly blends perfectly into the air of this room. he may or may not have done the crime, but his lunacy, is nothing but a fringe of the collective insanity of America.