"This is the first movie review I've ever read that attacks not the movie but the people who liked the movie." I'm not attacking you you if you liked it, only if you identified with it. "That's not really fair." American Psycho was an amazing movie, but I wouldn't date anyone who identifies with it. How is it different? Again, the point isn't that movies tell you who you are, they tell you how to be.
Here's an example: with 100% certainty I can predict that if you liked The Descendants, if you think you would like The Descendants, then you thought American Beauty was "amazing." That movie was, indeed, an outstanding reflection of a kind of a man and a kind of a life, but at some point before your divorce or rehab you have to consider that if you identified with the main character there is something wrong with you.
Louis CK:
Kevin Spacey playing the man... he's fantasizing about fucking a cheerleader in high school. And the way they represent this, in this gay movie, this fucking bunch of cum through a projector-- according to this movie, when you fantasize about a cheerleader, you lie on your back and rose petals fall all over your body. Instead of her hot, sweaty ass, and the confused look on her face as you cum in her stupid eye... No, it's Kevin Spacey with a sweet look on his face, and flower petals, and jazzy music.
[And at the end of the movie, the ex-marine] is the one who's really gay. 'None of us are gay, it's actually the one hetero guy, he's the gay one.' No one else is gay, Kevin Spacey's not gay. He's straight as an arrow, he lifts weights, listens to Zeppelin, drives a Firebird-- and thinks about fucking rose petals. And then when he actually sees her tits he almost vomits....He finally sees the 18 year old tits and says, what have I been doing all this time? I forgot I like men....
Louis CK takes the gay angle for the comedic effect, but he understands this isn't about being gay but about a kind of American self-delusion exemplified by the Kevin Spacey character:
everyone else is broken except me. My only problem is I am surrounded by these people. And everything gets projected onto them as both defense of the ego and as confirmation that it is, indeed, everyone else who is nuts. "Look, she's a crazy bitch."
When he throws the plate of food against the wall you're supposed to cheer his rising manliness; you're not supposed to notice that it's infantile narcissistic rage, i.e. foreshadowing: this isn't going to have a happy ending.
The problem for the audience is that there isn't an American Beauty II, the one where he gets the rose petal girl of his dreams and inherits a billion dollars and has a perfect life in Hawaii only to discover that within 5 years everything has regressed to the mean, I mean mean, and everything happens all over again. "Jeez, why do I attract these crazy bitches?" Because you're crazy, dummy. The one universal constant in all of your failed relationships is you.