Introduction

Imagine the words of a novel meticulously morphing into the compressing ceilings of a mid-century modern home, a sunlit, cozy bay window tucked into a plush bedroom, or the serenity of a lone cabin in the mountains—each architectural transformation a visual echo of literary imagination brought to life on the silver screen. What is a piece of literature or work of film without architectural space? Design choices add depth and realism to a story, whether through the written world-building of literature or the physical framing of a movie scene. By interpreting and adapting spaces from page to screen, filmmakers visually articulate the story’s essence, turning architectural forms into silent narrators that enhance and echo the characters’ experiences.

The gendering of architecture—manifested through design choices that evoke masculinity or femininity—along with strategic use of color and lighting, crafts an environment that adds depth. These elements guide the audience’s emotional journey, allowing for more narrative interpretations. Architecture is inescapable; both books and films rely on the audience’s innate spatial awareness, making design nuances powerful cues for story progression. Exploring the intricate process of adapting space and place from literature to film illuminates the visual elements and transformations used to enrich the narrative. Through an in-depth exploration of Brokeback Mountain (A. Lee 2005), The Virgin Suicides(Coppola 1999), BlacKkKlansman (S. Lee 2018), Fight Club (Fincher 1999), and American Psycho (Harron 2000), architectural spaces take on gendered designs that illuminate the intrinsic connections between space, human consciousness, and the emotional responses evoked by place.

Architecture as Narrative: From Page to Screen

Architecture, often underestimated, plays a crucial role in translating a story from text to screen. Properly interpreting and adapting the world-building elements of a story is essential to ensure that viewers experience the same immersive environment when watching a film. Combined with the written descriptions of scenery and milieu and the use of cinematic techniques, architecture is uniquely harnessed to express the narrative to the audience. Mise-en-scène is an aspect of film directors use to stage, set, and produce a film. In Film, Architecture, and Spatial Imagination, Renée Tobe writes,

“When we watch a film, we suspend our disbelief to get caught up in a world that must be familiar enough to be recognized by us and into which we can situate ourselves in our imaginations. Spatial perception combines with emplotment, or diegesis, to help us connect the visuals into a narrative combining the haptic with the optic through mimesis.” (Tobe)

The sense of space and the story’s plot work together to help one connect the visuals into a narrative. This process combines what one sees (optic) with what one feels (haptic) to create a believable imitation of reality (mimesis). This process is also used in written form, with the author using items and locations that are relatively familiar to the reader, allowing them to visualize and feel the space as if they are there. In Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx describes, in incredible detail, the trailer where Jack Twist and Ennis del Mar made their agreements to work together on Brokeback Mountain for the summer: “They shook hands in the choky little trailer office in front of a table littered with scribbled papers, a Bakelite ashtray brimming with stubs. The venetian blinds hung askew and admitted a triangle of white light, the shadow of the foreman’s hand moving into it” (Proulx). These two sentences reveal to the reader so much about the place these two young men have found themselves. They are close to the end of the line, grasping at anything they can to stay afloat in their lives, when they have seemingly lost all meaning and hope. The place is described unpleasantly, and compared to the descriptions of Brokeback Mountain, it feels as though the trailer was their rock bottom, and the mountain is where they begin to grow into themselves. While Proulx’s words paint vivid pictures in our minds, how can filmmakers capture this essence on screen without merely replicating each scene? They must convey the same powerful message through the unique language of film. This is precisely what director Ang Lee achieves in his adaptation of Brokeback Mountain. In the film, this scene is the first one gets of the two men together, just like in the short story. While the movie does not have direct shots of the trailer office like Proulx wrote, Lee was able to convey the feeling in a few minutes. The scene in the trailer begins at timestamp 00:04:34 and ends at 00:06:24, and within less than two minutes viewers understand the dreary and unfortunate nature of their situation. Director Ang Lee conveys this feeling using color (or lack thereof), the framing of shots, and familiar spatial cues that resonate with the audience.

Color and Frame: Isolation in Brokeback Mountain and The Virgin Suicides

These directorial choices are prominent not only in the adaptation of Brokeback Mountain, but also in The Virgin Suicides, directed and written by Sofia Coppola based on the novel of the same name by Jeffrey Eugenides. Brokeback Mountainand The Virgin Suicides explore similar themes of isolation and societal rejection, and visually, these films incorporate analogous elements to evoke the atmosphere and emotions of the settings and characters. One prominent connection between these two films is the use of color and frames to express key motifs of the story as a whole. While color is a visual element not included in the written story, readers have developed a way to synthesize colors and feelings. Reading, or watching, between the lines of these two stories, one can see how the outdoors is the freedom the characters desire. Each director uses this to enhance their story, especially using wide shots. In Brokeback Mountain there are dazzling, color-saturated shots of the mountains and their flora and fauna. These can be seen for the first time between the timestamps 00:09:16 and 00:11:14. Within these shots viewers come to realize there is more to both Jack and Ennis’s characters than just the two regular young cowboys who are struggling for money. While Brokeback Mountain is a turning point in their lives financially, it also is a place that allows them to explore their suppressed sexuality. The expansive outdoor view with soaring mountains and wide-open sky represents endless possibilities and hope for the freedom Jack and Ennis crave to be their true selves. The change in color from cold to warm, the shot, and the tone of the film have subtly changed at this point, cueing the viewers to the importance of place.

In comparison, Sofia Coppola opens her adaptation of The Virgin Suicides with a young girl, Lux Lisbon, licking a popsicle on a vibrant neighborhood street. The camera then cuts to shots of the neighborhood framed by luscious trees and greenery. The first minor shift in this hazy, yet vibrant world is when the camera zooms in on a man nailing a “Notice for Removal” sign on a tree, and at timestamp 00:00:49 there is a minor desaturation in the color quality. At timestamp 00:01:03, there is the first shot of the Lisbon household, and the color has drastically changed. What was once a warm-toned brightness is now an exceptionally cool-toned melancholy filter. These cinematic techniques are used to cue viewers into carefully observing the elements throughout the rest of the story. Both color shifts occurred with the introductory shot of motifs repeated throughout the story. One is the trees’ removal notice—their expiration date—and the other is the Lisbon house, the Lisbon girls’ place of expiration. The shifts in color change the ambiance and mood of the shot and emphasize the importance of place. Without the specific cueing of the trees and Lisbon house through these deliberate cinematic choices, viewers would completely miss the dark connections between the two losses in the neighborhood, both the life of the trees and the young Lisbon girls.

Identity and Isolation in Fight Club

Fight Club is another book and film that explores themes of isolation. Originally written by Chuck Palahniuk, the satirical commentary on consumerism, masculinity, and identity was turned into a cult-classic film by David Fincher in 1999. The novel highlights the consumerist agenda the narrator felt he and the rest of the world have fallen victim to early on in chapter five. When talking about a bomb that blew up his apartment, the narrator starts to catalog all the furniture he had in his home:

“Something which was a bomb, a big bomb, had blasted my clever Njurunda coffee tables in the shape of a lime green yin and an orange yang that fit together to make a circle. Well they were splinters, now. My Haparanda sofa group with the orange slip covers, design by Erika Pekkari, it was trash now. And I wasn’t the only slave to my nesting instinct. The people I know who used to sit in the bathroom with pornography, now they sit in the bathroom with their IKEA furniture catalogue. We all have the same Johanneshov armchair in the Strinne green stripe pattern.” (Palahniuk, 43)

This highlights the lack of individuality the narrator feels he has, and how desperately he wants that to change. The catalogue furniture in a boring high-rise apartment also emphasizes the narrator’s sense of identity, or lack thereof. The blowing up of his apartment was the beginning of the chain reaction to his spiral out of his own control. Since he now needed to find a new place to live, the narrator reached out to his friend, Tyler Durden, which is how he ends up beginning Fight Club and living at the Paper Street house.

The Paper Street house is the epitome of the idea of isolation. The name is a play on the existing term paper streets, which typically means a road or street that appears on a map but not in real life (Shaler Township, PA). Production designer Alex McDowell focused on creating a Paper Street house for the film that represented the themes of isolation and disarray—the opposite type of isolation to that found in the IKEA showroom apartment. In an interview with Interiors, McDowell says, “the IKEA element was a crucial metaphor for this catalogue mediated life, and it was also designed to resemble a catalogue interior, and dressed accordingly – nothing in it that wasn’t devoid of personality or identity” (Ahi and Karaoghlanian). The design of the Paper Street house was also lacking identity; it was a house abandoned near a factory, alone on the street. No longer belonging to one time or person, it became the empty shell, rotting away in isolation without a purpose or meaning. Unlike the narrator’s apartment, which was described by McDowell as “file-cabinets for young professional – placing the Narrator in a soulless box that gave him nothing back” (Ahi and Karaoghlanian), the Paper Street house once had a soul, for it was once a home. The narrator began to put his own meaning into the house as an occupant. The house provided him a place to interact with Tyler and Marla, make soap for Tyler’s business, and operate a whole organization: Project Mayhem.

The book does not fully describe the details of the home other than it being a dilapidated and uncommon home. This allows the director, David Fincher, and the production designer, Alex McDowell, to imagine a house design fit for the screen, with its own unique story. They collectively decided to use an old Victorian house with additions and layers of paint that have lasted through generations. Victorian-style homes were designed to have servant entrances, passageways, and quarters. This provided production with a logical reason for the Narrator and Tyler Durden to never be seen in the same room when others were in the house. Throughout the film, Marla is seen interacting with either the Narrator or Tyler in the Paper Street House, but never at the same time. An example of this in the film begins at timestamp 01:24:57, where one sees the Narrator drinking a cup of coffee and Marla walk into the room. The Narrator then hears a noise and opens the basement door to reveal Tyler, who is looking to confirm the Narrator is not talking about him to Marla. Tyler then proceeds to instruct the Narrator what to say from the bottom of the basement stairs, and Marla does not hear him repeating Tyler’s words. She is confused by the Narrator’s actions, and when he finally parrots Tyler’s words, “This conversation…is over” at timestamp 01:27:10, she storms off, frustrated. In this case, the architectural choice of a Victorian home allows viewers to begin to understand the nature of the relationship between the Narrator and Tyler Durden and how there may not be a difference between the two of them. This is one example of how architectural design, and its history, can be used to aid stories visually, and the importance of architecture for the understanding of space.

Surface and Sterility in American Psycho

From one disturbing mind to the next, Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho follows Patrick Bateman, an extremely wealthy businessman living in New York City who has less than favorable pastimes. This novel, and the film adaptation by Mary Harron, provides a satirical insight into the lives of wealthy Wall Street men and where their focus really lies. This obsession with image and status extends beyond Bateman’s actions and into the visual language of the film itself, where muted palettes, sterile environments, and subtle shifts in tone reflect the emptiness at the core of his identity.

American Psycho is filled with neutrals and lacks strong colorful palettes, emphasizing the lack of depth and meaning to Patrick Bateman and his lifestyle. Shown in the business card scene from timestamp 00:18:36 to timestamp 00:20:07, viewers witness an ego-filled competition over who has the best business card. Bateman opens his case to display his business card with the utmost confidence, letting the men around him know his card is the color bone, which is just a shade of white. Another man places his down, letting the group know his card is eggshell, while another says his is pale nimbus white. Finally, a shaken Bateman asks to see Paul Allen’s card, which has a subtle off-white coloring.

The fact that all these cards look nearly identical, yet Patrick Bateman cares so much about them, is another example of his surface-level nature. The choices of coloring, lighting, and space in this scene really emphasize the tension and pressure he is feeling over these business cards. In the book, the scene occurs offhandedly in a busy restaurant, and without visual cues such as the blur of the background and slow focus on the card’s close-up, or the frame closing in on a distressed Bateman, one would never be able to comprehend the magnitude of this scene in the description of Patrick Bateman’s character and morals. While there are gruesome scenes of Bateman killing people, it is the scenes of him acting in a mundane setting that allow viewers to understand the utter lack of depth to his personality. The deliberate production used by Harron allows viewers to understand the underlying satirical message of the film, which may have been missing if not done with precision.

Architecture as a Shared Cultural Text

Right from the start in each of these films, color, framing, and production choices clue viewers into the stories’ primary focus. Using simple, streamlined elements such as easily recognizable objects, both Ang Lee and Sofia Coppola visually convey the intricate details of their respective written stories without having to spell it out for viewers. David Fincher and Mary Harron use societal stereotypes along with known products and companies to relate the narratives to the public for their understanding. These motifs are effective because, as Tobe eloquently states, “There is an accumulation of culture, knowledge and artefacts we carry within ourselves and bring to the viewing of the film. We look at architecture, recognize it, it looks ‘like’ things with which we are familiar. We ‘see’ it ‘as if’ it is real and the narrative moves us along” . Tobe’s assertion that viewers bring with them a “cumulative” understanding of culture, knowledge, and artifacts speaks directly to the power of architecture as a storytelling device in film. Since one instinctively recognizes and interprets architectural space based on lived experience, these environments don’t just serve as backdrops—they act as familiar, legible texts that guide emotional and narrative engagement. The quote reinforces how these spaces—while fictional—are perceived as real, enabling subtle design choices to evoke cultural associations with gender, identity, or alienation. In this way, architecture becomes a lens through which one absorbs not just atmosphere, but the story’s unspoken values and ideological meanings.

Gendered Space in BlacKkKlansman

Furthermore, society recognizes gender and the impact of social concepts across many mediums and institutions. Architecture, film, and literature do not escape these preconceived notions; if anything, they often perpetuate the exact stereotypes in relation to gender. It is important to understand that gender as a social construct is impossible to elaborate on and analyze without any inherent bias. Examples of stereotypes portrayed through multiple media sources are interpreted in many ways. In Gender Space Architecture: An Interdisciplinary Introduction, Jane Rendell, Barbara Penner, and Iain Borden analyze the connections between gender, space, and architecture using a multitude of visual and written material composed together. They explain,

“The built environment is a cultural artifact. It is shaped by human intention and intervention, a living archaeology through which we can extract the priorities and beliefs of the decision-makers in our society. Both the process through which we build and the forms themselves embody cultural values and imply standards of behavior which affect us all.” (Rendell, Penner, Borden)

This is proven through the written word and the visual imagery used in films across the board. A great example of human interaction with the built environment and their effects on each other is in the film BlacKkKlansman, directed by Spike Lee. Inherently, place becomes personified depending on the context in which it is used. There is a scene in which viewers see the inside of Felix Kendrickson’s home, which is currently hosting a Ku Klux Klan meeting. The first full shot one sees of the interior of the Kendrickson home is the epitome of the 1970s middle-class interior style. It is decorated primarily in brown and many other secondary muted colors and patterns. The home is very clearly cared for and decorated primarily by a woman. Viewers can recognize this because of personal human interaction with the built environment they may have experienced themselves.

The woman of the household, Mrs. Kendrickson, is seen wandering around the home offering food to the guests while the men effectively ignore her presence, only her husband offering her any thanks. While the organization’s conversation progresses, she pipes up saying,

“I read something in The Gazette that this nr named Carmichael held a rally and that some college nr girl from the Baboon Student Union was attacking our police. I mean, this girl is dangerous. She’s like Commie, Angela Davis. And I just… I think we should shut her mouth. Here, I cut the article.” (S. Lee, 00:50:10)

This incredibly crass and violent language mimics what the men were saying; yet the only response she gets from any of them is again from her husband when he replies, “That’ll be all” (S. Lee 00:50:30). This response shows Mrs. Kendrickson her opinion and voice are not valued, even if she is just echoing what they say. After being summarily dismissed, she retrieves the food platter, says “Someday, you’re going to need me to do something for you. Just wait and see” (S. Lee 00:50:46), and returns to the kitchen. This scene illustrates Nabaneeta Sharma’s reference to Gender Space Architecture:

“Most women were expected to be homemakers and idealized to mostly be doing household work, the spaces in a home were greatly designed according to the norms of the society then (Borden, 2000). Back then, a woman was expected to take care of the kitchen. Therefore the anthropometrics followed for kitchen designing were based on women and designed according to their needs.” (Sharma)

This scene is, unfortunately, an ideal example of gendered space and the hierarchy of both gender and space. The singular female character is pushed literally and figuratively to the side, since the kitchen is tucked away, hidden from view. Even though she is visually hidden, Connie is the backbone of a lot of the operation the men seem to be running. She not only opens her home up for their meetings, but she provides food and refreshments, cleans up after them, and even can provide helpful insight if allowed. Connie, while frustrated in this scene, still believes herself to be in the wrong in this scenario. She spoke up and got shut down. She may have attempted to put up a little tiny bit of a fight; she ultimately resigned and just returned to her place in the kitchen—the place where she feels she belongs, due to her mistreatment by her husband, his friends, and society as a whole. Also, during this house scene Felix leads Flip, pretending to be Ron, into his basement “man-cave.” Hierarchy would traditionally place the man at the top and the woman at the bottom in terms of power. In this case, and in the cases of a lot of man-caves, they are purposely put beneath the home, because the home is traditionally a female space. The man’s life is outside of the home, stereotypically, and this film provides no exception. The white supremacists in the KKK are prime examples of taking stereotypes too far. They emphatically believe they are the supreme being, above even their female partners who are held in low esteem. Spike Lee’s cinematography, exhibited in this scene, emphasizes this point.

The scene in BlacKkKlansman, while horrible in the way they treat women, is nearly incomparable compared to what is witnessed throughout the entirety of American Psycho. The novel by Bret Easton Ellis contains multiple chapters titled “Girls” or “Girl” or another along the lines, which all contain difficult to read descriptions of violent sexual acts, disfiguration, abuse, and murder. In these chapters Patrick Bateman uses his money, status, and power as a wealthy businessman in New York City as leverage to harm girls, for no reason other than his own sadistic needs.

In the film, Mary Harron took levels of care to prevent scaring viewers too much, and to keep an R-rating, by avoiding too many graphic scenes. Still, there are two scenes that stand out the most. The first-time viewers witness Bateman kill is when he murders the homeless man in the alley, but the first kill within his apartment is when he kills Paul Allen. At timestamp 00:26:52 viewers see Paul Allen in Patrick’s apartment which has newspapers methodically taped down on the floor, and all of the furniture covered in sheets. Bateman then animatedly starts droning on about “Huey Lewis and the News” while dancing around, dressing himself in a plastic raincoat, and preparing his axe for the kill which is seen at timestamp 00:28:18. This act of violence was planned by Patrick Bateman, but there was no sort of torture done to Paul Allen beforehand, and he methodically cleaned and prepared his apartment for his murder.

Later in the film at timestamp 01:13:53, while spending a paid evening with two ladies in Paul Allen’s apartment, we see one of the females, Christie, get up and begin to leave when she notices blood blooming on the sheets and the increased screams of panic from the other female. She pauses in shock until Bateman unveils himself and looks at her with blood smeared across his mouth. Christie then begins to run through the labyrinth of Paul Allen’s apartment, uncovering dead female bodies strewn everywhere. When she finally escapes from his apartment, she runs screaming, banging, begging for help down the hallways and finally down the stairwell where she meets her end due to Bateman’s chainsaw.

Even in his most violent moments, Patrick Bateman’s treatment of women is notably more brutal and dehumanizing than his treatment of men. Paul Allen, for example, is killed while heavily intoxicated—arguably a more “merciful” death compared to the sadistic violence Bateman enacts on his female victims. Similarly, his first on-screen murder of a homeless man is abrupt and impersonal, lacking the ritualistic cruelty reserved for women. These distinctions are crucial: they expose not only Bateman’s misogyny but also how space—particularly his meticulously prepared apartment—functions as a stage for these gendered acts of violence. The sterile, controlled interior reflects a yuppie culture that commodifies women, reducing them to disposable status symbols within a hyper-masculine environment. This sets the stage for a broader analysis of how architecture in American Psycho communicates gendered power dynamics and the emotional alienation of upper-class masculinity.

Unchecked Masculinity in American Psycho and Fight Club

Patrick Bateman is seen with many women throughout American Psycho, and he treats every single one of them horribly, as dispensable features of his life. While the Narrator and Tyler Durden are suspiciously missing the impact of women in their life, except for Ms. Marla Singer. Both American Psycho and Fight Club are examples of the effects of extreme unchecked masculinity, without the balance of femininity, and how detrimental it is for society. The architecture and lifestyle of the Narrator/Tyler Durden in Fight Club is missing the stereotypical feminine touch. The excess of masculinity, possibly even considered toxic masculinity, has resulted in the dilapidated state we see of the Paper Street house. While toxic masculinity is a result of cultural and societal pressures, the core ideals surrounding it can be applied to the Narrator. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, toughness, anti-femininity, and power are all considered to be the roots of toxic masculinity. They define them as, “Toughness – Men are strong, aggressive, and emotionally hardened. Anti-Femininity – Men reject any and all feminine traits, including most emotion, accepting help, and domesticity. Power – Men are worthy only if they have money, power, status, and influence” (ADAA.org). From a surface level examination, it seems as though the Narrator and his space monkeys fit perfectly into the defined box, but with a little more observation it becomes less clear. The Narrator looks to be strong and aggressive. He rejects help from others especially through the creation of Fight Club, and Project Mayhem, but we also see him embracing his feelings with Bob at the testicular cancer support group (Palahniuk 17). The idea of Fight Club is also to reject the existing ideas of power and status, no matter how much money you make or what your job is, it does not exist within the confines of Fight Club. The idea of femininity is also interesting when looking at Tyler Durden. He is portrayed as the confident leader, the person who began Fight Club and is freeing others from the shackles of normalcy – the ultimate man, yet he dresses with a feminine flare. The big fur coats, the fluffy colorful robe, the tight little tank tops, all traditionally feminine, but Tyler is seen wearing them all. One can assume that it is because he does not see himself confined by the stereotypes of society – he has broken the bounds – or it could be a result of the Narrator’s untreated mental health issues. Either way, there is a lack of traditional femininity within the Narrator’s life, and it is visible through the physical state of the Paper Street house.

The Paper Street house is unkempt and run down; it is a miracle that the house still stands within its current uninhabitable space. The Narrator uses the place as a complete escape from what his old world once was; a soulless box of an apartment confined to the expectations of society. While Marla Singer becomes a frequent visitor to the house, she does not provide any housekeeping at the Paper Street house, a traditional gender role. Seen within the film, it becomes quite clear that there is no housekeeping at all, from anyone. The home is deeply neglected. The first time the viewers are introduced to the Paper Street house is at timestamp 00:37:44. The Narrator is talking about how they must kill the power every time it rains and how the refrigerator is stale and warm. Two things that should not exist in a habitable home. While the Narrator seems to think that it is a perfectly reasonable life adjustment, it is visible to viewers the house is very run-down, needs a lot of maintenance, and is a drastic contrast to his old apartment. Through gender stereotypes it is often perceived that the home is the woman’s domain, it is their responsibility to maintain and upkeep the house. Even when the horde of space monkeys move into the house for their terrorist organization, Project Mayhem, the home is never fixed. There are also no women involved in Project Mayhem, it is just a continuation of men in and out of the house, proving them a necessity to proper home maintenance. This neglected space is representative to the state of the Narrator’s mind, and a sign that he needs help. Yet, it is seen by the other men as perfectly acceptable conditions to be living in. Not only just acceptable, but they look to the Narrator as the example for how they want to live their lives. The Narrator and the Paper Street house are the perfect visual representation of the impact of femininity, and the lack of femininity, has on society and the built environment, and the necessity of balance.
Fincher and McDowell clearly convey this through their cinematic and design choices throughout the film.

“Bad” Men and Hostile Architecture

Subjectively, the men in BlacKkKlansman who represent members of the Ku Klux Klan, serial killer Patrick Bateman, and terrorist Tyler Durden can be defined as “bad” men. These men have parallels to the concept of “bad” architecture. One definition of bad is “morally objectionable” (Merriam-Webster), which leaves plenty of room for interpretation. Hostile architecture is considered bad to many because of its exclusive nature and the removal of comfortable spaces for people to exist. Hostile architecture can also be defined as:

“defensive or exclusionary design… Most commonly manifesting itself in intentionally placed rails on benches, spikes in alcoves, or convoluted sloping surfaces that prevent sitting or lying comfortably… It seeks to exclude unhoused people or other ‘undesirable’ groups from existing in public areas by physically limiting the ways in which the spaces can be used.” (Nussbaum)

Patrick Bateman and his friends and colleagues in American Psycho are all for hostility towards groups of people they feel are below their social status and undesirable, such as women and the unhoused. In the film there is a scene at timestamp 01:01:46 where Jean, Bateman’s secretary, goes to place a spoon down on his coffee table and Bateman shouts “NO! Put it in the carton!” He then proceeds to walk behind Jean holding a nail gun behind her head but does not set it off. Bateman cares more about a dirty spoon being placed on his designer coffee table than he does about the life of a human woman. The cold colors and harsh materials of the furniture are also used to create a hostile, sterile, and uncomfortable environment. From the black leather, the glass table, the white couch, and the stainless-steel kitchen, Patrick Bateman’s apartment is more reminiscent of a showroom than a home. While Bateman’s apartment may not look like spikes on benches, it is still hostile and exclusionary architecture.

Hostility is not limited to architecture. For those who read and watched Brokeback Mountain, Ennis is unable to verbalize his emotions and tends to express them in a hostile manner. This is shown after Aguirre tells the two men that their time is done on Brokeback Mountain and while Ennis is sitting in solitude, Jack comes up to him and playfully lassos him. What began as a lighthearted moment quickly turns serious, with the two men legitimately fighting because of Ennis’s pent-up emotions (A. Lee 00:39:12). Compared to hostile architecture, society is built in a way that disregards the existence of the gay community. Ennis is aware of this, thanks to his father exposing him as a young child to a suspected gay man dead in a ditch, killed by a tire iron (Proulx 16). Hostility, and by connection, hostile architecture, is found everywhere to implement control over diverse populations of people. “Most hostile architecture reflects ‘the priorities of dominant socioeconomic groups, who exercise disproportionate influence over its provision’” (Nussbaum). This is evident through careful observation in both Brokeback Mountain and BlacKkKlansman. Using narrative and cinematography, both Ang Lee and Spike Lee showcase this in their directorial styles. Shots reveal suffocating environments such as Aguirre’s trailer in Brokeback Mountain and the Kendricksons’ basement “man-cave” to emphasize how unwelcoming those environments are.

Brutalism and the Misread Aesthetic

Hostile architecture is often not even designed by architects, as Zoe Nussbaum suggests in Hostile Architecture: The Ethical Problem of Design as a Means of Exclusion, “hostile architecture is a product of civil engineering and city planning” (Nussbaum), but a well-known architectural style that is considered bad by many is brutalism. Brutalist architecture is predominantly composed of concrete and glass and because of this usage of raw materials, many have adverse reactions to it. In an article “Why brutalist buildings should stay, even if people think they’re ugly” author Kaity Kline introduces the beginning of brutalism. “Brutalism started in the 1950s in the U.K. One of its pioneers was Le Corbusier, a Swiss-French architect who did a lot of work in raw concrete after World War II, including housing, religious buildings, and government buildings. He called this style béton brut, meaning raw concrete” (Kline). There is a large focus on simplicity, that what the viewer sees is what it is, and surprisingly it has resulted in general disapproval.

Simplicity and underconsumption are one of the leading values of Tyler Durden’s lifestyle. While others may dislike brutalist architecture, the concept behind it could be supported by Tyler’s and the Narrator’s values. Somehow, even though their values align, the societal use of brutalist architecture, the Narrator’s apartment for example, is rejected by Tyler. Tyler Durden sees the apartment as the root of the Narrator’s overconsumption in a capitalist society, which is why he blows it up. This leads the Narrator to the Paper Street house, which is completely opposite to the brutalist style since it is an old Victorian home, yet this is the house that is rejected by society until Tyler came along. Even though the reasoning why Tyler blew up the Narrator’s apartment was not because it was in a brutalist skyscraper, the skyscraper still represented all the parts of society that he hated. This example from Fight Club shows just how misunderstood and misinterpreted brutalism is as a movement. It was created to be simplistic, what one sees is what it is, yet it became the home for modernity and used as the background for capitalistic tendencies. One begins to wonder if brutalism really is all that bad, or if it was the emergence of skyscrapers and their subsequent gender roles that portray it negatively.

Skyscrapers, Masculinity, and Restraint

Are skyscrapers the true “bad” architecture, or is it just their portrayal through cinema and literature that gives them a negative connotation? This question specifically has been researched by Merrill Schleier in her book Skyscraper Cinema: Architecture and Gender in American Film. While talking about the movie The Fountainhead (1949), which was an adaptation of Ayn Rand’s novel of the same name, Schleier says:

“Rand viewed skyscrapers as the epitome of capitalist achievement, upward aspiration, and democratic values, which symbolized the hope of the future. Tall buildings are also linked to all aspects of Roark’s masculinity, from his refusal to adopt historical styles that Rand associated with decadent femininity, to his final triumph at the crest of the tower… Rand’s creation of class-inflected and gendered characters in the service of her conservative political and economic convictions also prompted me to reflect on the meanings ascribed to tall buildings in cinema at various moments in film history, seen variously as symbols of class aspiration and upward mobility, seminal masculine genius, tombstones of capitalism, hotbeds of illicit eroticism, beacons of democracy, or well oiled business machines assisted by computer technology. The explosion in scholarship in gender and space inspired me to consider the manner in which these buildings affect male and female, rich and poor, and various racial and sexual identities in different ways.” (Schleier vii, viii)

Schleier uses The Fountainhead, the 1943 novel by Ayn Rand and the 1949 film directed by King Vidor, as the exposition into the idea of skyscrapers and their impact on gender, and more specifically masculinity. Her understanding and interpretation of skyscrapers as symbols of masculine dominance and capitalist aspirations applies directly to the themes seen in American Psycho. The towering buildings in Manhattan, NYC, are not just the background setting for Patrick Bateman; they are architectural representations of his identity. Much like Schleier observes Howard Roark’s skyscraper in The Fountainhead to serve as a phallic emblem of individualism and masculine genius, the glass-and-steel skyline in American Psycho similarly reflects Bateman’s obsession with status, control, and his emotional detachment from others. One notable scene from Harron’s film is at timestamp 01:21:45, after Bateman was running through the streets of New York on a killing spree. He ends up in his high-rise office, and we see him immediately go look out the window, overlooking the city that he believes is now searching for him. This shot reflects Bateman as both the master and product of this capitalistic architecture, for he is above others, while simultaneously feeling like he is unable to escape the results of his actions. In this scene the skyscraper is no longer just a symbol of economic power, but Bateman’s own cage of conformity. It symbolizes Bateman’s performative masculinity and psychological emptiness. The sterile interiors and endless verticality of his office and apartment spaces underscore a culture built on power and hierarchies—environments that prioritize economic success and visual perfection while erasing humanity, intimacy, and empathy. In this way, Harron uses urban architecture to critique the very values it appears to glorify: ambition, dominance, and aesthetic perfection at the cost of true human connection.

Just as the towering skyscrapers in American Psycho reflect the polished exterior and internal void of capitalist masculinity, Sofia Coppola’s restrained, minimalist framing in The Virgin Suicides mirrors the simplicity and restraint often found in brutalist architecture. In Jeffrey Eugenides’s The Virgin Suicides, the story is narrated from a collective: a group of boys/men reminiscing on their views of the Lisbon girls. In the book, Eugenides details in depth what the boys witness regarding the sisters, which presented a unique challenge for Sofia Coppola: how to develop a film from the perspective of multiple observers and their web of information from secondary sources. An example of extreme detail in Eugenides’ story that was simplified to a singular shot in Coppola’s film was the scene of all the girls committing suicide. In the novel the boys go into gruesome detail describing Bonnie’s body hanging from the beam in the basement: “Above him, in a pink dress, Bonnie looked clean and festive, like a piñata. It took a minute to sink in. We gazed up at Bonnie, at her spindly legs in their white confirmation stockings, and the shame that has never gone away took over” (Eugenides 215). The narration continues for a few more paragraphs, giving an incredibly detailed description of how her face looked post-mortem, making readers really feel the weight of the situation. Coppola approached this scene with much more grace and care for the image of these girls, for all viewers see is Bonnie’s two saddle shoes and her white stockings while they hear the creak of the rope (Coppola 01:23:50). The single shot of Bonnie’s white stockings and saddle shoes hanging in silence recalls the harsh simplicity of brutalist design. There is no attempt to soften or conceal reality—only a brutal clarity that demands emotional acknowledgement. In both cases, architecture, in real life or cinematic framing, functions as a visual language that conveys gendered stereotypes: the skyscraper glorifying masculine control, or the brutalist architecture mirroring hidden suffering and lack of feminine expression. These architectural expressions force the viewer to understand the impact of space, both in cinema and the real world.

Conclusion: What Visualization Adds

Each of these examples examines the extended connections between architecture and the adaptation of literature into film. The visual settings of the films make the written settings of the literature much easier to understand their place in the real world. The distance between camp and the sheep in Brokeback Mountain was much easier to understand when watching the film than reading the short story. The size of the Lisbon house in The Virgin Suicides made clear why those five girls felt trapped and isolated when seen in the film. The sterile environment of the skyscraper in American Psycho versus the visibly neglected and chaotic Paper Street house in Fight Club are easier to understand their importance to the character’s mental state when visualized on the screen. Gender is an important aspect of each of these films, and it is also prominent in architectural design. The effect of gender stereotypes or the altering of preconceptions in each of these films and pieces of literature is central to their theses.Brokeback Mountain is a great example of breaking the bounds of gender stereotypes, since cowboys are incredibly masculine, and they both are attracted to each other. Though the character growth occurs in stereotypical gender settings, like Jack and Ennis are both performing as straight in marriages with women. “Bad” Architecture is entirely subjective, similarly to the idea of “bad” men in these narratives. This concept, being adapted from written to visual, gives deeper emphasis on nuanced storylines. In BlacKkKlansman the viewer knows that Ron Stallworth is really a Black man working for the cops, but he is pretending to be a white bigot who is interested in joining the KKK. We then have Flip Zimmerman, a white man, being puppeted by Ron to infiltrate the organization. Does this make Flip a bad man or Ron a bad man? How is it defined and who defines it is a question that can be applied to this, and architecture.

Investigating the complex process of translating space and place from literature to film highlights the visual strategies and transformations that enhance the story. By thoroughly studying Brokeback Mountain, The Virgin Suicides, BlacKkKlansman, American Psycho and Fight Club it is clear architectural spaces are valued in terms of gendered spaces, the scales of judgement between what is good and bad, and the human response to these physical conditions. It should be noted the utter magnitude architectural spaces have on the adaptation industry. Without these important background choices, the narrative would be stuck with a surface level story and lack of humanistic connections. In future analysis of spatial narratives regarding adaptation, these examples will provide insight into the industry for new professionals, which will lead to a boom in proper adaptational development.

Works Cited

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