Bret Easton Ellis's screenplay is filled with the worst kind of tin-eared dialogue and situations that seldom rise above their soapish base instincts, and in the third act, he clearly just gives up and turns one of his characters into Patrick Bateman.

With the pungent combination of a script from novelist Bret Easton Ellis, a performance by Lindsay Lohan and direction by Paul Schrader, The Canyons might have been a micro-budget sensation, but sadly it reeks of laziness.

Merely confirms Schrader as an all-but spent force (it's been largely downhill since the dismal Dominion) and nails Bret Easton Ellis as a one-trick pony.

[It] signals prophetic visions of breakdown — in empathetic corporeality, in cinema genre legacies, and in the capitalist American psyche.