25 Movies Like Fight Club That Are Definitely Worth Watching

"The Game," David Fincher's 1997 predecessor to "Fight Club," stars Michael Douglas as Nicholas Van Orton, a work and wealth-obsessed banker. His brother Conrad (Sean Penn) returns into his life to present him with an unusual birthday gift. What do you get the man who has everything? If you're Conrad, you enroll him into a ridiculously convoluted conspiracy — one where he will struggle to determine what is part of the game and what is not, and one which will see him penniless and scared for his very life. (Truth be told, he would probably rather have had some nice aftershave. Even socks would have been preferable to finding yourself buried alive in a Mexican cemetery.)

It's a film where mere suspension of disbelief isn't sufficient — you'll need to get that sucker sub-orbital — but is a brilliantly shot and multi-layered experience. The plot-holes are thinly papered over, but the film moves as such a frenetic pace that you simply won't have time to worry about them. Fincher once again proves himself the auteur and expert in the smart and thought-provoking thriller.

Vietnam veteran Jacob Singer (Tim Robbins) is fighting a losing battle against mental illness, fighting violent flashbacks and terrifying hallucinations. His life falls apart as he struggles to recognize fiction from reality, eventually learning of an inhumane experiment that may have been conducted on Jacob and his platoon during the war.

Adrian Lyne's 1990 psychological horror film is notable for both a standout performance from Tim Robbins as the tortured Jacob, as well as a sympathetic portrayal of what we now refer to as post-traumatic stress disorder. Jacob's visions are at times subtle, and at other times absolute nightmare fuel. The Jacob's Ladder of the title (as well as being a none-too delicate link to the name Robbins' lead) refers to the Biblical spiritual bridge between Heaven and Earth, which is appropriate for his mental state — the character is effectively stuck in purgatory, unable to move on due to his personal demons.

There's a powerful twist at the end, which works for some but not others. It's an interesting rug pull, prompting repeat viewings of the movie and elegantly reworking the meanings and motivations of the scenes and supporting characters. It was remade in 2019 to little fanfare or applause.

If "Fight Club" can be viewed as a pitch-black satire about anti-capitalism, "Office Space" performs a slightly less harsh — but no less effective — critique on the mechanisms of capitalism and the worker-drone drudgery of the nine-to-five employee. Both movies go to show the results of breaking or ignoring the rules.

Office worker Peter Gibbons undergoes hypnotherapy to help his mental state, but his therapist dies mid-session. Left in a permanent tranquil state, Peter — through his new-found peace of mind and refusal to conform — finds himself accidentally fast-tracked to management. Realizing that the entire system is effectively broken, Peter and his friends seek to swindle his employer by means of revenge.

It's hilarious and well-observed, but the sort of the film that'll make any office worker cringe hard enough to turn themselves inside out. Mike Judge would later go on to direct the equally biting "Idiocracy," a preposterously far-fetched movie of a populace obsessed with dumbed-down gameshows and reality TV being ruled by an ill-equipped man-child of a President.

Based on the Alan Moore and David Lloyd comic series from the early '80s, the film is set in an alternative reality: a pandemic is devastating Europe, America is in the midst of a bloody second civil war, and British is a far-right totalitarian and oppressive regime with zero tolerance for what it deems "undesirables." A Guy Fawkes mask-clad vigilante known only as V fights a lone war against the authorities, and his paths cross with our protagonist — Evey, a television studio worker.

Freedom through anarchy is the message here, a theme also redolent of "Fight Club" — although the larger motif at work here is the power of symbolism, and of the power of the people. Of course, the V Guy Fawkes mask — in fact, the particular design from the comic and the movie — has become iconic in the real world also, adopted by both Anonymous hacktivists and the Occupy movement. That such a symbol is used to denote hidden commitment to a shared cause yet ultimately profits a film company is not without a certain irony that even V himself might find amusing.

When Linda and Chad (Frances McDormand and Brad Pitt, respectively) find a disk belonging to a former CIA analyst in the gym where they work, they see it as an opportunity to make money — believing the contents are classified information, and not just the mundane memoirs they actually are. One event leads to another, various spy agencies get involved with varying degrees of success, and everything goes horribly, catastrophically wrong.

In their star-studded 2008 dark comedy, the Coen Brothers once again steadfastly refuse to be pigeonholed. What on the surface seems to be a straightforward farce in the classic tradition, ends up becoming something far darker and hopelessly nihilistic. Despite the reassurances of our government bodies, the people that populate them are on the whole stupid, inept, greedy, or careless and it's a miracle that anything operates with any semblance of reliability at all. As "Burn Without Reading" shows, we're all at the whim of entropy and chaos. And, unsurprisingly in this era of supposed "fake news," things have barely changed since the movie's release. Or more accurately, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

There was a great deal of chatter about Todd Phillips' "Joker" prior to its release, namely casting aspersions on Phillips' credulity due to his comedic background, and also citing it as an origin story that nobody was asking for. They needn't have worried, because in "Joker" delivered something way more than a simple origin tale for the Crown Prince of Crime. Arthur Fleck — failed comedian, failed clown, failed human — finds his morality gradually eroded by the grim streets of Gotham City, inexorably descending into the insanity that will see him take the mantle of Batman's nemesis.

Looking like the movie Scorsese never quite got around to making, it's a tour de force of plot and performance. Joaquin Phoenix shines as the emaciated grease-painted protagonist, making a sympathetic character even as his deeds get darker. A mid-movie reveal trying to add connective tissue to the greater DC Universe falls somewhat flat, but the movie recovers from it admirably with another rug pull. If "Fight Club" is about men fighting to dispel the anger within them, "Joker" is about surrendering to it.

Photographer Jeff (Patrick Wilson) and Hayley (Elliot Page) have been chatting online and flirting for a while, and agree to meet in person. Problem is, Jeff is 32 and Hayley is 14. After going back to his house after meeting in a coffee house, Hayley drugs Jeff. When he wakes up, he's bound to a chair. It's very possible that Jeff's crimes may well have been revealed.

This taut 2005 psychological drama is held together by the two central performances; Wilson and Page are both utterly convincing in their roles, and it would have been easy to fall into the accepted stereotypes of Wilson as despicable villain and Page as avenging angel, but the film is considerably less predictable than that. Elements of it may be uncomfortable viewing — especially for such a taboo subject in cinema — but there are plenty of surprises, and some surprising shifts in sympathy. It goes to some very dark places, and the story is driven to a point that you couldn't predict.

Dealing with themes of both duality and identity that will ring true for those familiar with "Fight Club," "Birdman" is a 2014 black comedy set in and around a Broadway theatre, featuring an ensemble cast (and yet another appearance from trusty Ed Norton).

Riggan Thomson is a washed-up Hollywood actor, most famous for his role as the titular Birdman in a series of superhero films. He is attempting to make himself better known as a serious actor in his self-financed Broadway adaptation of a Raymond Carver short story. Following the days leading up to opening night, Thomson struggles with his confidence and individuality, as well as the manifestation of his superhero alter-ego — who begins to take physical winged form as Thomson's sanity flails. Not since "Being John Malkovich" has the soul and essence of an actor been laid so bare.

The incredibly versatile ex-Batman Michael Keaton is perfectly cast as Thomson, and the film is notable for both its all-star cast and an improvised jazz percussion soundtrack which acts as the very heartbeat of the film. Beautifully shot with long lingering takes, we can feel the frustration of Riggan in his flawed attempts to reinvent himself as a renaissance man, one who can write, direct, star and co-produce this ambitious performance. A wonderfully ambiguous ending tops off this delightful movie, and — like "Superman" — you'll believe that a man can fly.

A movie that should make us glad that unboxing videos didn't become popular until a decade later, "Se7en" is a gritty psychological thriller set in an unnamed, rain-drenched city. A serial killer is on the loose, choosing victims based on their violations of the seven deadly sins. Detective Somerset teams up with new transfer David Mills to find the perpetrator before he can claim his septuple victims.

Preceding both "The Game" and "Fight Club," "Se7en" is perhaps the bleakest film on David Fincher's resume — it's a truly nihilistic work with an ending that does the audience no favors. The predominant theme here is judgment; the killer (known only as "John Doe," reflecting both his mediocrity and his anonymity) is judging those he believes are guilty, and Somerset and Mills are trying to bring him to justice. It's the quest of the latter — and its inevitable, harrowing conclusion — that makes this film stand out, and that pegged Fincher as a talent to watch.

If you're familiar with the TV series "Succession" (and you really should be), you'll find some similarities here — namely, "Gone Girl" is a drama where the leads are unlikable, narcissistic psychopaths. Personality disorders are the order of the day in this David Fincher-directed psychological thriller, which is based on the hugely successful Gillian Flynn novel.

When writer Nick Dunne's wife Amy goes missing on the couples' fifth wedding anniversary, the subsequent media interest and police investigation reveal the truth lurking under their seemingly happy marriage, delving into a quagmire of duplicitousness, adultery, and lies, all hidden behind the facade of wedded bliss. Nick finds himself suspect number one in his wife's disappearance, and yet, as in "Hard Candy" (another film on this list), your sympathies will shift between Nick and his wife with each remorseless plot twist.

There's no denying that David Fincher favors a certain genre of film, and "Gone Girl" is no exception. With its unreliable narrators, issues surrounding identity, and a morass of overt and borderline psychological disorders, the book seems like a custom fit for the director of "Fight Club."

Martin Scorsese's film noir thriller, based on the 2003 Dennis Lehane novel of the same name, follows U.S. Marshall Teddy Daniels and his partner as they investigate an asylum located on the titular islet, seeking clues regarding a missing murderer.

Scorsese is clearly in his element in this particular genre, channeling Hitchcock with his shadowy and atmospheric shots, and "Shutter Island" is replete with all the elements you'd expect from a noir: lies, double-crosses, and a femme fatale in the form of the absconded murderess. Even the title of the film itself is an anagram of "truths and lies." Coincidence, or not?

Where "Fight Club" loosely dabbles with examining the nature of reality, "Shutter Island" plunges headlong into such a study. As Daniels' inquiry continues, he finds that he's essentially investigating himself, and must discover whether or not he's equipped to cope with what he finds. As we saw in "Memento," sometimes a protagonist learns that it's better not to know the truth. The whole film builds leads to a killer twist that you may well see coming, but it's no weaker a film for that — indeed, the nature of the rug-pull rewards a rewatch.

Patrick Bateman is a wealthy 27-year-old Wall Street employee with the world at his feet. Sadly, his wardrobe of killer suits is matched by his killer instincts — behind his handsome and charming façade lurks a penchant for cold-blooded murder.

Where "Wall Street" takes a wry look at the affluence and greed of the '80s, "American Psycho" wonders what would happen if even that wasn't enough. Based on the controversial 1991 novel by Bret Easton Ellis, "American Psycho" features a trope that's common to much of the writer's work: damaged characters who inhabit a flawed world.

On the surface, "American Psycho" shares satirical elements with "Fight Club," as both are transgressive pieces of fiction that star angry young men with psychological disorders. However, whereas it's possible to feel some sympathy for Ed Norton's narrator, it's difficult to eke out any for Bateman. He's an unlikable narcissist with a hair-trigger temper, and any audience would be forgiven for wanting to see this unpleasant figure face any form of justice. At the end, though, you're left to ponder whether Patrick's most profound mental disorder is his psychopathy or his inability to tell truth from fiction.

Not only were Peter George's 1958 novel "Red Alert" and Joseph Heller's satirical classic "Catch-22" both written at around the same time, but they'd both go on to spawn classic — and not dissimilar — movies. "Red Alert" was filmed by Kubrick as "Dr. Strangelove" in 1964, with "Catch-22" released at the dawn of the '70s. Both are parodies of the bureaucratic irrationality surrounding the military-industrial complex, embracing the worrying concept that the people in charge of keeping us safe are the people least-suited for the job.

The catch-22 in the title comes from the plight of the film's protagonist, Captain Yossarian. Yossarian is a B-25 Bombardier in the employ of the American Air Force, who tries to stay alive by flying as few combat missions as possible. Heller coined the phrase for the novel, and uses it to describe a situation that can only be avoided through a paradoxical solution.

In both book and film, any pilot who claims they can't fly because they're mentally unstable is instantly judged as fit for duty; as the logic goes, only a sane person would make such a request. It's this dark gallows humor that saturates every frame of this classic movie, one that reminds us that some situations can only be laughed at — otherwise, you'd start crying, and you'd never stop.