American Beauty

Wow. Ok. To say there is a lot to unpack in American Beauty would be a severe understatement. After switching off my television, I had the sense that I hadn't fully grasped the pandemonium I'd just witnessed. Before delving in, it is impossible not to mention that the film's legacy has been irreparably marred by the innumerable controversies surrounding Kevin Spacey (he is set to be in court yet again in 2026, facing multiple sexual assault charges). It is a shadow that continues to linger over contemporary viewing of the film, yet, despite this, there are many aspects of this satire that I loved.

Sam Mendes' American Beauty is daring, astute and razor-sharp in its dissection of the dark underbelly of American suburbia. This dark comedy was a belter to watch, but its conclusion just misses the mark.

The film opens with a grainy, camcorder recording: a teenage girl sprawls across her bed, complaining that her "cringey" father should "be put out of his misery." The anonymous filmer asks whether she truly wants him dead. She locks onto the camera, donning a Kubrick stare and murmurs, "Yeah. Would you?" The tape cuts abruptly away to wide, sprawling shots of American suburbia, laden with white picket fences, porches and manicured lawns. A voiceover by Lester Burnham (Spacey) calmly forewarns us of his upcoming death as we pan across the serenity of middle-class domesticity. The opening of American Beauty packs a punch, juxtaposing the sinister tape (reminiscent of something out of Paranormal Activity) with the cheesy clichés of suburban life - it is a theme that sustains with unsettling precision throughout.

We are formally introduced to our protagonist, Lester Burnham, a dull advertising exec who sits on the periphery of his own life. At home, Lester is belittled by his wife, Carolyn, and ignored by his daughter Jane. Clumsy and meek, he is demoted to the back seat of the car on school runs whilst Jane and Carolyn sit upfront. At his stuffy desk job, Lester adopts a saccharine, corporate cheer that consolidates the empty falseness of his existence. As neighbours go about their days, he watches from his window, merely a spectator of the world as it passes by. Burnham family life is bland and shallow: at the dinner table, they sit spaced evenly apart in sterile isolation, listening to drab 'elevator music'. Various family portraits cover the walls, another reminder of the glossy artifice that coats the seemingly perfect household.

The theme of a mis-sold American dream is literally embodied in Carolyn, who is an ambitious estate agent. Before her open house, she de-robes, dresses in a slippery nightgown and cleans maniacally, role-playing as the perfect housewife. After countless false smiles and cheery sales tactics, she sobs when the clients are gone. Carolyn is arguably the most interesting character in the film: a woman suffocated by her own ambition and fantasy. Constantly in competition with Buddy Kane (her biggest rival and a dashing salesman to boot), she strives to sail on the winds of capitalism, but is barely holding on. She clings to Buddy's mantra like scripture - "In order to be successful, one must project an image of success at all times." Her desperation to present a curated portrait of success, whilst repressing her true anxieties, is what will lead to her ruin.

Jane, meanwhile, is filmed for the first time by the voyeuristic Ricky (Wes Bentley), her new next-door neighbour. Ricky's father, Colonel Frank Fitts, is a man fossilised by his military past: regimented and severe, he runs his home like a barracks (Ricky repeatedly addresses him as 'Sir'). Meanwhile, Ricky's mother drifts through the house in a medicated slumber, barely cognisant of her own environment. The dysfunction is different to that of the Burnhams', yet they exist in alternate worlds of the same unhappiness.

However, Ricky quietly resists, selling drugs, faking employment and surviving the severity of his father. He is a small rebellion figure in a town that is preserved (and terrified) by its own artifice. He marvels at the 'beauty of the world' through his camcorder, notably a video of a plastic bag floating in the wind. He watches the tape, in awe of an unseen, omnipotent force that gives even the most mundane things beauty. For some, the moment is moving. For others, it is a desperate romanticisation of a world void of meaning. In American Beauty, everyone partly resembles the plastic bag, directionless and at the mercy of unseen forces.

Last but not least, we meet our 'American Beauty'... or Jane's best friend, Angela. Angela is blonde, beautiful, and hyperaware of her desirability. At a basketball game, Lester is immediately entranced by her: dream-like shots show him sat alone in the bleachers, whilst Angela performs a sensual striptease for him. The infamous rose petals make their first appearance as she undresses, exploding out from her unbuttoned shirt, a clichéd embodiment of his romantic obsession. The sequence is ridiculous, unsettling and a harbinger of things to come. When the two are introduced, Lester age-regresses into a clumsy schoolboy, fumbling his words - it is truly pathetic. Angela, however, doesn't seem to mind. She lavishes in the attention as it validates her aspirations of becoming a model and monetising her beauty (I hesitate to mention capitalism too much in this review). Angela casually comments that 'everything that was meant to happen, does'. The line underscores her status in a culture that continuously rewards her beauty, but also hints at the theme of inevitability that recurs throughout the film. She is a stuck-up, self-absorbed, aspiring Chrissie Turlington, but certainly charming. Mena Suvari does a great job of mastering the energy of someone you hate but aspire to be.

Enthused by his obsession with Angela, hatred for his wife and dissatisfaction with his life, Lester undergoes a midlife rebellion. He rages against Carolyn's discipline and Jane's apathy, blackmailing his employer, quitting his job and working out in his garage. He revels in his newfound freedom, pushing it to the realm of optimistic nihilism: nothing has meaning, so do what you want! No more boring dinner table conversations; Lester throws a bowl of asparagus against a wall, evolving into a pastiche of a domineering father figure. As the familial hegemony breaks apart, so does their restrictive conservatism: Carolyn has an affair and feels sexually liberated, Lester buys the car he has always dreamt of and Jane strips for Ricky, despite her self-consciousness. Notably, Carolyn goes to a shooting range to unleash her anger, accepting an internal ugliness that combats the 'genteel housewife' image.

Dark suburbia becomes a perfect breeding ground for tragedy when the Colonel misinterprets Ricky dealing Lester drugs as a sexual relationship between the two. He beats Ricky and throws him out of the house before making a pass at Lester. The moment is oddly heartbreaking and Chris Cooper does a fantastic job at imbuing the Colonel with destabilising self-hatred. It is clear that the Colonel loves his son: he is desperate to keep him off drugs and teach him moral lessons, but, like the others, his good intentions are betrayed by self-loathing and fear.

Ricky rushes to Jane's house, where Angela is staying the night, and urges Jane to run away with him. She agrees instantly, thrilled by the prospect of escape. Angela tries to intervene, pointing out the recklessness of the plan; for all her short-sightedness, she is right. Ricky is strange: he videos dead animals, stalks Jane and deals drugs. The couple turn on Angela, dismissing her as "boring and totally ordinary." This is the ultimate insult to Angela, whose entire identity has been constructed around being 'special'. Consumed with her own fantasy, she cannot believe that Jane is wanted in a way that she is not. Angela's unravelling is portrayed beautifully by Suvari, who imbues the shallow teenager with a self-conscious fragility. Shaken, Angela runs downstairs, where Lester is waiting predatorily. The two finally kiss and there are no fictional rose petals this time to cushion the awkward reality. Angela confesses that she is a virgin and her illusory, siren facade collapses; what's left is a vulnerable, scared teenager. Lester's grim fantasy is shattered and he pulls away.

Meanwhile, Carolyn (armed and unravelling) drives home in the rain, passionately repeating, 'I refuse to be a victim.' Lightning strikes and illuminates a primal fear, "hurt them before they hurt you", distilling the film's undercurrent of capitalistic self-preservation. The Burnham's red door glows in the storm, transformed into something reminiscent of The Shining and welcoming in an impending doom. The drama reaches a crescendo as Lester sits at a table, marvelling at a picture of the family he has created; there is something tender in his smile, a hope that he can begin anew.

A gun slowly enters the shot, and blood splatters across the polished wall.

The conclusion of American Beauty is complex. The revelation that Frank Fitts is the killer is less shocking than it is perplexing, and not entirely satisfying. His self-repression culminates in an unalterable act of violence. I suppose it could be seen as a perfect, nihilistic end to Lester's story. Carolyn discovers Lester and we see her collapsing into Lester's wardrobe, clutching at his clothes and their normalcy. Next, Jane and Ricky discover the body: Jane seems strangely comatose whilst Ricky marvels at the gruesome mess. There are many unresolved storylines at play (the consequences of the murder and Jane's future with Ricky, to name but a few).

As the film draws to a close, a dead Lester muses, “It’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world… I remember to relax and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain.” It is a poetic conclusion to a turbulent story, ending the film with the same striking juxtaposition that marked its beginning. The characters in American Beauty are so consumed by dissatisfaction, resentment, and longing that they overlook life’s small, fleeting moments of joy; therein lies the tragedy of the story. My major critique is that Mendes gives Lester too much grace by granting him the posthumous monologue. Allowing Lester to explain what happened to him after death grants him quasi-omnipotent power. A cold kill would have been a far more brutal and deserving end for Lester.

All in all, American Beauty is fantastically compelling, rich with dark humour, striking visuals, and nuanced characters. Its layered storytelling and sharp social commentary will certainly reward repeat viewings... and I can't wait to see it again.

8.7/10

Yours sincerely,

The Film Buff