This is not my beautiful house
American Beauty A film review by Michael Redman Copyright 1999 by Michael Redman
***1/2 (out of ****)
Virtually every man and woman snaps awake at least once in their life to hear the words "This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful life" - even if they aren't listening to a Talking Heads song.
Call it middle-age crisis or spiritual awakening, suddenly there is a realization that they've been the walking undead for a l-o-o-o-n-g time and they want to do something about it. For women it's often triggered by the biological alarm clock ringing or perhaps the emptying of their nest. For men, the catalyst is often not so defined, but it usually hits people sometime after about age 35.
For everyone the change has them looking around at their life and identifying their lack of fulfillment. Have they really been working at that dead-end job for 20 years? Have they really forgotten to be alive for decades?
Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey), 42 year old suburban family man, gets his wake-up call from God in a time-honored male holy tradition. He falls in lust with a high school cheerleader.
Lester's fed up with his job. His family hates him and he returns the emotion. His life is going to hell in a handbasket on the express lane. He is sure that everything is wrong, "I've lost something. I didn't always feel so sedated." And he is powerless to do anything about it.
Until, that is, he encounters his daughter Jane's (Thora Birch) seductive teenage friend Angela (Mena Suvari). That night Angela's image comes to him, projected on his bedroom ceiling covered in rose petals. Suddenly Lester pump iron, quits his job and cruises around town smoking dope in his newly-acquired seventies Firebird with "American Woman" at full blast.
He's become a poster boy for a bad male mid-life crisis: the kind you see in cartoons of an old guy in a sports car with a blonde babe next to him. The kind you cringe when someone you know falls into it.
But from the inside it's something entirely different. Lester has opened his eyes to the truth and is trying every way possible to recapture some of his enthusiasm for life. Sure he does some stupid things and makes some bad choices, but at least he's trying. He thinks he's doing it all to get Angela, but actually he's engaged in a holy war for his soul.
The new boy next door, Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley), dresses like a Mormon on a bicycle mission and is obsessed with videotaping Jane. At first she is grossed-out, but comes to appreciate his artistic soul. When he shows her the most beautiful thing he has ever taped, it is an empty plastic bag dancing in the wind. The visual with his voice explaining his feelings is mesmerizing.
Like everyone else in the film, Ricky is an odd internal mix. He finds beauty in everything, even a dead bird. He's independent, but lets his ex-Marine father beat him. He won't leave home until his father gives him permission.
Ricky has a moment of exquisite truth when he tells Jane they all live in deep denial. Everyone in the film is living a lie. Lester's wife Carolyn (Annette Benning) thinks she'll finally be happy if she can sell more houses. Jane is saving her money for a "boob job", but when she undresses in front of her window for Ricky's camera, it's apparent that's the last thing she needs.
In the fifties, living in the suburbs became the holy grail for the middle class. If they could move out to the land of white picket fences, every day would be a Pleasant Valley Sunday. In later decades, Ozzie and Harriet were revealed to be merely masks for the quietly desperate.
The film gradually grows darker as the truths become revealed. When the characters began to see their wretched lives, it remains hilarious, but with a much sharper edge.
The greatest strength of "American Beauty" is its actors, followed closely by the cinematography. There's hardly a mis-step anywhere. If there's any justice, look for nominations when awards time comes around.
Perhaps the most amazing aspect for me is that the theater was packed. Do this many people want to see a very dark comedy about how dead they are. Watch for Firebirds.
(Michael Redman has written this column for over 24 years or so. He's had about a dozen mid-life crises and looks forward to many more. Email your tales of inappropriate lust to redman@indepen.com.)
[This appeared in the 10/7/99 "Bloomington Independent", Bloomington, Indiana. Michael Redman can be contacted at Redman@indepen.com]
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