Review of American Beauty

Introduction

“Brad, for 14 years I’ve been a whore for the advertising industry, the only way I could save myself now is if I start firebombing.”

Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) in ‘American Beauty’

Melding the perversity-in-the-suburbs anxiety of the Kinsey report in the 50s to the ‘you are what you buy’ disenfranchised cynicism of today’s blackly comic social satires, ‘American Beauty’ hit a soft spot with audiences and those critic things, thanks to its flawlessly skilled acting, superior balancing of comedy and drama and hugely relatable material. In fact, so many have waxed lyrical about Sam Mendes’ Oscar nabbing debut, and so many have joined the subsequent (and inevitable) backlash bandwagon, that I hardly see the point in throwing yet another critique onto the endless entourage. But hey, its just a movie. And now, its just a DVD.

Video

Brilliant. My banged up Yugo of a DVD player may make the reds look positively radioactive but the transfer is clean enough to eat your dinner off of, and Conrad Hall’s (who shot, among others, the fantastic ‘In Cold Blood’) images sear the eye even more so than they did on the big screen.

Audio

Pity we don’t get the DTS available in Region One, but this 5.1 is more than adequate. Savor, in particular, Thomas Newman’s muted, partially ethnic score (with more than a little nod to Mychael Danna.)

Features

The bright, but bland menu screen is sadly a sign of things to come. This ‘Awards Edition’ promises much, but leaves little to the imagination. A 20 minute documentary is the archetypal example of what PT Anderson describes as ‘polishing your car’ with Spacey, Bening, Mendes etc rubbing lotion on one another about their much publicized Osca’ success. There’s some brief interest to be had, but the self-indulgent, sound-bite, Oscar-Diva smugness is a bit much. A lengthy (over an hour) storyboard presentation with Mendes and cinematographer Conrad Hall provides a modicum of interest and originality: the news that Bening consistently broke out in giggles during Spacey’s w***ing scene. Sadly however, Mendes’ false modesty becomes very grating after a while, and one prays for more of Hall’s funny and plain-spoken pragmatism and screenwriter Alan Ball’s understated intelligence amongst the ‘isn’t this movie great!’ gushing that pervades this disc. Copious amounts of which exist in the commentary track with Mendes (again!) and Ball, a slightly mis-leading program because Ball (the smarter of the two) only beams up once in a blue moon to announce ‘I love his tie’. Mendes talks in worryingly vivid detail about tracking shots, dollies and lighting, raving about the wonderful actors, the wonderful script and the wonderful photography and music. If this weren’t irritating enough, talk of the movie’s deleted scenes permeate the discussion, the fact that we get to see precisely none of these scenes is simply a barrage of slaps in the face.

Conclusion

A Nightmarish landscape of a disengaged wasteland (suburban America), that’s shot like a blissfully pure daydream. ‘American Beauty’ is an exquisite dissection of millennial middle-class woes that loses its unique grasp of existentialism with a convoluted whodunit wraparound plot device. At times, Sam Mendes beatific obsession with visualization galvanizes some of the film’s darker edges (Cooper’s right-wing closet homo is only so much half-baked shoddiness; Janney’s terribly sad wife-next-door obviously doesn’t warrant the film’s attention), something with which Todd Solondz’ ‘Happiness’ and Ang Lee’s similarly themed ‘The Ice Storm’ avoided to their credit. Conspicuous also, that subtle, lyrical imagery is so often over-staged by ‘why use a scalpel when a sledgehammer will do’ symbolism and crude laughs.

However the film’s deconstruction of morbidly cynical teenage angst and despairing passion is particularly acute, Wes Bentley and Thora Birch creeping out and seducing with equal measure and Mena Suvari’s private self-loathing more complex than any ‘Lolita’. Kevin Spacey may have done this role before with similarly sarcastic scathing bile (‘Hostile Hostages’) but still turns in a Lester Burnham that is impossible to dislike (a problem in itself) and also a kind of archetype for the malaise of the American male, consumed by a lonely and impotent sadness. Indeed, the great joys of the film are Spacey breaking his white picket fence prison and embracing the inner child, long since castrated by his bitter, lost-in-a-daze materialistic wife Carolyn, a moving, but rather one-note clowning performance by Annette Bening, whose humiliation is the focus of cynical humor but barely a note of compassion. Bening, as always, delivering a performance scales above that warranted by the underwritten role.

A protracted and rhythmically clumsy third act can’t disguise the vivid ‘open your eyes and get real’ message of Alan Ball’s screenplay, and neither can Mendes somewhat overwrought (not to mention simplified), misogynist undertones (where, exactly, are the sympathetic and complex female characters?) At least, however, ‘American Beauty’ is one Hollywood movie that does mean something, and the film’s sad yet joyful longing comes across like a arrow through the heart. Adventurous, poignant, funny, and yes, in its own way, something of a beauty.