‘American Beauty’ Comes Highly Praised, But Is Not For Everyone

American Beauty, the most highly praised film of the year thus far, is a biting, darkly humorous look at suburban culture and family dysfunction that yet contains a number of scenes that make it less than suitable viewing for general audiences: a crude shot of two people caught in the act of adultery as filmed from the foot of their motel bed; dream sequences that depict one father’s fantasies about his teenage daughter’s best friend; several scenes of “self-gratification”; and numerous occasions of frank, explicit language as a married couple deals with their growing estrangement from one another. In other words, this is not a flick for the kiddies.

In fact, American Beauty, now playing at Bethel Cinema, is the kind of well-conceived, exquisitely played drama/black comedy that nevertheless is not for everyone.  I find it hard to blanketly exclaim the film as “best of the year, go see it!” because of its unflinching – arguably, at times, uncomfortably near (or over) the edge – look at the underbelly of suburbia in general and mankind specifically.

Kevin Spacey is unforgettable in the lead role of Lester Burnham, a middle-aged father who serves as the film’s narrator. A media marketer who somewhere along the way lost his vitality for life and now feels a lifeless drone both at work and home, he urges the audience in his opening, a voice-over monologue, “it’s never too late to get it back.” The movie then becomes and unfolding tale of how Lester got his groove back, spurred by his lustful gaze upon his daughter’s cheerleading cohort, Angela (Mena Suvari), and her confession to his daughter, Jane (Thora Birch), that he might be a viable option if only he worked out a little. Almost immediately, Lester dusts off his weights and running shoes and seeks to get in shape.

As richly as Spacey portrays his suburban “everyman,” writer Alan Ball and first-time film director Sam Mendes (a veteran stage director who gained acclaim for his recent triumphs with The Blue Room and the Cabaret revival) display just as sure guidance with the rest of the cast and are rewarded with a company of keenly delineated characters. Annette Benning is sharp as Lester’s wife Carolyn, a realty agent whose priorities have become warped and is so horrified of being weak and dependent that she literally beats herself up when she cries after an unsuccessful day. Birch plays the familiar disillusioned and distant teen, but keeps admirably far from stereotype. Suvari makes a strong impression as a self-assured, cover girl wannabe. And Wes Bentley is convincing s Ricky, the Burnhams’ quiet new neighbor with a penchant for video taping nearly everything, including Jane.

Though American Beauty is filled with fine, Oscar-caliber performances, is captivatingly shot by veteran cinematographer Conrad L. Hall (who uses the color red in a manner similar to that in The Sixth Sense: whereas that film used crimson to signify items or people touched by ghosts, American Beauty  uses red to represent fantasy or façade), and contains many chatter-provoking sequences (several of which are implied above), one lasting image is a video taken by Ricky of a white plastic bag being tossed about by the wind. He shares that this sequence captures his continuing pursuit of beauty, a beauty that reveals the “benevolent force” behind it all. While American Beauty – rated R for strong elements including profanity, sexuality, violence and adult subject matter – seeks a triumphant tone as its characters search to regain the beauty within themselves, it strikes a sad note as they struggle to find themselves apart from a more specific context of what (or who) that benevolent may be.