Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) is going through a midlife crisis. His menial job is in jeopardy, his marriage with status-obsessed Carolyn (Annette Bening) is on the rocks, his daughter Jane (Thora Birch) will barely speak to him. But when he meets Jane's friend Angela (Mena Suvari) he suddenly becomes rejuvenated. Lester gets in shape, quits his job and befriends videographer/pot dealer Ricky (Wes Bentley), son of an oppressive Marine Colonel (Chris Cooper). Lester finds contentment, even as Carolyn cheats on him and Jane falls for Ricky. Of course, his transformation won't be complete unless he seduces Angela.
Critics and audiences love American Beauty: it won Best Picture, and currently has an 88 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. Loaded with obvious symbolism and pointed "themes," it's an easy film to dissect and defend. This viewer found it thoroughly facile, a live-action cartoon loaded with self-indulgence.
Let's start with Lester. Presented as a repressed Everyman, he's a seriously warped character. His myriad neuroses could, in better hands, make for a fascinating story, if recognized for what it is. Instead, the movie celebrates his descent into puerility as righteous rebellion against "the System." Watch Lester tell off his wife while jerking off! See him blackmail his stuffy boss! Marvel as he contemplates statutory rape! What a guy. Maybe next he can beat up Brad Pitt and fashion bombs out of soap.
Director Sam Mendes and writer Alan Ball don't help by surrounding Lester with contrived caricatures. Ricky is the worst, a voyeuristic creep presented as a pop philosopher. Angela is equally ill-conceived, a faux-nympho with a laughable "revelation." The homophobic Colonel and materialistic Carolyn are convenient strawmen to kick around. None are remotely believable except as tools to elevate Lester's moral status.
Beauty's phoniness extends beyond its characters. Ball presents stilted sitcom dialogue as barbed wit. All of the character arcs and story threads come together with deadening predictability. Will a homophobe be outed? Will Lester get to publicly shame his philandering wife? Will the "bad girl" turn out to be all talk? Where did Beauty come up with such fresh, original ideas? No wonder it won five Oscars.
Mendes and legendary photographer Conrad Hall craft a slick-looking product, beautifully shot and visually crafted. But too often the visuals are either contrived or skull-crushingly ostentatious. The rose petal motif becomes tiresome through overuse. Then there's the plastic bag, an empty symbol apropos of nothing.
Here lies the crux of the problem. If Beauty were a broad satire, or had a scintilla of self-awareness, it would be easier to swallow. Instead, it postures as a deep, penetrating drama when it's really vacuous nonsense. Its targets are easy, its "symbolism" subtle as an H-Bomb, its message celebrating irresponsible narcissism.
Kevin Spacey tackles an impossible role with aplomb. His performance is certainly daring and I'd be apt to praise it, if I could buy Lester for a second. Other good actors fare even worse: Annette Bening plays a one-note shrew, Chris Cooper's (The Town) character is thoroughly fake, Allison Janney catatonic, Thora Birch somnambulistic, Wes Bentley (The Hunger Games) an eyebrow-slanting pervert. Then there's poor Mena Suvari, mixing smut talk with an unbelievable last-minute transformation.
American Beauty sucks. That this won Best Picture over The Insider is a crime worthy of prosecution by the Hague. Heck, I enjoyed Orca more than this overstuffed compost heap.
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