American Beauty Revisited
Tuesday, February 18, 2025.
Having nothing better to do last night, I decided to re-watch one of my favorite American films.
When American Beauty (1999) first hit theaters, it was hailed as a revelation—an artful, devastating critique of suburban malaise wrapped in a darkly comedic, visually stunning package.
It won five Academy Awards, which is Hollywood’s way of saying, “We swear this was deep.”
But 25 years later, does the film still make us gasp with existential dread, or is it just another relic from an era when men in crisis were somehow poetic instead of just sad?
Let’s take another look at American Beauty, a film that asks big, important questions, like: Is happiness a lie? Are roses inherently creepy? And should we all quit our jobs and start smoking weed in our garages?
The Story: A Suburban Tragedy, But With a Beating Heart
At its core, American Beauty is a film about midlife crisis, repression, and the rot beneath the polished veneer of American suburbia. Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) is a 42-year-old advertising executive who wakes up one day and realizes his life is a meaningless charade.
His marriage to the hyper-competitive Carolyn (Annette Bening) is as lifeless as their perfectly curated flower beds, his daughter Jane (Thora Birch) can barely look at him without cringing, and his job is a soul-sucking death march into oblivion.
Instead of making sensible changes, Lester decides to have a breakdown.
He quits his job in the most dramatic way possible, starts lifting weights in his garage like a guy who just discovered Joe Rogan, and—oh yeah—develops a totally inappropriate infatuation with his teenage daughter’s best friend, Angela (Mena Suvari). Because, sure. That’s a reasonable response to malaise.
Meanwhile, Jane’s romance with Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley), her thoughtful and perceptive next-door neighbor, is the film’s most tender and sincere relationship.
Ricky, an amateur filmmaker who finds beauty in the mundane, isn’t just the obligatory “weird neighbor.” He is the film’s conscience. He sees things clearly, with a quiet intensity that makes the world bearable rather than overwhelming. In a house ruled by silence and repression, Ricky is a rare soul who dares to look at life without flinching.
Cinematic and Thematic Brilliance (Or, Why This Film Deserves More Love)
Sam Mendes, making his feature directorial debut, orchestrates the film with surgical precision.
Alan Ball’s razor-sharp screenplay and Conrad L. Hall’s cinematography create a visually and thematically complex world where roses symbolize repression, red doors signal yearning, and every character is trapped in their own personal hell.
But here’s the thing: it’s not all cynicism and decay. There’s hope here too, in small, flickering moments of connection and understanding.
The Theme of Repression
The film portrays repression in its many forms: sexual (Lester and Carolyn’s failed marriage), emotional (Jane’s extreme side-eye), and ideological (Colonel Fitts’ violent denial of his own sexuality). It’s like watching a pressure cooker set to explode—you know disaster is coming, and you can’t look away.
Beauty and the Fleeting Nature of Life
Ricky Fitts’ poetic musings about a floating plastic bag have been parodied to death, but let’s be honest—there’s something profound about it.
He’s not just some guy romanticizing trash.
He’s someone who has learned, through hardship, to appreciate the beauty that others ignore.
In a world that demands distraction, Ricky reminds us to actually look. His video camera isn’t an escape—it’s a form of reverence.
His line, “Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it,” isn’t pretentious; it’s deeply human. Who hasn’t felt that sense of awe at least once?
The Deconstruction of the American Dream
Lester’s “awakening” is the film’s biggest joke. He thinks he’s breaking free from societal expectations, but really, he’s just making a different sort of mess.
Carolyn’s obsession with real estate, Colonel Fitts’ rigid masculinity, and Jane’s desperate search for authenticity all highlight how the American Dream is less of a dream and more of a marketing scheme. But the film doesn’t just critique—it asks, “What now?”
And it offers Ricky’s perspective as an answer: Bestow Attention. Find Beauty. Stay Awake to the World.
The Controversies and Changing Cultural Lens
Twenty-five years later, American Beauty feels… complicated.
Kevin Spacey’s real-life scandals add an extra layer of “ick” to Lester’s storyline. The #MeToo movement has made Lester’s infatuation with Angela less of a tragic midlife fantasy and more of a giant red flag.
The film’s message about rejecting societal norms also feels different in a world that actually encourages therapy and emotional intelligence.
Is Lester a hero? A tragic figure? A cautionary tale? My gut says the answer is now somewhere between “yikes” and “good lord, man, get it together.”
A Masterpiece That Still Deserves Our Attention
Despite everything, American Beauty remains a fascinating, deeply moving cinematic experience.
The cinematography, performances, and dark humor still hold up. The themes of suburban decay and midlife crises are as relevant as ever, even if we now watch Lester’s downward spiral with more skepticism than sympathy.
But what really keeps American Beauty alive isn’t Lester—it’s Ricky.
He is the film’s reminder that we have choices.
We can chase the illusion of control, like Carolyn.
We can let ourselves crumble, like Lester.
Or we can look closer, like Ricky, and choose to see the world for what it is: tragic, beautiful, fleeting. And occassionally, overwhelming in its grace.
So, what does it mean to revisit American Beauty in 2025?
Maybe it’s a reminder that suburban malaise is eternal.
For some, it’s a cautionary tale about what happens when men try to solve their problems with sit-ups and fast food jobs.
Or maybe it’s about realizing that the real beauty in life is not de-skilling your career to smoke weed—it’s paying your damn mortgage and finding happiness with whom and where you might find it.
Like that floating plastic bag, American Beauty drifts between brilliance and absurdity, refusing to settle into any one meaning. And maybe that’s why we’re still talking about it 25 years later.
Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.