| Review:
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Family dysfunction has been done to death in movies,
but rare is the film that has not gone out of its way to
decontextualize domestic tragedy and bitterness from the
historical and cultural forces surrounding it. The ironically
titled Revolutionary Road is that unique film giving potent
meaning and perspective to what might otherwise be seen
as mere household squabbling.***
And that key notion here is the unconscious despair
ignited by various disillusionments surrounding the warped
mystique of the American Dream. Or as the late, great comedian
George Carlin said it best, that's why it's called the American
Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it.***
And there's another deeply significant aspect to this
story touching on the post WWII double-edged sword hopes
and aspirations among that suburban-bound young generation
back then, and that's the particular plight of its women.
Because while delving into the thwarted lives of suburban
women as Revolutionary Road does with such uncompromising
conviction, it becomes clear that the impetus for the rage
that gave rise to the women's movement in the 1970s was
sparked as much by the excruciatingly oppressive existence
and unrealized dreams of those mothers of the subsequent
generation of feminists, and that emotionally damaging maternal
despair those daughters were nurtured in. And indeed, how
the historical moment experienced by that generation of
male and female children alike, contributed to the anti-materialistic
rebellious sixties. Directed by famed British candid deconstructonist
of US culture, Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Jarhead) and
based on the scathing Richard Yates novel, Revolutionary
Road is more than determined to engage audiences in a confrontation
with the consequences of the 1950s cultural period. That
is, by taking us through the briefly glimpsed romance and
early dull when not combative Wheeler marriage of April
(Kate Winslet) and Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) minus the courtship,
wedding and honeymoon details, and without benefit of historical
context as scenes play out generically under cover of darkness.***
Then, following a brutal argument the night of April's
failed bid as an amateur actress, a harsh morning light
is deliberately inflicted on the audience, as a visually
both literal and figurative rude awakening to the stinging
reality of grim suburban conformist existence. In this manner,
Frank heads from his Connecticut home in identical gray
flannel attire with hundreds of other dashing commuters,
descending upon Grand Central Station to equally oppressive
though financially comfortable desk jobs. It's also evidently
noted that there's hardly a woman spotted among this male
herd, as all those domiciled female house pets chain smoke
and self-medicate on secret booze back home in their cookie
cutter suburban gilded cages.***
And though April now bears a responsibility as the
young mother of two children, she longs for much more than
the hermetic existence and materialistic comforts of consumerism.
And she convinces Frank that he needs to part ways as well
with his unfulfilling job to pack up everything and head
for an adventurous life in Paris as, you might say, premature
free spirits. In other words, to be 'wonderful in the world,'
though without an actual concrete clue.***
Eventually, insecurities set in, subconscious excuses
arise, hopes are dashed and the marriage threatens to disintegrate
under the weight of ferocious battles. And at any moment,
we expect a deeply depressed and chain smoking though still
domestically dutiful April to morph into Sylvia Plath and
be poised to stick her head in the gas oven, a Christlike
sacrificial figure destined to be left standing in her own
blood, imprisoned behind a window in a hollow world. But
like the many housewives around her of that stifled generation,
she steels herself to be happy solely for Frank, resigned
to living a life of quiet desperation not so much with,
but through him.***
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