If you’re looking for a movie with a lot of action, Marriage Story is not for you. This is the year’s family drama, I suppose; and it has way more to do with feelings and emotions than with any particularly wild plot schemes. The film tells the story of the divorce of Charlie and Nicole–as well as the complication added by money-grubbing, hatred-rousing divorce lawyers. It goes without saying that many people in Hollywood are familiar with the divorce storyline since celebrity marriages statistically have higher rates of failure than those of the average American. Whether or not that makes Marriage Story a popular choice for BP remains to be seen.

Channeling past winners like 1979’s Kramer vs. Kramer and 1980’s Ordinary People, Marriage Story examines what it means to be a family in the midst of family circumstances that are not ideal. Charlie and Nicole did love each other once, and it is difficult for them (and for us viewers as well) to grasp what exactly broke them apart. The heartbreak in the film is layered with the comedic relief of quirky family members and awkward situations that add to the reality of the story and further emphasize the fact that people and relationships are complicated–something we can all relate to, whether or not we’ve experienced the pain of divorce.

Why This Film Might Win BP:

This is a tough one. The film’s story is good, though not great; and its writing is decent. But what Marriage Story mostly has going for it is that its actors deliver believable, moving performances that allow us to connect with them emotionally more than we do with characters in other nominated films for this year. I see sincerity in this movie, and that counts for something–though probably not enough to win BP.

Why This Film Might Not Win BP:

It’s a little forgettable when it sits in a list with blockbuster-caliber films like 1917 and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. Marriage Story isn’t the only film from 2019 to feature strong acting performances in emotional roles, so it can’t really bank on that feature alone to put it at the top of Academy members’ voting ballots. If Parasite winning BP would be like feeling the tremors of an earthquake, then Marriage Story winning BP would be like witnessing the dawn of the apocalypse. Just saying…

Joker is emblematic of the recent trend in making use of the antihero, a main character who exhibits negative characteristics that we don’t usually associate with protagonists. Usually, we like our protagonists to be “good guys” who fight “bad guys” and win. Definitely not what we get with this film.

Joker is the story of one Arthur Fleck, a broken and mentally ill man whose whole life has consisted of one cruel disappointment after another–and as those heartbreaking events come upon him in swift succession, Arthur seems to always become the victim of physical violence in some form or another. As Arthur observes, the rich have everything and don’t give a care about those at the bottom of the social ladder. Crime seems to pay; and after a few too many let-downs, Arthur decides to stop being a victim and live for his own amusement–which leads him to make victims of others.

Like Parasite, Joker includes no small amount of socio-economic commentary: Rich people are the enemy, and the poor are victims of the prosperity and selfishness of the upper class. Furthermore, Joker is an investigation of self, of motives, of how much power to allow one’s past to have over one’s future. So, it’s not just a film about violence, but it does have some really disturbing parts. Um, let me rephrase that: The whole film is disturbing, and you should definitely close your eyes during a couple of particularly gory parts. But if you are interested in mental illness and the study of it, this film could easily draw you in.

Why This Film Might Win BP:

Joaquin Phoenix is spectacular in this film. He is on-screen nearly the entire time, and it is difficult to look away from him. The surest bet out of all the Oscar categories this year is probably Phoenix for Best Actor. The supporting cast is solid, though pretty bland (not through any fault of their own…Phoenix just steals the show). The music is hauntingly beautiful (and may also win for Original Score), and the cinematography is creative. With a familiar character like the Joker, the current popularity of comics, and a performance like Phoenix’s, Joker could perhaps win BP.

Why This Film Might Not Win BP:

As captivating as Phoenix’s Joker is, he still makes me want to hide my head under a blanket and periodically peep over the top to see if I can come out yet. And I’m probably not alone in feeling this way. This movie might just be too dark for Academy voters to choose it for their top prize. It hasn’t been long enough since Heath Ledger’s posthumous Oscar win for playing the same character–a role which caused him mental and emotional anguish and led to his eventual demise. Although Phoenix is sure to follow in Ledger’s footsteps and be handed a little golden man for playing one of the creepiest villains to appear in film in the last decade or so, the makers of Joker might not be laughing at the end of the night tomorrow.

I literally just finished watching this film, and my mind is reeling.

Over the last few weeks, there’s been some serious hype about Parasite winning BP. Yet I confess, I didn’t go into my viewing of it with high expectations. Boy, was I wrong. This indeed could be the year that a foreign language film–I mean, an international feature film–wins the Academy’s whole shebang. Some people were a bit miffed when Mexico’s Roma didn’t win BP last year, but South Korea’s Parasite blows Roma right out of the water.

A combination of a little bit of horror, a smidge of comedy, a double-portion of suspense, and a massive amount of socio-economic commentary, Parasite keeps its viewers guessing right until the end as the protagonist Kim family, poor and unbelievably conniving, worms its way into the household of the wealthy and privileged Park family. The economic disparity between the two families spawns a host of profound ideas that the film explores: the power of money, the futility of humanity’s scheming, the value of family, and the tragedy of–and social question about–“all the people who live in basements.” Other than a super awkward and unnecessary sexually explicit scene, as well as some profanity (which the English subtitles happily translate from Korean) and a surprising bit of violence, Parasite is a rather brilliant movie.

Why This Film Might Win BP:

It’s definitely memorable and thought-provoking. And, yes, it’s brilliant. Somehow, Parasite combines the dramatic irony and social class conflict of 1950’s All About Eve with Get Out‘s (2017) creepy, knock-your-socks-off plot twists. It is superbly written (except for the sex scene and the profanity, of course) and well shot. Plus, a few weeks back, the cast of Parasite took home the SAG Award for Cast in a Motion Picture, that show’s highest honor. “If not now, when?” has suddenly been popping up all over Twitter, a hint of the popularity and momentum that might make Parasite the first non-English-language film to ever win Best Picture.

Why This Film Might Not Win BP:

It’s not in English. Foreign films, with a few exceptions, don’t usually fare well when it comes to the later awards on Oscar night. For American viewers, Parasite‘s cast members are unfamiliar; and to me, although they got stronger as the film went on, the first 30 minutes or so of the film were anything but an acting clinic. Parasite is very clever, for the most part, about having the characters be silent at suspenseful or action-packed moments of the movie–this allows non-Korean-speaking viewers to be able to focus on the visuals instead of trying to keep up with the subtitles. However, that struggle to find a balance between reading lines and watching the action does take something away from the film (at least upon one’s initial viewing). But then again, perhaps Academy voters will come back for another helping of the brilliance of this movie. Parasite is definitely worth a second glance and more than a second thought for BP on Sunday.

People were already buzzing about The Irishman‘s domination of the 2020 Academy Awards at this time last year. The big draw here is the combination of the directing of Martin Scorsese and the acting of greats Robert De Niro and Al Pacino (along with Joe Pesci and every other Italian actor we know and love–even funny guy Ray Romano gets in on the action). The Irishman tries to ride the coattails of 1972’s BP The Godfather: same actors, mobster story, violence, etc. But, The Godfather–and Marlon Brando as Don Corleone–is iconic cinema, and it is none too easily roped in as a “booster” to the success of another film. If you like gangster movies, you may come to love this one; but for me it is not nearly up to par with The Godfather, though promotional material keeps trying to assure us it is. The Godfather possesses those deeper themes regarding family and loyalty and ethics; and although The Irishman tries to also incorporate these ideas, it falls a bit flat. This might be because it is so, so, so long. Good grief, is it long!

Why This Film Might Win BP:

Again, the biggest thing this film has going for it is its cast, its director, and its mobster subject matter. Even though it is not as dynamic or memorable as Francis Ford Coppola’s masterpiece, The Irishman is still the most Godfather-like film we’ve had in a long, long time; and Academy voters know that. Pesci, De Niro, and Pacino are very convincing, and together they deliver what is arguably the best performance by an ensemble cast this year. Plus, 10 nominations is nothing to sneeze at.

Why This Film Might Not Win BP:

For all the hype, The Irishman has come up pretty short at all the major awards shows so far. Despite its strong cast and popular subject matter, in my opinion, this film does not meet the expectations that were created for it. Thus, it doesn’t seem to be as good as it might be. That last sentence is about as clear as some of the plot lines and family/mobster relations featured in The Irishman…And yes, it is so, so long. Plus, its being a Netflix film and not a widely released theatrical motion picture, places The Irishman in the “controversial” category of films vying for BP. Maybe the Academy won’t opt for controversial this year.

Hello there! I’m finally back at it and just in time for what is perhaps our favorite time of the year (at least movie-wise). Yes, the Academy Awards are right around the corner, only a week away. And because the Oscars are super ridiculously early this year, I might not be able to succeed at my usual quest to view all the nominees beforehand; but I’ll make a valiant effort to see as many as possible.

Let’s start with a good one. 1917 is a World War I flick, which we hardly ever see. I was just talking with one of my classes this past week about how WWI is so overshadowed in our current time period by the more recent and more famous WWII. WWI is not often studied by the average student these days, there are no survivors anymore, and the impact of the War to End All Wars has faded into distant memory. However, the calamity that was WWI was just as earth-shattering as WWII–and in fact, without a WWI there may not have even been a WWII. Still today in our post-Holocaust world, it is so easy for many of us to forget this war and those who fought and died in it.

1917 remembers the Great War, though, and it remembers it well. In a breathtaking mixture of beautiful cinematography, respectable acting, solid and suspenseful storytelling, and a lovely score, 1917 almost hearkens back to the Oscar-winning epics of past years. While we don’t get quite as attached to the characters in 1917 as we do with those of films the likes of Braveheart (1995) and Gladiator (2000), 1917‘s protagonist, William Schofield, is still pretty lovable and inspiring in his own right, even though he’s not nearly as memorable. What I appreciated most about 1917 was that, along with telling a good story, the film attempts to address deeper issues such as the value of life; the ethics of warfare; and the importance of loyalty, friendship, and family.

Why This Film Might Win BP:

1917 comes into the 92nd Academy Awards with 10 nominations, which automatically qualifies it as a frontrunner for the final Oscar of the night. Plus, it took home Best Motion Picture – Drama at this year’s Golden Globes, which is often (but not always) an indication of which direction the Oscar vote might go as well. Apart from its prior accolades, though, 1917 isn’t controversial, can’t be said to be uninspiring, and is a beauty to see on the big screen–all elements in its favor to take home BP next Sunday.

Why This Film Might Not Win BP:

Like 2017’s Dunkirk (but not quite to that extent), 1917‘s characters get a little lost in the film’s sweeping cinematography and action; and there’s not as much dialogue as there is suspense. Hence, the film garnered no acting nominations–nor was it nominated for Film Editing, a category in which the night’s ultimate winner usually also proves victorious. In recent years, the Academy has steered away from epics and has awarded more “artsy” films, which doesn’t bode well for 1917. And, since World War I isn’t the most popular topic for film and most people are less familiar with this war, voters may not have felt as much of an attachment to 1917. If 1917 can beat the odds, though (and I hope it does), it will be the first WWI flick to win BP since 1930’s All Quiet on the Western Front, a brilliant film whose echoes down through time are not completely unheard by 1917.

I’ll be taking a bit of time away from FlicksChick.com for the holiday season. I hope you and yours experience great joy and warm togetherness at this special time of the year! See you in a few weeks!

To many people, Gladiator is a man’s movie, a macho flick which boasts impressive CGI and spectacular scenes of bloody combat. It’s entertainment for those who enjoy watching violence–sort of along the same lines as viewing WWE. Everybody knows that what they’re seeing isn’t real; but it’s fun to pretend it is, to revel in the savagery on display.

I think this view of Gladiator is completely erroneous.

As far as the film’s graphic content, what director Ridley Scott does with his BP winner is to employ violence in order to condemn it. Pretty clever. In the film’s opening scene, we watch the Romans, led by their general Maximus, make short work of the last unconquered Germanic tribe. The scene is brutal and gruesome; but near its close, Scott takes an interesting approach with his camera work, blurring the violence and giving viewers an insight into both the chaos of warfare and various reactions to it (revulsion, desperation, sorrow, heartlessness, emptiness). Maximus and company seem noble enough when they are fighting for their emperor and empire, but still there is a feeling of unease and doubt as to what conditions are acceptable for killing another human being: When is it right to take a life?

Soon after the battle, Maximus meets with his dying emperor, Marcus Aurelius, who reminds the victorious general that life is full of unending conflict: “There is always someone left to fight.” When Aurelius asks Maximus to become the Protector of Rome after his impending death and help give power back to the Roman Senate so that they can end “the corruption that has crippled” the empire, Maximus must choose to set aside his own desires (namely, to go home to his wife and son) for the greater good of others.

His noble choice is hijacked when that very night Aurelius is murdered, and Maximus is faced with another, more instant choice. He can opt to take the easy way and serve Aurelius’ son Commodus, who has claimed the throne and whom Maximus believes is the murderer; or he can defy logic and emperor and attempt to right the wrongs around him. His choice to do what is right leads to the horrible deaths of his wife and son and to Maximus’ own capture, enslavement, and forced transformation into a gladiator.

Now the film presents its viewers with more violence. We have been told that there will always be someone to fight, and we–and Maximus–are again asked when it is right to kill. Devastated by the loss of his family, Maximus is at first suicidal, refusing to fight and, in essence, asking someone to kill him and put him out of his misery. But after a rousing speech by Proximo, Maximus’ owner, about how each person can choose how to meet death “in order that we are remembered as men,” the former general’s mindset changes. He has been given a task: save Rome from its amoral self. The road to achieving this goal seemingly involves taking revenge on the man who had his family killed: Commodus, the new emperor. So Maximus becomes pretty much the most popular gladiator in the world, spectacularly slaughtering all his competition. Like the soldier he was, he is “required to kill, so [he kills].” One can argue that he is exercising self-defense in the arena–but there is the lingering issue of his quest for vengeance. Is retaliatory killing morally acceptable?

Commodus, whose thirst for brutality can hardly be quenched by the deaths in the arena, addresses this issue as well. Confronting Maximus in the arena after the gladiator has defeated another challenger in an unfair fight rigged by the emperor, Commodus asks, “Are we so different, you and I? You take life when you have to, as I do.” This is a legitimate question, the answer to which lies in the characters of the two men. We’ve seen who Maximus is: a man of honor, devoted to his family and to his empire, loyal, and respected. On the other hand, Commodus is about as bad as they come. Not only is he whiny, immature, and spoiled, but he also delights in cruelty. He commits patricide and regicide, brainwashes/manipulates the Roman mob to do what he wants, and denies his people the true freedom of living in a republic. Plus, he loves his sister Lucilla…in an incestuous way. Other than a few moments of vulnerability when Commodus expresses his desire to be loved by his father, his sister, and his people, as well as his fears about the dark and life being nothing but a bad dream, all we get from Commodus is corruption and hatred. He is evil embodied. He doesn’t kill for honor or self-preservation, but for enjoyment and out of fear. He and Maximus could not be more different.

In the end, though (spoiler alert!), Commodus claims brotherhood with Maximus on the grounds that they both loved his father Marcus Aurelius–and then treacherously wounds Maximus before fighting him in the arena. This set-up of the final clash of protagonist and antagonist allows Maximus’ quest for vengeance to be achieved as he kills Commodus–but the revenge is justified both by Commodus’ evil and by the motivation of self-defense inherent in such duels. It is interesting to note, however, that by achieving his vengeance, Maximus loses his own life. Perhaps the film–like Shakespeare’s Hamlet–hints here that revenge is not a worthy reason for taking the life of another person. Nevertheless, Maximus goes to his reward: an afterlife with his wife and son. We can only surmise what happens to Commodus’ soul.

For Me Then…

Gladiator‘s take on violence and the ethics of life-taking are simply one aspect of an utterly and brilliantly complex film that also asks its viewers to debate such issues as the meaning of empire, the responsibilities of leadership, the essence of being human, and what happens when we die, among other things. The way the film intertwines its exploration of all these significant topics sets it apart from most other movies I have seen. It challenges my mind every time I watch it, and for that I love it.

For me, though, the deepest, most beautiful aspect of this film is the underlying message of salvation that it gives its viewers.

Maximus, the essence of good, is never dissuaded from the mission that Marcus Aurelius gives him at the beginning of the movie: save Rome. Whereas once Rome was “light” to a world that is “brutal and cruel and dark,” it has lost itself and the morals upon which it was built. To save the empire and restore this idea of goodness and greatness requires Maximus to sacrifice himself and all that he loves: his family, his freedom, and his own life. To him, though, this is his reasonable service. Not even a reigniting of his past love for Lucilla can distract him from his end goal: “There was a dream that was Rome. It shall be realized.” Rome is not to be a place of death, where people are enslaved and tortured and massacred for others’ enjoyment. Those atrocities belong to the dark, where Commodus sits paranoid and full of evil. The only hope for the mindless masses who greedily consume whatever sustenance and vile entertainment is thrown to them is for someone who knows the good way–and who lives in it–to defeat what is wrong and demonstrate what is right. This is what Maximus does as general, as gladiator, and in his final fight with Commodus. He removes the evil and establishes the good for those who cannot do so, who don’t even know what they’re looking at when the enslaved gladiator kills their emperor. Maximus’ last words to those who betrayed him and who lacked the courage to selflessly pursue right are of restoration. To Quintus, his former second-in-command, Maximus gives one final instruction: “Free my men.” To Lucilla, he gives reassurance about her son’s future: “Lucius is safe.”

But the best part for me comes when Juba, Maximus’ gladiator friend, takes Maximus’ little carvings of his wife and son and buries them in the bloodsoaked sand of the Colosseum, declaring with a smile, “Now we’re free.” Literally, freedom is gained by being covered in the blood of the good one who gave himself for others. This is, in essence, the message of Christianity as well. Jesus, the only perfect Man, also God, gave up his life so that those who believe in Him can be covered by His blood and receive true freedom, the forgiveness of our sins and life everlasting. “What we do in life echoes in eternity,” General Maximus tells his troops. Like many concepts in Gladiator, this one is also true. What we do in this life with Jesus Christ’s sacrifice–accept it or reject it–will affect us forever. If we choose to accept it, we are now free.

During this week following Thanksgiving, I have two confessions to make. One: I am so, so, so thankful for this film (especially after the previous two BP winners). And, two: This is my absolute favorite movie ever. Seriously.

Personal story! Back when I was still in high school, my parents used to have me and my brothers take turns choosing what we would watch for family movie nights. One night when it was my youngest brother’s turn to select the film, he came back from the video store with Gladiator (2000; DreamWorks, Universal Pictures, Scott Free Productions). I was thrilled because I am a huge ancient history geek; however, I strongly disliked this movie the first time I saw it. I found it gross, and the ending really upset me. However, my brothers and I always had this habit of rewatching a movie we had rented (you know, to make sure we had gotten our money’s worth), so I dutifully engaged myself in a second helping of Gladiator the following day. For whatever reason, this second viewing was not as repulsive as the first. I found myself intrigued by the characters and the plot, inspired by Hans Zimmer’s gorgeous musical score, and captivated by the film’s deeper meaning. After another viewing with some friends, I was hooked. On my senior class trip to Colorado, I bought myself a shiny new VHS copy of Gladiator, calling it a “souvenir” so my parents wouldn’t say I had wasted my money on a movie I had already seen. I and all my classmates enjoyed it on the long bus ride home..and then I watched it every chance I got once I was home. It was spectacular every time.

One fun fact about Gladiator is that the movie almost didn’t happen. Years after its filming and release, director Ridley Scott and actor Russell Crowe, who plays protagonist Maximus, still joke about the unconventional way their BP winner came to be. In what Crowe calls “the dumbest possible way to make a film,” Gladiator began production with only about 20 pages of script (the average script is usually closer to 110 pages long). In fact, the movie was written at the same time that it was being filmed–by a team of writers who sometimes even worked on set, combined with the efforts of freelance writers in the United States and the United Kingdom who also sent pages to Scott and Crowe. The finished product was a patched-together screenplay whose brilliance is often underappreciated, in my opinion, despite Gladiator‘s nomination for Writing (Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen) at the 2001 Academy Awards.

All in all, Gladiator received 12 Oscar nominations and took home 5 awards in a year that boasted such diverse competition as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Traffic. Gladiator‘s wins came in the categories of Costume Design, Visual Effects, Sound, Actor in a Leading Role for Russell Crowe as Maximus, and Best Picture. It failed to win for Art Direction, Cinematography, Film Editing, Music (Original Score), Writing, Actor in a Supporting Role for Joaquin Phoenix as Commodus, and Directing for Ridley Scott. Gladiator‘s Best Picture win marked the first time since 1949 that a movie had won BP without winning for either Directing or Writing, which is a true travesty, in my book. I also think it’s absurd that Joaquin Phoenix didn’t win for his creepy and diabolical Commodus–he so owned that part that it took a few years for many people (myself included) to be able to accept him in any role in which he wasn’t the bad guy.

On an interesting cultural note, Gladiator was the last film to win BP before September 11, although 2001’s winner A Beautiful Mind was also shot prior to the terrorist attacks that had such a drastic impact on every part of our lives, including pop culture and film. Released during that short period of time between what was supposed to be the end of the world as we knew it (Y2K and the new millennium) and what actually wound up being the end of the world as we knew it (9/11), Gladiator and its commentary on violence (and especially violence as entertainment) now seem deeply ironic–and deeply profound. To a world that still had fresh memories of Columbine, that debated the effects of graphic video games on the minds of young people especially, that both embraced and wrestled with the ethics and unpredictability of the new reality television where anything could happen, that still remembered a simpler way of life before the domination of cell phones and computers, Gladiator presented a story of good versus evil that didn’t shy away from addressing both the problem and love of violence in our culture. Today, as we can literally watch any kind of brutality or lewdness on demand at home, this BP’s message of rejecting depravity as amusement and fighting instead for what is good is even more relevant than it was all those years ago. Just one of the reasons why it’s my favorite.

For more thoughts on Gladiator and its significance, please check out this weekend’s post!

This week I’m thankful for our next film, Gladiator, which will be on the blog in a few days. Enjoy the holiday week, Everyone!

“We get a chance to see characters have experiences that make us feel that we’re not the only ones who have those feelings…We sort of have a collective admission when we see characters do those things that we do,” said Kevin Spacey in regard to what makes American Beauty, in which he stars as Lester Burnham, Oscar-worthy. What is not clear from the above quote is what American Beauty “experiences” Spacey thinks we all share. Cheating on one’s spouse? Neglecting one’s child? Lusting after underage girls? Wanting to kill someone? If we all “do” these things, as Spacey claims, then our society is in major trouble. But in its presentation of the sinister side of an “average” family, American Beauty sends the same message as Spacey, inviting its viewers to “look closer,” as one of the tag lines on its original poster says: Those whom we see around us everyday–family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, etc.–are not what they seem. What really lurks underneath sweet, suburban America and within its put-together people is sad and dark and utterly unattractive.

Superficially, the Burnhams, the film’s protagonist family, look good. Lester has a steady job and supports his family. His wife Carolyn devotes herself to caring for her roses and gives herself pep talks about her capabilities as a new real estate agent. Their daughter Jane is supposed to be the average teenager: embarrassed by her parents and hating the world.

However, it doesn’t take long for viewers to realize that the Burnhams only look good on the outside. In reality, they’re a mess. Lester sits in the backseat of the minivan while Carolyn drives Jane to school. He sits in silence at the dinner table, and no one will pass him the dish he asks for. His new boss is willing to ignore the moral indiscretions of some higher-up employees and instead lets Lester go. Lester’s life is listless, boring, meaningless. His wife and daughter have no use for him. He’s a nobody worth nothing. And no one cares. Carolyn is ridiculous. Although she believes she has social graces, she laughs like a hyena at everyone else’s comments in an effort to gain their approval and further her floundering career. She thinks only of herself and makes an effort to support Jane in her cheerleading merely because she thinks doing so will make her look like a good parent (opposed to actually being a good parent). As for Jane, she does drugs and hangs out with one friend, Angela, a girl who believes (and flaunts the supposed fact) that men can’t resist her and that the worst thing in the world is being ordinary. Jane’s new boyfriend Ricky is a voyeur, his father is abusive, and his mother is nearly catatonic.

Once Lester becomes obsessed with Angela and Carolyn embarks on an affair with Buddy Kane, the sleazy-but-successful real estate “king,” their family dynamic becomes even worse. Lester’s dreams of Angela inspire him to get physically fit, to speak up in the presence of his wife and daughter, to make friends with his neighbors–things that seem positive, but which are really just that much creepier when one remembers that his goal is only to sleep with Angela. Spoiler alert! When Angela finally offers herself to him sexually, Lester declines and becomes suddenly grateful for his wife and child, even though they appear not to care about him. He holds an old family picture fondly–and then he gets murdered.

The smidgen of gratitude we get from Lester at the end of the film becomes nearly a beautiful moment–he even dies with a smile on his face as he realizes the most important thing in his life isn’t the forbidden sexual gratification he could get from Angela, but the family he already has. Still, Lester’s murder eclipses the effect of his happy reverie on American Beauty‘s viewers and reminds us again of the evil lurking literally right next door. At the end of the film, though, appearances no longer matter as much. There’s no effort to cover up Lester’s killing so that everything still looks good. The result of all the concealed hatred, pain, and fear is there for all to see and attempt to deal with.

For Me Then…

It’s the roses. The title American Beauty most likely refers to a type of rose–the kind Carolyn Burnham grows all around her front yard, the kind whose petals are always present in Lester’s dreams of Angela. It is important that the flowers are (usually) vibrant and whole when associated with Carolyn and, in effect, dead and in pieces when seen with Angela. Through all the dark twists and turns of the film, Lester struggles to find meaning in his life. Once he lays eyes on Angela, he convinces himself that he has found something to live for. But when he is finally offered what he thinks will banish the emptiness inside him, he quickly sees that he is wrong about what really matters. Angela can only give him more of the same lifeless nothingness. Life and purpose are to be found with his wife and daughter. Seconds before he dies, Lester realizes it isn’t important that one live a flashy, spectacular life. A seemingly mundane life is exactly the opposite when one has people to love. And maybe, just maybe, American Beauty hints that knowing this love and practicing it can dispel some of the darkness inherent in flawed humanity.