"I saw a whole other future. I can't stop seeing it."
Revolutionary Road, Sam Mendes' return to the domestically dysfunctional stomping grounds that made his name nine years ago with American Beauty, has given me all sorts of grief. I thought I was pretty much done for the year, ready to call it a day on 2008 and then along comes this film. Now I've gotta go back and put Revolutionary Road on all my best of lists, not only for the year, but possibly for all time.
If I was the swearing type (I can be, but never mind), I'd have exactly the expletive to describe my reaction to this film; it's one much more closely associated with professional wrestling matches or special effects blockbusters. Revolutionary Road is that much of a shock of power and gravity. Like a kick in the gut, the performances are raw and brutal. Mendes' great achievement is levelling his actors' emotional nakedness against the veneer of the self-possession and plastic reserve of the film's 1950s setting.
"Revolutionary Road," the first and most lasting novel by the late Richard Yates, was published in 1961. It was a shake and a slap to the post-war suburban Middle Class, arguing that success in American society need not breed conformity in its trappings and a forfeiting of personal or professional ambition. Many have subsequently tried to turn the book into a film and it can be argued that 2008 is one of the least appropriate times to make the attempt. Nowadays, Yates' plea for cultural acknowledgement of the dangers of suburban malaise is no longer surprising or controversial. But even if its relevance has shrunk to a less societal (more personal) level as a portrait of a married couple trapped in the Great American Lifestyle, it still packs a hell of a punch.
As written by Yates, Frank and April Wheeler are just a couple of crazy, dreamy-eyed kids in love. At least they were before marriage, kids and the perfect house in the suburbs came along. Somewhere Frank's romantic talk of travel and April's unconventional life as an aspiring actress fell by the wayside of their quaint Connecticut surroundings. April's discomfiture at settling into the mode of the typical '50s family seeps into every aspect of her being. In the role of the breadwinner and man of the house, Frank has slipped into upwardly mobile docility far easier than his restless wife and cannot relate to April's rages against happy mediocrity. To April, the encroaching languid domesticity threatens to overtake their pledge to always hold on to the young, progressive couple they were. Desperate to seize the last gasps of their heady ideals, April pleads with Frank to come away from the stale, bourgeois existence that is consuming them and run off to live the life of true bohemians in France. One person's freedom is another's bondage and Frank and April struggle to find the common ground that will allow them to be happy again.
Revolutionary Road is a study in the moral claustrophobia of an era. The film shines a light on marital disappointment and fading dreams that aren't, after all, so far removed from this age as then. April's wrath against the dawning of comfortable mediocrity and "settling down" is relevant to anyone who's watched a lover become less than the superhero you were sure was there. That frustration, bouncing against the rubber walls of a beautiful home in 1950s Connecticut, is made all the more stifling when the entire neighbourhood is watching and judging. April's passion for life and one last grab at it is smothered by all around her, including her partner, and is ridiculed for being a childish or unrealistic decision. The utter betrayal April feels realising that she and Frank have grown into utterly different people than the two young dreamers they began as is sealed when Frank questions her very sanity at her inability to happily live in what he has decided is a perfect life.
When it comes down to it, this is very close to be the best thing that either Leonardo DiCaprio or Kate Winslet have ever done. Considering that Winslet is chronically excellent in everything she does, that states much. The very antithesis of their previous hearts and flowers coupling in Titanic; one could easily muse that this might have been how Jack and Rose's life turned out had he been able to stay on that damn floating table.
DiCaprio lends an oozy charm to Frank's smug, entitled alpha-male working drone. Frank is comfortable with his place in the world because despite his initial reluctance at following in his father's footsteps at the same company, he's simply got the best a working stiff can ask for. The three-martini lunches and access to disposable, dewy-eyed secretaries are simply a matter of course. As his star rises within his company, the more frightened Frank becomes of losing the stability that April despises. DiCaprio does a lovely bit of balancing between the smarmy philanderer and the mystified young man who no longer understands the woman he is still besotted with.
Winslet's April is arch and passionate, nurturing, confident and needy. As her own dream of becoming an actress dies in a Connecticut school auditorium, ill-placed words by a well-meaning, clumsy Frank add bricks to the wall of her reserve to be more than just another suburban mum. Without histrionics, Winslet's ability to convey how trapped April is by every aspect of her life is breathtaking. Under April's constant public scrutiny, she gives more away with less - a flick of a cigarette and a downward gaze - than scores of other actors of her generation could manage with reams of dialogue. In the forcibly subdued veneer of acceptable 1950s behaviour, April fairly chokes on her distaste for everything she and Frank have become; frightened, boring and finally ordinary. When neither hysterics nor silence avail her nothing, you can genuinely feel the walls closing in on her. I think this will be it for Kate; the Oscar will finally be hers.
And then the fantastic supporting cast is the Maraschino cherry on top. From Dylan Baker as Frank's slimy, unctuous cubicle mate, to Kathy Bates as Mrs. Givings, the Wheeler's adoring, nosy friend and realtor, to David Harbour as the next door neighbour whose adoration for the Wheelers goes a bit deeper. The standout is Michael Shannon as the Givings' mentally "ill" son, John. The Givings reckon being around a model young couple like the Wheelers might help John to acclimate himself back into society. His unclouded insight and lack of verbal inhibition cuts a swathe through the fluffy veil of pretence of the Wheelers' public front, forcing even the couple to face hard truths. Shannon's nervous, imposing presence jolts a film that was already moving along quite greatly. His shattering of the Wheelers' carefully posed perfection is a band-aid torn off a raw wound. It's not lost on April that the institutionalised John is the only one who sees her life in the same way she does.
Comparisons will obviously be made to Mendes' American Beauty but, beyond taking that same suburban nightmare territory, Revolutionary Road is a totally different animal. The 1950s is much more fertile ground for the mannered, simmering desperation abundant in the piece. Sam Mendes masterfully conducts his impeccable cast, alternately reining in and allowing controlled fireworks of verbal savagery to suit the age of apropos and good reputations. It's been a long time since I was haunted by a film, but Revolutionary Road will stay in my eye for a very long time.
Brilliant, this.
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