Opens September 15, 1999

Mercilessly wicked in its view of modern suburban America, American Beauty is a surprisingly quirky project for a major studio. Despite the big name casting, this film is solidly anchored in the art-house aesthetic, thanks mostly to the Pinter-esque perspective of first time film director Sam Mendes, whose London theatre hits like Cabaret established him as a voice with whom to be reckoned. The hyper real dissection of American life will most certainly attract a more mature, sophisticated viewer but may alienate the average film-goer.

The story here is one we all know well. It's the tale of a family in decline: A husband fearing his mortality, a wife terrified of losing control, a daughter uncertain of who she is or what she wants. The interesting part is how each of these protagonists solves their problems. The film's world is seen through the eyes of Lester Burnham, deliciously played by Kevin Spacey. Lester is in middle-age crisis mode, frustrated with his ice queen wife Carolyn, whose angst is given voice through Annette Benning's nasty and supremely comic portrayal.

Lester's life takes a turn for the better -- or perhaps it's the worse -- when he becomes enthralled with doe-eyed Angela (Mena Suvari), the buddingly nubile friend of Lester's daughter Jane (a grown-up Thora Birch). Angela's glowing but deceptive sexuality is just the shot in the arm that Lester needs. Soon enough, he's quit his job, started lifting weights, threatened to divorce Carolyn and struck up a chummy friendship with brooding teen-age neighbor Ricky Pitts, whose pain is illuminated in a revelatory performance by relative newcomer Wes Bentley.

Everything spirals out of control from this point. Lester struggles with his place in the universe, while Carolyn gets a charge in the arms of a smarmy Prince Charming cum real estate magnate played with aplomb by Peter Gallagher. Meanwhile, the kids create their own webs of desire, deceit and denial. Eventually, tragedy arrives on everyone's doorstep, but then, that's the point here. Where the film soars is in its ability to force one to look at the dark corners of the psyche, to question whether we could indeed become like any of these poor souls. It also lays bare the fragile existence of American life, which is so often based on the appearance -- not the truth -- of happiness, stability and success.

Thanks to his theatrical underpinnings, Mendes has a bead on the emotional life of his characters, skillfully choreographing their descent into the darker side of existence with a strong eye toward social satire. Under Mendes' watchful gaze, the actors seem comfortable to go out on a limb, giving 110% to the absurdity of their roles. This is especially apparent with Benning and with Spacey, who always turns in a stellar performance but still surprises here with his journey from docile Everyman to unabashedly Puckish devil.

Still, Mendes tends to get a bit self-involved, often playing his scenes out in theatrical, sometimes stagnant staging. This serves to increase the sense of perhaps intentional distance that permeates the film, not only for the characters but for the audience. Mendes also tends toward a few heavy-handed stylistic choices that make the story border on the surreal. Again, most likely a conscious, but not necessarily accessible choice. Luckily, his more artsy visual bits -- the stand-out being the voyeuristic element that pervades the film -- tend to work beautifully in the hands of veteran cinematographer Conrad L. Hall, whose stark, provocative imagery is especially at home here.

The real star in all this, however, is newbie scribe Alan Ball, formerly a writer for such TV shows as Cybill and Grace Under Fire. Ball's caustic dialogue and incisive perceptions about human nature are worth the price of admission. While he does sometimes wax a bit too poetic, his poetry is rendered with such grace that it becomes an inherent element of the film. Indeed, without Ball's balance between sharp invective and his exposure of human fragility, this film would be nothing.

Exposing the underbelly of American life and even human existence in general, American Beauty's message is simple, albeit a bit too prosaic: Things are not always what they seem, so live each day to the fullest. Next time, you might just think twice when you say hello to your seemingly normal neighbors. Remember that innocent white picket fence could be black on the other side.