(American Beauty, 1999, Sam Mendes)
I have very distinct memories of watching the Academy Awards in 2000 when American Beauty won Best Picture. I was eleven, and I remember asking my mom if we could go see it. Of course she said no, because it was an R-rated movie and I was an eleven-year-old, but based on the clips they showed during the awards ceremony I couldn't grasp why it wouldn't be appropriate (clearly I didn't understand that networks couldn't show R-rated material during prime time). My mother told me that the movie was about "grown-up things," and that someday when I was older she'd let me see it. I'm sure I stewed on that for a while, unhappy that I was being denied something that I was interested, wallowing in the gross injustice of it all, while still knowing that if my mom said the movie wasn't okay it probably wasn't.
It took me eleven years after that to finally see American Beauty, and for some reason it carried a special allure for all of those years. There were many occasions when American Beauty was on HBO and I could have watched it, but even though I was old enough to see "grown-up things" I always heard this little voice saying "you're not allowed to watch this! You're not a grown-up yet! Change the channel!" It didn't matter that I had long been old enough to handle it's mature content, the film maintained a forbidden status in my mind that I could never muscle past. Now I kind of think of it the same way I think of The Picture of Dorian Gray: it's something that I know is supposed to be great, but that I'm slightly afraid of experiencing because I don't want to be disappointed by it. I built American Beauty up in my head as this incredible film that would totally change the way that I looked at things, that I was being prevented from seeing because it's content was mind-blowingly R-rated, but I avoided seeing it because I didn't want to be let down when it didn't live up to those expectations. Having now seen it I can say that while it wasn't totally paradigm shifting or racy, it also wasn't a major disappointment.
I know my mother is reading this, so I'll take this moment to say that I absolutely do not resent her for not letting me see American Beauty when I was eleven. It is not a film for an eleven-year-old. In all honesty, it's not even really a film for a seventeen-year-old. The dysfunction and anger that exists between the characters is something that can really only be understood by someone who has some experience with the world, and even as a 22-year-old college graduate I'm not entirely sure that I can fully appreciate it's message. The things that the film deals with are challenging for anyone who is old enough to understand what they are, and while that makes it an excellent film it also makes it a difficult one.
One of the ways that I judge a good film is by how many times I get distracted. If I'm whipping my laptop open every fifteen minutes to check Facebook and play Angry Birds the film probably isn't that gripping. When my mom and I were watching American Beauty I don't think I got distracted once. I might have looked something up on my computer at one point, but if I did I paused the film to do so. I can't remember the last time that I have been so focused on a film, especially one where so very little seems to happen. For 122 minutes I was completely riveted. The characters experience so much anguish and face so many demons that I just didn't want to look away.
More than anything I am happy that I saw American Beauty when I did. I had plenty of opportunities between the winters of 2000 and 2011 to see it, but I didn't. Something, maybe that nagging voice in the back of my head saying that I wasn't allowed to see it yet, kept me from watching it until now, and I'm glad. Even though I don't feel like I've had enough life experiences or challenges to empathize with the characters, I at least know enough to be able to comprehend what they are going through. I learned that American Beauty is not the film that I thought it would be when I saw the pretty scenes with the red rose petals, and that's what makes it so great. On the outside it looks glossy and perfect and flawless, but it's not. Just like the characters that populate its world, American Beauty is putting up a facade for the sleaze, grime, dysfunction, and violence that are lying just below the surface.
It took me eleven years after that to finally see American Beauty, and for some reason it carried a special allure for all of those years. There were many occasions when American Beauty was on HBO and I could have watched it, but even though I was old enough to see "grown-up things" I always heard this little voice saying "you're not allowed to watch this! You're not a grown-up yet! Change the channel!" It didn't matter that I had long been old enough to handle it's mature content, the film maintained a forbidden status in my mind that I could never muscle past. Now I kind of think of it the same way I think of The Picture of Dorian Gray: it's something that I know is supposed to be great, but that I'm slightly afraid of experiencing because I don't want to be disappointed by it. I built American Beauty up in my head as this incredible film that would totally change the way that I looked at things, that I was being prevented from seeing because it's content was mind-blowingly R-rated, but I avoided seeing it because I didn't want to be let down when it didn't live up to those expectations. Having now seen it I can say that while it wasn't totally paradigm shifting or racy, it also wasn't a major disappointment.
I know my mother is reading this, so I'll take this moment to say that I absolutely do not resent her for not letting me see American Beauty when I was eleven. It is not a film for an eleven-year-old. In all honesty, it's not even really a film for a seventeen-year-old. The dysfunction and anger that exists between the characters is something that can really only be understood by someone who has some experience with the world, and even as a 22-year-old college graduate I'm not entirely sure that I can fully appreciate it's message. The things that the film deals with are challenging for anyone who is old enough to understand what they are, and while that makes it an excellent film it also makes it a difficult one.
One of the ways that I judge a good film is by how many times I get distracted. If I'm whipping my laptop open every fifteen minutes to check Facebook and play Angry Birds the film probably isn't that gripping. When my mom and I were watching American Beauty I don't think I got distracted once. I might have looked something up on my computer at one point, but if I did I paused the film to do so. I can't remember the last time that I have been so focused on a film, especially one where so very little seems to happen. For 122 minutes I was completely riveted. The characters experience so much anguish and face so many demons that I just didn't want to look away.
More than anything I am happy that I saw American Beauty when I did. I had plenty of opportunities between the winters of 2000 and 2011 to see it, but I didn't. Something, maybe that nagging voice in the back of my head saying that I wasn't allowed to see it yet, kept me from watching it until now, and I'm glad. Even though I don't feel like I've had enough life experiences or challenges to empathize with the characters, I at least know enough to be able to comprehend what they are going through. I learned that American Beauty is not the film that I thought it would be when I saw the pretty scenes with the red rose petals, and that's what makes it so great. On the outside it looks glossy and perfect and flawless, but it's not. Just like the characters that populate its world, American Beauty is putting up a facade for the sleaze, grime, dysfunction, and violence that are lying just below the surface.
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