American Beauty: Beyond the Surface
I avoided American Beauty for a long time. Oscar winner? Must be overhyped. But I finally sat down to watch it. It was there, nothing else was on, and I like the actors Kevin Spacey, Annette Bening, and Thora Birch. From the very first scene, I realized I had underestimated it. The film deserved every award it received, and not for superficial reasons. Mendes, clearly a theater director, brings that sensibility to every shot, but the story itself is what lingers. It’s the story of people just trying to live, love, and make sense of their ordinary lives.
Thora Birch, in particular, is stunningly brave. She inhabits Jane with a quiet strength that makes every moment feel authentic. Annette Bening is mesmerizing as Carolyn, portraying the tension of ambition, regret, and longing with a subtle ferocity. And Kevin Spacey’s Lester—messy, frustrated, vulnerable—is one of the most human characters I’ve ever seen. These performances aren’t about perfection; they’re about life as it really is.
The film is deep because it doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable truths. Lester lusts after his daughter’s friend—something most men, if we’re honest, experience in some way. The film doesn’t glorify it; it exposes it, complicates it, and ultimately shows Lester’s humanity. When faced with the possibility of acting on his desire, he restrains himself. The moment isn’t about moralizing, it’s about seeing a person who’s flawed but capable of empathy, restraint, and love for his family.
Angela, the girl he lusts after, isn’t simply a “temptress.” She’s projecting a façade: “I’ve slept with so many guys… I’m going to be a model… I have to do this.” She’s lost and trying to navigate identity through appearances and seduction. Jane, by contrast, is authentic. She’s real, not perfect, and it shows. Ricky, who observes Jane and not Angela, sees people as they truly are. He doesn’t reduce them to bodies or appearances; he notices depth, vulnerability, and spirit. That’s why he’s so compelling to me, and why I identify with him.
There are layers everywhere in the film. Carolyn chases perfection and success, often failing to see the humanity around her. Ricky’s father suppresses his own identity, lashing out when confronted with the reality of his own desires. Teenage girls, like Jane, hate the constraints of family, seek excitement, and struggle to define themselves in a world that seems so rigid. The tension between desire, identity, and societal expectation is constant, and yet the film never loses sight of the human heart at its center.
What makes American Beauty exceptional is how it captures the ordinary and makes it profound. Beauty isn’t in perfect bodies or perfect lives. It’s in moments of recognition, honesty, and connection. Jane’s subtle smirk in the mirror, Lester’s moment with his family photo, Ricky’s unwavering gaze—they remind us that life, with all its messiness, is worth noticing. Even flawed, lost, or struggling people can radiate truth and beauty.
Most viewers focus on the surface: the scandal, the nudity, the teenage crushes. And maybe some of it is uncomfortable, but it’s meant to be. It is this discomfort that reflects real life. People desire, make mistakes, and wrestle with morality constantly. The film doesn’t sensationalize it; it asks the audience to witness and reflect. And for those willing to look past the noise, there’s a profound meditation on love, authenticity, and mortality.
At its heart, American Beauty is about seeing people. Not bodies, not facades, not ideals, but people. Real people, with depth, contradictions, and beauty not always obvious. You have to look. That’s why the film resonates many years later. It’s not just a story; it’s a mirror. It reflects both the ordinary and the extraordinary, and reminds us that attention, empathy, and love are the most beautiful things of all.