Revolutionary Road

British director Sam Mendes does not have a particularly sunny view of Americans. And when it comes to suburban Americans, his outlook turns rather nasty.

Let's just take a gaze back at what, according to Mendes' American Beauty, constitutes a cheery suburban neighborhood:

A goldbricking, nihilist father figure.

His neurotic, materialistic, philandering realtor wife.

A daughter with the self assurance of Sylvia Plath.

Her friend whose overt sexual confidence is masking true feelings of self-loathing.

A bigoted, authoritarian, Nazi enthusiast neighbor with repressed homosexual desires.

His doormat of a wife.

And their drug dealing, sociopath of a son.

Sounds sort of like my neighborhood growing up, you know, without the Nazi paraphernalia and the plentiful amount of good, cheap weed.

But it's pretty close to the WASP's nest.

He lightened up a bit with Road to Perdition where the young father, dutiful husband and cozy homeowner in a picturesque neighborhood was merely a steely hit man for the local crime boss.

Mendes' latest, Revolutionary Road, is a slightly different road to an alternate perdition.

Everyone?! Say hello to the Wheelers; Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) and April (Kate Winslet).

Now the last time these two little minxes got together (Titanic) we had a disaster picture of a different nature, both thematically and artistically. This time the disaster is more like ironic tragedy with some redeemable moments of art left intact.

But it is a disaster movie nonetheless. It is one of those rare car wrecks (The Brown Bunny, Basic Instinct, Leaving Las Vegas, The Devil's Rejects) where you don't dare avert your eyes for the strange want of whatever mound of overplayed, ham-handed bullshit is about to come pouring forth.

And don't get me wrong. I love those kind of films.

The bloody, shredded flesh and metal accident on the highway. You can't help but gawp. You can see the victims by the side of the road. Just a little more craning, you sense, and there's sure to be a severed head upon which to gaze.

Mostly, with film anyway, you stick around to see if the already ridiculous extremes can be topped with just a bit more audacity.

Revolutionary Road is this type of flick. The story, from Richard Yates 1962 novel, remains timely with an unhealthy dose of soul-deadening regret, suburban angst and fading dreams. It warns of the pervasive ennui and emotional ruts of the "comfort" and "homogeny" innate in the regions of "white flight".

Frank and April have hit their Waterloo of belonging.

He holds a boring dead end job. She is a failed actress. Two kids and a three bedroom house later they find themselves constantly picking on one another, stabbing at old wounds and carrying on passionless affairs.

April has an idea. The family will pack it up and move to Paris to pursue the elusive Bohemian lifestyle they are sure awaits them. She will land a job at one of the many American embassies or businesses and he will have to time to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

The plan is obviously doomed (as are the Wheelers). So seems the audience at this point. When the local mathematician (a sporting over-the-top from Michael Shannon), who has suffered a breakdown and numerous bouts with electroshock therapy, becomes the voice of hope and insight, the film is not vying for any subtlety awards. But this is where it works exceptionally well- despite the continual overacting and Mendes' metaphorical mallets.

You absolutely know what's going to happen. You see the characters driving headlong into the tunnel with the oncoming train. You understand their metaphysical plight. Their bickering and shouting matches sound like they're coming from Alec Baldwin's place. You scream, "Well, what else, Moron!" at the resulting tragedies caused by their shortsighted behavior and selfishness. Everything is so... so... OBVIOUS. Yet, you just keep rooting for these two to make it.

That takes some clever manipulation on the part of all the principals, especially Mendes.

To make this big, bloated, hammy beast of emotive egregiousness work.

It looks like our little Leo and our little Kate are all grown up.