Revolutionary Road: A Lance to Puncture the American Dream

Why is realism in high brow art measured by how miserable it is?

When I reviewed Ulrich Seidel's film Dog Days (also on this site) I made the same point - that there is an obsession with showing middle class disillusion and the grimmer it ends, the truer it is. Hollywood and the literary equivalent is derided for always offering the happy ending. And I know I've made this point before too in my Romantic Movies piece - but why is that the unwelcome? The more I read on the law of attraction the more I see the best possible outcome as reachable; and the more I see those miserable suicidal part in the rain stories as the characters (and writers') choice. And that choice is presented to the audience as truth to take on, to influence their own dreams.

Why do we read and watch? To take ourselves to somewhere we are not, to know that we are not alone in our struggles. The end of The Reader (in the film) exhorts seeking therapy in the arts. Iris Murdoch advocated writing as therapy. But this kind of tale pushes the bitterness and despair in the heart of the writer into the readers (or viewer).

It says that middle class (does anyone live in any other!?) suburbia is terminal. You cannot escape. You are a failure. And to every couple feeling ennui or even itchy-ness, to every creative person that hasn't got to where they hoped yet, this story (and the lamentable number of those like it) says, you won't make it. And you won't make your metaphorical Parisian escape. You'll die in the suburbs, sooner (April) or later (Frank).

But there is always a choice to create the world, that parallel universe where, despite and through the pain and the angst, Cinderella does go the ball. Pumpkins become coaches - it doesn't have to be the other way around! Let's have more of those stories in our bookshelves, theatres and screens. Alright then, I'll write some myself!