I went to see "Revolutionary Road" last night and was mightily disappointed. Although early onset Alzheimer's robbed me of most of my memories of the Richard Yates' novel on which film is based, I do remember admiring Yates' acerbic style and ability to convey the rich interior lives of his characters. In particular, I remember the fights between the young couple at the story's center, Frank and April Wheeler, to be horrifying and unforgettable. They were just so toxic together. You couldn't stop reading.
The toxicity remains, but the book's pleasures are absent in Sam Mendes' deadening adaptation. My companion commented that it was two hours of sheer misery. Fine for a novel, which you can read for a chapter or two each night, only returning to the domestic warfare after a much-needed stint in the real and "happier" world. Two hours of Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) and April (Kate Winslet), are two too many.
Part of the problem was the film's structure. Mendes likes short, choppy scenes. Typically the characters exchange one or two savage jibes then we're on to the next vignette of suburban misery. He doesn't let a scene build. He just cuts to the climax.
Thomas Newman's score is thuddingly literal, it practically features thunderclaps in place of percussion. You always know something terrible is about to happen. It has all the subtlety of a Hammer horror film. Winslet's flat line readings further compound the problems. She has an uncanny knack for finding the portentous undercurrents in even simple exchanges about what kind of eggs to make for breakfast or whether a person wants one lump or two in their coffee. That's not acting. It's broadcasting.
DiCaprio, looking puffy, manages to create a more nuanced character. You feel his frustration at being pulled between Eisenhower era conformity and a looser, more bohemian existence in Paris. With just a few glances and gestures, he is able to convey a person who likes to fancy himself "special," but deep down suspects he's just ordinary.
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