Revolutionary Road starts off with a failed play. The lead character, played by our heroine April, started off unwavering, confident, and a beacon in an otherwise garbage spectacle. But in the middle she gradually loses it as she becomes more aware of the play’s decline, slowly at first, and then altogether — her voice becomes shaky, she forgets her lines and the performance becomes more awkward for the audience than for her. Her husband watches her passively, already formulating what to say to her after the curtains drop. He knows that it’s already going to be a rough night.
April Wheeler’s performance in the amateur play is like her performance in the Wheeler marriage. We can say that she’s the one wearing pants, and it is Frank who stumbles and mumbles his words in his attempt to subdue April’s moodiness — sometimes succeeding, often not. April is a wildfire, perhaps bipolar, and her mood can change from excitement to depression within a whim. Frank trudges along in the marriage, he takes up his job because why not? He has a baby coming and now is a good time as any to buy into the American Dream.
And from the outside, the Wheelers are the ideal image of the American Dream — property owners, healthy children, a regular job for the dad and chores for the mum, dabbling in hobbies such as theatre, and the occasional drunken gathering with friends, who may or may not be friends. That’s what their friends and neighbours think also. At some point, April and Frank find out that it is a trap — Frank never really got his break because he never really did what he wanted, he still hasn’t got that figured out. In a drastic move, the Wheelers decide to go to Paris, so that Frank can be on zen mode and write, reflect what he wants to do and April can find work and support the family. Did I mention that they’ve got two kids? Well, they’re coming along too.
Except that they didn’t really make it to Paris. Frank’s pullout game isn’t so great and April is due for another baby, right after they told their friends and neighbours that they’re moving. Not so smart after all. Besides, Frank isn’t doing too badly at work now that he cracked the code to copywrite campaigns, which surprised even himself. The American Dream, it seems, didn’t want to let the Wheelers go just yet. In the meantime, they fight, cheat on each other, resent their children and try to sell their house so they can move.
In this day and age, where moving to another country to start a new life is commonplace, the Wheelers ambitions do not seem lofty. It is an eccentric decision and perhaps more impulsive than it is prudent. If I was one of their neighbours, I’d probably think they’re a bunch of idiots as well. But it is a tale of selfishness, we can blame the Wheelers for neglecting their children to follow an ethereal dream — of finding one’s self. But let’s be honest here. Frank is a bit of a pussy and it’s unlikely that he’s gonna find himself anyway, even with his wife carrying the load of the family. It is a decision that is mocked by those around them as the gender roles are reversed — Frank becomes the dependent and April the provider. Pretty revolutionary huh?
Yates wrote a compelling novel not just on the decay of a marriage, but also the question of the toxicity of the American Dream. This is not the Death of the Salesman reflecting on the loss of the American Dream, of golden days forgone — this is exposure of the fetid wound that has always been inherent in the American Dream. It is as damaging to the Wheelers as it is to the Campbells, or the Givings, that make them always put their best face forward while secretly judging their peers expecting the next downfall, the next cause for gossip. And yet, the Wheelers’ attempt to subvert the American Dream only leads to tragedy. Sisyphus must therefore continue rolling his boulder lest the boulder crushes him.
