If The American Dream Is Viable, Why Does Everyone Keep Falling Down?
The 1993 thriller, Falling Down, challenges the belief that hard work leads to achieving the American Dream. Three decades later, the American Dream looks more unachievable than ever before.
When you think about the “American Dream” what’s the first image that comes to mind? I’m going to wager it’s a house with a white picket fence, a car or two in the driveway, and 2.4 children keeping you busy.
This version of the American Dream is what most of us are familiar with. It came into being following World War II. Europe had to be rebuilt and as the only member of the conflict left relatively unscathed, the United States was happy to oblige.
Ex-soldiers returned home and went straight to work in American factories pumping out consumer goods for the new post-war economy that emerged. In no time at all middle-class homes popped up in residential suburbs, giving birth to the American Dream.
Underpinning that dream was the ethos that, with a little elbow grease, anyone who was willing to put in the work could have a slice of the dream for themselves. The American Dream wasn’t just about the things you could buy with hard work, it was the unwavering belief in a meritocracy that became the gateway to greater social mobility.
While the boom did happen and the American Dream did exist, it didn’t last. The 1970s and 1980s ushered in an era of inflation, new monetary policy, and economic unraveling. In the process, the value proposition of work fundamentally changed. Most Americans didn’t see it at the time but in hindsight, this is when the ability to achieve the American Dream died.
Today owning a home to raise a family in — the cornerstone of that dream — is no longer economically viable for a growing number of Americans, especially young people. The median price for a house is now over $420,000 — sans white picket fence. Raising two children in that home will run you a whopping $310,000 per kid. Add a car, and the American Dream will cost you more than $1 million to achieve.
That isn’t feasible for most people. The average American only earns $1.3 million during their working career. While college grads earn more, you have to factor in the cost of financing an education and relocating to a high-cost-of-living city to find a job. The added costs mean the marginal benefits of otherwise esteemed jobs are negligible. A white collar office worker is no closer to obtaining the American Dream than someone stocking the shelves at Walmart.
But when you look at how much the American Dream costs over a 40-year career, it’s astounding. The average American household is left with about $7,500 per year for discretionary expenses like food, gas, health insurance, and the annual meal out. It’s no wonder the American Dream is out of reach for so many.
The 1993 thriller, Falling Down, depicts the plight of the average American worker striving struggling to achieve the American Dream. In the film Michael Douglas portrays the life of an average middle class American whose life has come undone. On a hot summer’s day he snaps and by the end, reveals what most of us have known deep down all along — the American Dream is nothing more than a well-marketed lie.
This essay will dive into how even three decades after its original box office debut, Falling Down shows why the American Dream doesn’t exist. It highlights that the average person who follows the rules — believing that a meritocracy does exist — will struggle while those who are willing to take what they want, often through violent and unscrupulous means, will come out ahead.
Rather than continuing to pursue the myth of the American Dream, we need to pursue something else, something I call the American Choice. This is the ability of average Americans to define our own destiny for ourselves, in spite of the cards being stacked against us. The only thing standing in our way is making the choice for ourselves.
America is a land of opportunity for those who take it, but not the land of opportunity for those who strive to earn it.
The one thing that sets America apart from almost every other country in the world is the belief that America is a land of unbridled opportunity. In the 19th century, pioneering Americans moved west guided by the doctrine of Manifest Destiny. For almost two centuries since then, immigrants have flocked to America, looking to capitalize on the opportunities she provides.
Falling Down challenges the notion that America is actually a place of opportunity. The film starts with Bill, a middle-class worker stuck in LA traffic. Late to celebrate his daughter’s birthday, Bill decides to abandon his car and set off on foot instead.
What follows is a one hour and 52 minute epic of Bill’s quest to reunite with his daughter. Along the way he meets a host of characters, each depicting a critique of American society.
The first person Bill encounters is a Korean shopkeeper. Needing change to use the payphone, Bill pops into a convenience store and asks the shopkeeper if he can break a dollar. The shopkeeper refuses, telling Bill he must first purchase something.
Bill obliges but when he goes to checkout the shopkeeper charges him 85 cents for a can of Coca-Cola. With soda costing anywhere from 25 to 50 cents per can at the time, Bill is outraged at the blatant upcharge. He goes into what will be the first of many meltdowns during the film, taking the shopkeeper’s bat and destroying much of his inventory.
Shortly after leaving the convenience store, Bill is approached by two Latin American gang members. They demand his briefcase and threaten him with violence if he doesn’t hand it over. With the shopkeeper’s bat still in hand, Bill returns violence with violence. He beats the men, fending them off for a brief period before they return with a car, seeking out revenge. The car crashes and Bill takes a cache of weapons the gang members had in the car, shooting them so they finally leave him alone.
The first scenes in the film depict an overt display of racism underpinning American society. By highlighting the racial undertones of the social order, the film demonstrates the first of many lies: America is not the land of opportunity most people think it is. Immigrants come to America with a clean slate. They of all people should be able to prove that the meritocracy works. But as the film shows, they can’t. Not for a lack of trying though. It’s because there is no meritocracy — the American Dream doesn’t actually exist.
The role of violence in these opening scenes with immigrants as the primary characters symbolizes the broken nature of the meritocracy. Whatever opportunities do exist in America clearly aren’t doled out meritocratically. They’re taken, often through the use of force, and ruthlessly defended, no matter what rung of the socioeconomic ladder you find yourself clinging onto.
Corporations don’t serve customers, they fleece them, exerting leverage in the process.
As the film progresses it tackles the not-so-hidden realities of classism in America. Underlying the myth of meritocracy is the idea that class doesn’t exist. Anyone who works hard enough can own a house with a white picket fence.
Historically, this has never been the case. National origin and race clearly demonstrate the inequities of accessing the American Dream, but class has been relatively hidden. It probably wasn’t until the college admissions scandal of 2019 that average Americans finally started realizing how wealth and status actually affect an individual’s trajectory in life.
While the film depicts classism, it also shows how it’s formally instituted by corporations. Just look at a map comparing the disparate locations of Dollar Generals compared to Whole Foods stores to see what I mean.
In the film, corporatized classism is depicted by Whammy Burger, a prototypical American fast food joint. Looking for a bite to eat after the confrontation with the gang members, Bill walks into a Whammy Burger. Bill tries to order off the breakfast menu but only to be told he’s a few minutes too late. Enraged at being told what he can and cannot order, a heated exchange with the workers behind the counter ensues until he finally capitulates and orders a burger.
Upon receiving his burger, Bill has another meltdown. This time he laments how skimmy his meal is. The burger looks nothing like the picture of the plump, succulent burger depicted on the menu. He leaves, but not before riddling the roof with a few bullet holes first.
Whammy Burger is a motif of the class-based control corporatism has on American consumers. In traditional production-based economics, class used to be differentiated between the owners of the means of production and those performing work. But in consumer capitalism, it’s hidden. The dichotomy has shifted to corporations and the consumers who buy their products with corporations wielding tremendous power over the otherwise complacent masses.
The incident at Whammy Burger shows how most middle-class Americans are captive to a host of faceless corporations. As Bill laments that the burger he received is a sopping, soggy excuse for what a burger should be, the patrons in the restaurant look on like sheep. They have nothing to say and are seemingly content continuing to fork over hard-earned cash — or in today’s society, taking on more debt — for increasingly meager rations.
Those who have achieved the American Dream, pull the ladder out from those climbing up underneath them.
While the nostalgic image of a meritocratic American Dream doesn’t exist, the ability to obtain and hoard wealth does. Those who are successful at doing so — whether by force or corporate leverage — strive to not only enrich themselves, but to keep others from following suit.
Shortly after the encounter at the Whammy Burger, Bill buys a snow globe from a street vendor. Nearby a Black man is causing a raucous outside of a bank. Even though they’re distinctly part of different racial groups, the man is dressed like Bill, signifying they belong to the same, professionally educated working class.
The man is protesting the bank for denying him a loan. He holds a sign with the words “Not Economically Viable” written across it suggesting that the bank didn’t think he met sufficient lending criteria to warrant a loan.
While the inclusion of this character might seem like a relatively minor plot point, it sums up the thesis of the film quite well. Hardworking Americans aren’t economically viable. Their only place in society is to continue mindlessly consuming, as depicted by Whammy Burger.
The endless cycle of consumption financed by dwindling wages reveals that the American Dream — owning a home and raising a family — isn’t an option for most people. It’s not until the end of the film that Bill realizes this man is a shadow of himself, depicting what he’s come to realize too — he’s not economically viable either.
Before the film concludes, Bill crosses into a much wealthier part of town. After a confrontation with members of a private, member’s only golf course, Bill flees to an adjacent home. In the backyard, he encounters a family having a barbecue. It’s revealed that they don’t own the home, they’re just caretakers of the property. The mansion is owned by a wealthy plastic surgeon.
This scene not only shows the overt displays of classism, but the lengths to which individuals are willing to go to protect their status. A version of the American Dream does exist for wealthier members of society but they don’t want it to trickle down to everyone else. Exclusive memberships and physical security barriers are deployed to create real separation between the Haves and the Have Nots.
This is another motif that provides commentary on the state of class in America. It’s not earned, it’s taken — through force, violence, or leverage — and once it’s seized it must be defended. Put another way: the ladder to prosperity isn’t meant to be climbed, it’s designed to be removed so no one else can follow you up.
The American Dream is based on economic viability. As the film shows, most of us aren’t economically viable to begin with.
Throughout the film Bill’s storyline is intersected with that of the police, hot on his trail. On the day of Bill’s trek across Los Angeles, Sergeant Martin Prendergast — played by Robert Duvall — is working his last day in uniform. Coaxed into retirement by his codependent wife, Prendergast plans to move to Lake Havasu City in neighboring Arizona.
As the day progresses the police receive reports about a man in a white shirt causing all sorts of havoc across town. They put the pieces together and realize the man they’re looking for is Bill. It’s revealed that Bill is estranged from his wife who also has a restraining order against him. His best efforts to celebrate his daughter’s birthday aren’t warmly received.
Prendergast finally meets Bill at the Venice Pier. Armed, Prendergast believes Bill intends to kill his wife and daughter before turning the gun on himself. He attempts to coax Bill into surrendering but not before Bill coaxes Prendergast in turn to shoot him, finally putting him out of his misery.
During the tense exchange between Prendergast and Bill, the audience learns what has been haunting Bill all along. Deciding to make an example of him during divorce proceedings, a judge barred him from seeing his daughter. He moved back home with his aging mother but lost his job working in the defense industry. Bill didn’t just suffer a couple of setbacks, he lost his dignity and the ability to provide for his family. Unable to take it anymore, he snapped, leading to the dramatic series of events that transpire throughout the film.
Bill isn’t just a singular character in a screenplay set on a hot summer’s day in LA. He’s a reflection of society as a whole. All of us are at the mercy of decisions outside of our control. The consequences of those decisions determine whether or not we’re economically viable members of society, and thus, justify our existence.
This is the tragedy of the American Dream. It’s not just the mythology of it. Like Sisyphus, it’s the revelation that despite your best efforts, the American Dream can remain elusive and the constant pursuit of it futile. The endless quest to seek something you can’t have would drive any sane person mad. And that’s exactly what happens to Bill.
Final takeaway.
Falling Down portrays the reality of the American Dream and the realization that it doesn’t exist.
Before Prendergast fatefully takes Bill’s life, he gives him a choice. If Bill surrenders peacefully, no one will get hurt. Bill is seemingly dumbfounded by the situation he’s found himself in. He did everything he was told to do and somehow he became the bad guy.
The dialogue between Bill and Prendergast debating the choices before Bill is the most impactful part of the entire film. With so many things working against the average American — whether it’s nationality, race, or class — the only thing anyone can control is how they choose to respond to circumstances as they arise. The freedom of choice is really the only freedom any of us actually has.
This is where the American Dream ought to be redefined, not by what you can purchase or own but by what you can choose to do with your time. It’s not so much an American Dream — it’s the American Choice.
When it comes to economic viability, the cards are stacked against most Americans. But choosing how much to spend — or whether or not to spend at all — is a choice each of us is endowed to freely make.
This idea of choice is clearly beginning to manifest within society. Cultural movements like vanlife, quiet quitting, and minimalism all originate from the void created by the unraveled myth of the American Dream. If young people can’t have the life they think they should have, they’ll create a new version of the American Dream instead. An American Dream defined by freedom from rather than freedom to.
While the film is a commentary on everything that’s wrong with our consumer-capitalist society, it’s also an invitation to make choices for ourselves.
After shooting Bill, Prendergast decides against retiring, much to the chagrin of his wife who is impatiently waiting for him to hang up his police uniform and come home for dinner. In a subtle moment, Prendergast makes a decision for himself — to opt out or retirement — a choice that helps him reclaim his personhood in the process.
This is what the American Dream has been about all along — the ability to choose and make decisions for ourselves. That type of dream can never be quantified by economic viability; it’s priceless.
The movie is Falling Down. Rent it on your favorite streaming service or better yet — borrow it from your local library.
What do you think? What is your interpretation of the American Dream?