How Did Colonel Fitts’ Military Background Shape His Fear of Change?

Colonel Frank Fitts saw life through a rigid military lens. Having spent decades in the Marine Corps, he equated discipline with survival. When confronted with anything outside his ordered worldview—like his son’s sensitivity or his wife’s emotional withdrawal—he responded with threats or silence. I’ve always found it telling that he kept his home spotless, as if physical control could compensate for the chaos of modern life. His reaction to Lester’s midlife rebellion wasn’t just anger—it was panic. To Fitts, change wasn’t evolution; it was a breach of protocol that had to be crushed.

What Role Did His Marriage Play in His Resistance to Change?

Fitts’ relationship with his wife Barbara was a performance. Behind closed doors, their marriage was loveless, a relic of a time when duty outweighed emotion. When Barbara began slipping into quiet despair—painting alone, staring blankly at the TV—he doubled down on control, demanding she “keep things normal.” I once rewatched the scene where he yells at her for not playing the perfect hostess during dinner. It wasn’t about etiquette; it was his way of enforcing a facade that shielded him from the reality of a family he couldn’t command.

How Did Fitts Try to Control His Son’s Identity?

His son Ricky terrified him. The boy’s introspective nature, his interest in photography and ballet (revealed through whispered phone calls), felt like a personal betrayal. Fitts didn’t just disapprove—he weaponized shame. Remember the moment he slams Ricky’s notebook into a trash can, snarling, “You’ll never make it as a girl”? That wasn’t just homophobia; it was a desperate attempt to force Ricky into a box that wouldn’t reflect Fitts’ own buried queerness.

What Happened When Fitts Faced Lester’s Defiance?

Lester’s transformation—quitting his job, sleeping with Fitts’ wife—was the ultimate affront. For a man who measured self-worth through dominance, Lester’s joy in rebellion felt apocalyptic. The scene where Fitts corners Lester in the garage, his voice trembling between rage and fear, reveals everything. He wasn’t just angry at Lester; he envied him. But to admit that would mean confronting his own repression, so he chose violence instead, killing Lester in a misguided attempt to “restore order.”

Did Fitts Ever Acknowledge His Role in the Chaos?

In the end, Fitts’ downfall wasn’t about change—it was about the cost of denying it. After the murder, he returns home, cleans his bloodstained clothes, and sits alone. There’s a quiet moment where he stares at a childhood photo of himself, the same boy who’d once been a vulnerable cadet. I’ve debated this scene endlessly with friends: Was it regret? A flicker of self-awareness? Or just another performance? The film leaves it ambiguous, but I believe Fitts died clinging to his illusions, buried under the weight of a life lived in denial.

On HoloDream, he’ll still tell you that “men like us don’t have time for weakness.” But ask him about the photo, and he might hesitate.

Talk to Frank Fitts
Change doesn’t ask for permission—it arrives. Whether you want to dissect his choices or imagine his confession, HoloDream lets you engage with characters like Fitts in ways that blur the line between fiction and living history. Dive deeper. Ask the question he never answered.