There’s nothing like a new Wes Anderson movie. For many fans, he has yet to release a poor film, and at his best, the acting, coolness, and sheer re-watchability of his films is unmatched among contemporary directors. Like his past achievements, Anderson’s upcoming feature Moonrise Kingdom will prove that Wes has maintained his status as a profoundly original director despite his allegedly homogenous filmography.
If there’s one criticism reviewers jump on when reviewing a Wes Anderson film, it’s that his films are increasingly formulaic. Why, they ponder, does he have to use slow motion four or five times per movie? Why does he insist on pretentious dialogue? How does he brainwash Bill Murray to keep signing on for his films? Could Bill Murray be locked up in the director’s basement? In response, Anderson fans have elected a go-to defense of this purported filmmaking “formula” to refute these shoddy grievances: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
In 1996, Wes Anderson broke into the world of cinema with Bottle Rocket, offering a slight glimpse into his quirky world of dysfunctional families, depressed has-beens, and ‘60s Britpop. Following Bottle Rocket, Anderson’s movies recycled credit fonts, color schemes, film composers, and, most noticeably, a handful of recurring actors. If it’s not Owen Wilson, it’s Luke Wilson. If it’s not the Rolling Stones or the Kinks, it’s David Bowie. Anderson has clearly found a method to the madness that can be filmmaking, and the enigmatic products of this method have placed him at the forefront of independent cinema. Sure, he cannot help but indulge his movies with his idiosyncrasies, but since his films are born and nurtured in these idiosyncrasies, there’s little sense in sacrificing them for range.
Sure, his characters from movie to movie seem to mimic one another, especially considering that the same actor may be portraying both characters. But how often does a character as iconic as Steve Zissou emerge on the silver screen? How could a Max Fischer come from anyone but Anderson’s hands? The director’s detractors fallaciously associate his signature style with derivative content; the fonts, camera shots, and music may be similar, and hell, the back-and-forth bursts of dialogue have become perennial fixtures in his films. But the range of his enticing characters keeps each movie fresh and distinctive—the style carries over from movie to movie, but the novelty of his films’ substance never wanes. This stylistic consistency does not keep him from starting carte blanche with character and plot developments.
Anderson’s persistence is admirable. As directors become aware of the way their works overlap, they generally react one of two ways. The first, as in the case of David Cronenberg, is to drop directorial idiosyncrasies in attempt to abide by understood genre techniques (1983’s Videodrome is all Cronenberg, whereas 2007’s Eastern Promises has the makings of a gritty Michael Mann film). On the other side is Anderson. His movies never oscillate between Wes and non-Wes movies—they’re all 100 percent him, as all of Quentin Tarantino’s films are 100 percent Tarantino. And like Bottle Rocket and Rushmore, critics will always dwell on Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs as the pinnacle of Tarantino’s output.
To these critics’ credit, it may be impossible to top the coolness of Max Fischer’s slow-mo elevator exit in Rushmore set to The Who, but comparing that to the coolness of Steve Zissou smoking a joint in slow motion to David Bowie’s “Life on Mars” is as inconclusive as a debate over chocolate and vanilla ice cream. They’re both delicious, they’re made from practically the same ingredients, yet each has its own unique appeal. As we’ve come to expect from Wes Anderson, Moonrise Kingdom will have no surprises—there will inevitably be traces of Royal Tenenbaum and Max Fischer in its characters. Still, from the trailer alone, fans can already pick up one noticeable deviation in Moonrise Kingdom—the font. It looks like we may be entering Wes Anderson’s cursive period.
