Worse Anderson?

When you hear the name Wes Anderson, what pops into your mind? Maybe you see shots framed with perfect symmetry. Maybe you see the bright, vibrant colours that cover the wardrobe and sets. Maybe you even hear a twee, playful score. If you didn’t picture those things, then congratulations; you have utterly beaten and outthought me with your unpredictability and I will surely never recover. If you didpicture those things, however, then you’re probably in the majority, which is comforting in its own way. But, for many of that majority (perhaps even including you yourself), that is all they know of Wes Anderson. And that, to me, is the reason for a very disappointing new sentiment: Wes Anderson films are getting worse.

I first started to notice this sentiment around the release of Wes Anderson’s second talking animal stop-motion film Isle of Dogs, but it really reached a fever pitch with his most recent feature film Asteroid City. Reviews from some critics and many of my good friends stated that, while Asteroid City was enjoyable, it was also boring and a little shallow. To those people I ask this: did we watch the same movie? Not only was Anderson’s usual whimsy as entertaining as ever, but the script is chock-full of moments that highlight the film’s thematic depth. Short of plugging your ears through every line of dialogue, I really do struggle to comprehend how people came away from this film thinking it’s got nothing to say. 

You may be thinking this is kind of a harsh assessment of the criticism for Asteroid City, and you would be correct. But, frankly, I have seen Asteroid City called surface-level so many times now, and my patience is, like Darjeeling, limited. While juggling two stories, one about a troupe of actors trying to put on a play and the other being the play itself, Asteroid City weaves everything together with a heartfelt, sincere message about carrying on in the face of grief and tragedy. The lead actor of the play, played by Jason Schwartzman, struggles repeatedly to understand the point of a seemingly senseless play about an alien visitation in 1950s America. The play represents life and loss, and Schwartzman’s plea to the director to help him understand the play is met with the line “Doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story.” Grief and life are always without some underlying sense, no matter how you approach them; what matters is that you carry on. But, to do that, you have to truly and authentically feel the pain that life and grief send your way. The film ends with the line “You can’t wake up until you fall asleep” which, considering the rest of the film, is about as overt as grief symbolism can be. 

Like Wes Anderson’s other work, Asteroid City may be oozing with a signature style that makes every movie feel almost like a beautifully rendered diorama. But that’s not the point. It never has been. Every Wes Anderson film, including his most recent work, has something to say, but too many people are caught up in the style to notice. I can’t entirely blame moviegoers for this. Wes Anderson has been honing a very specific style for a very long time, and when you see that style over and over again it has a tendency to burn itself into your mind. But has Anderson’s commitment to style come at the cost of substance? Not at all. People have just gotten better at missing the depth. A movie is only surface-level if you refuse to look beyond the surface. Wes Anderson films aren’t getting worse; we’ve just gotten worse at watching them.

Image from Wikimedia Commons