Wes Anderson’s Films

(A friend recommended his films, I saw 4 of them and these are my thoughts.) (Sorry for grammar or spelling mistakes – I didn’t proofread this post)

There’s something quite unique about Wes Anderson’s films: a total lack of cynicism. I have to be honest and say that it took some time for me to appreciate his films. At first sight I found them quite pretentious and blunt. However, after thinking about his films, I thought otherwise (who the hell said that in order to enjoy something you don’t have to think too much?!). They are quite moving and even humorous at times. It is true that there is a nagging, amateurish feeling of “coming of age” feeling in many of his films (particularly in Rushmore), but I don’t think that this is something bad, nor that this is the main purpose of his stories. I think his films are about two things: relationships and death. Yeah, yeah… some may think: “Relationships? Really? That’s your massive synthesis?! Well, even I thought of that!” but let me first explain what I mean by this. The meaning of “relationship” is not bounded to a human to human interaction. I am referring to the connection between someone and his/her/its environment. This “someone” can be thought of as one of the characters, or as an abstract entity personified by one or many individuals in the film. These relationships (Zissou and the sea – or what the “sea” represents –, Royal and his family, the brothers and the Darjeeling ltd…) are what drives the films.

Essentially it’s a matter of identity; we are creatures bounded by causality, and as such, we are inexorably the sons of our context (cultural and physical). Max Fisher is the son of Rushmore; Zissou is the son of the sea. One of Anderson’s great achievements is to make these connections between the main characters and its environment immensely complex (In most of his films there is an ensemble cast: there is no main character). This is what makes his films somehow unique. Granted that sometimes these relationships may come out as blunt or corny or even shallow, but that is also part of the nature of the relationships. The bluntness or corniness is not a consequence of bad filmmaking; it is something intrinsic to the film. And this is what allows them to dodge the critics’ misplaced attacks: they are sincere.

Now, I also mentioned death. Death is important; it’s the only constant in life. If life were a big narrative, undoubtedly death would be its main character. But what’s so important about death in Anderson’s films? Well, there is the obvious observation that in all his films someone dies. Then there is the less obvious but nonetheless straighforward idea that many characters die and are reborn. They undergo a catharsis (I want to stay as far away as possible from the “coming of age” label, it makes me sick). But there’s a third perspective: in all his films, there is the omnipresent idea of total emptiness. There is the idea that all this is going to end. Yes, characters may evolve and relationships may collapse and be rebuilt, but it is inevitable that everything will, in the end, vanish.

This is a more mature way of looking at things, but a more frightening one. In Zissou there’s always the feeling that at some point the ship might sink (all the electric failures constantly remind us of that fact); in Mr. Fox there’s the feeling that the humans might actually kill the animals; even in Tanenbaums there’s the feeling that at some point they might all feel like going their separate ways. All the relationships, all the sense of adventure seems to hang by a thread. And there is nothing underneath it all, there is no safety net, there’s just a darkened void. What if Mr. Fox actually died in the end? What if Zissou failed to see the jaguar shark? These are all latent possibilities in the logic of the films (contrary to many other Hollywood movies where we know the pretty boy is going to end up with the pretty girl and the black guy is going to be the most successful, and the Asian is going to be the smartest one, and by some mysterious reason, everybody is just mind-numbingly handsome). This sense of doom embeds the stories with a sharpness that is quite admirable.

Anderson might not be a virtuoso like Lynch or the Coens in terms of shot selection. He might not be as cool as Tarantino or as intellectual as Haneke or many of the Japanese. However, he represents something of our collective psychology: the desire for “moments of friendship/love” even if these hang by a thread. It’s the rejection of cynicism that makes his films quite enjoyable. Nothing in his films could ever happen. Zissou could never exist, nor Fisher nor the Tanenbaums, but that is the great thing about them… the films are not supposed to be social commentaries, they are meant to represent a certain ideology, a philosophy towards life (please, please! Don’t interpret this as “carpe diem” or “if you believe in yourself you can accomplish anything!” it has nothing to do with that). They are about prioritizing the moments in your life in which you are closer to someone or something not in physical terms but culturally. They represent a state of being where your passions are the passions of the person right next to you, and this is a very encouraging thought. There is something touching and wonderful in the idea that in a post-postmodernist world there is still the chance of making real contact with someone, beyond the mask of coolness or hipness (“How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope!”). Those “moments of love/friendship”, like when Chas’ son comes down from the upper bed to sleep next to his dad, or when Mr. Fox randomly decides to dance. These are the keys of his films, the moments when Anderson connects us with a feeling of curiosity, love, friendship, ecstasy… where the norm is art, and not an idea (“A poem is no place for an idea”).

Besides, he seems to love the films he directs. What do we gain by telling him “your films are bad”? The only sensible question is: How can I make the experience of watching these films more substantial? And if you try to answer this question instead of the more common, and infantile one “How is this film similar/different to my idea of a “good film”?” then you’ll enjoy Anderson’s films like a koala bear enjoys having a good nap on his favourite tree.