At the heart of Wes Anderson’s self-conscious aesthetic is a curious sort of paradox: on the one hand, he’s a light dreamy enchanter, marshalling a cavalcade of nonstop whimsy and farce that, somehow, he has combined with the strict rigorous cineastic vision of an Antonioni, manifesting itself in muted performances, gruelingly controlled sets, and staging measured to within an inch of its life. I am reminded of a scene in Kubrick’s The Shining where I got so distracted by the amusing pictures of sexy, funky, afro-headed nudes hanging on Scatman Crothers’ walls that I couldn’t pay any attention to what he was seeing on television; at odds with their corny-sleazy purpose as characterization, the pictures seemed to have been arranged with the symmetry and calculation of a coy museum curator. It is a similar effect — art-gallery precision misapplied to screwball comedy — that Anderson makes deliberate use of as a subtle joke, a neurotic element of his humorous vision. In the decade since his reputation first erupted, his unique manner has infected movie comedies in a big way — just as Tim Burton’s style has become the gold standard for cute spookiness. You see it in movies like Election (1999); a beloved cult favorite like Napoleon Dynamite (2004); as well as in forgettable efforts like Running with Scissors (2006).
An unpaid intern from two.one.five magazine sent us this interview with Wes. Thank you, intern.
One Severus Snape (Alan Rickman, I hope) has asked that I tell you about the new World of Owen site and a new Wilson Brothers’ forum called The Soil Room. I don’t get it either, but good projects.
The new Paste magazine has a brief discussion of the new Harold and Maude soundtrack (pg. 36-37). I would be really excited, but it is only available on LP. Max Fischer is compared to Harold in a lovely chart, “Modern-Day Harolds Revealed”:
Gawky? Not really. Pale? A lighter shade of olive. Bowl cut? No, dad’s a barber. Fixation? Extra-curricular. Overly formal everyday attire? Yes, quite natty. Unusual transportation? Go-cart, bicycle Unlawful behavior? Slices Herman Blume’s brake cables Inappropriate love interest? His tutor, Rosemary Cross Overbearing parent? No, but don’t piss of Dr. Guggenheim Histrionics? Aquarium-building, theatrical-epic-producing Single-artist soundtrack? Various artists, various awesome Cat Stevens? “The Wind,” “Here Comes My Baby” A threat? Marginally — a little too pulled-together, though he does have a way with fake blood
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Sometimes, indie films rip off Anderson’s work wholesale; at other times, they have the familiar texture of his movies while heading off in different directions. Though Jeffrey Blitz’s semi-autobiographical debut feature—a follow-up to his hit documentary Spellbound—has its own particularities and a greater commitment to realism than Anderson’s work, it applies his stylistic template. The use of music, especially, connects Blitz to Anderson, from the repeated refrains of Violent Femmes’ “Blister In The Sun” (including a version for cello and piano) to the mopey Eef Barzelay tunes that underscore the entire movie like the David Bowie songs in The Life Aquatic. Unsurprisingly, Blitz’s stabs at Anderson-like whimsy are the film’s weakest element; when he gets real and deals directly with a stutterer’s coming of age, the film stakes out more original territory (link).
