The Mac Weekly

Issue date: 10/19/07 Section: The Arts

In an interview with Paste Magazine a couple of years ago, writer-director Wes Anderson ("Rushmore," "The Royal Tenenbaums," "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou") was confronted with a very particular, odd question from writer Jay Sweet. Does Anderson, Sweet wondered, ever encounter "'quoters' who wield their ability to converse solely in lines from his films as a badge of honor"? "I know the type," Anderson responded.

The "quoter" is, of course, a "type" - more precisely, it's a stereotype, a caricature. But Wes Anderson's cult following has become a full-fledged phenomenon straddling the imaginary mainstream-alternative divide, and now there is a curious profusion of people - usually high-school or college-aged, white, and middle or upper-middle class - who seem to be touched by, even obsessed with, Anderson's work. I am one of them (just so you know, every time I say the phrase "very much so" it is a reference to my favorite scene in "The Royal Tenenbaums" - it's funny in context, I swear), and I can say with some certainty that this cult was very, very excited about his latest film, "The Darjeeling Limited," which opened at the Lagoon Theater on Oct. 12.

"The Darjeeling Limited" follows three estranged brothers - Francis (Owen Wilson), Peter (Adrien Brody), and Jack (Jason Schwartzman) - who meet in India to embark on a spiritual journey by train, hoping to revive their fraternal bond after their father's death.

This plot, of course, is just a vessel for Anderson to make nearly the same movie for a fifth time, another malaise-ridden dramedy. But not quite: as his following has grown, Anderson's films have grown denser, more impressionistic, and more insular.

"Rushmore," his second film and his breakthrough, was formally indebted to the French New Wave but had a warmer sense of characterization and plot. The flawless film established the Anderson aesthetic: asphyxiating melancholia and wry, wise humor, often in the same moment. "The Royal Tenenbaums" rehashed this, but stripped some of the cohesion. The result remains my personal favorite of his films, but points towards the flaws of its successor, "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." Derided by one friend as "a fashion show," here was Anderson's total descent into his own world. For those of us fascinated with this world, it's perfectly fine, but the cinematic integrity of the film suffers. It's brilliant central conceit - that it may, in fact, be the film made by Steve Zissou's crew - may be its redemption, but it reeks of the same insularity that marked its defects.

Continued...

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