Whether he’ll admit it or not, Wes Anderson is at the forefront in a new movement of young writer/directors, joined by the likes of Cameron Crowe and Paul Thomas Anderson. While the categorization isn’t necessarily generational or even ideological, this troupe tends to embrace a character-centered approach to filmmaking, making plot secondary to picaresque protagonists and idiosyncratic dialogue. It is a group that has come to prominence in the wake of the influence of people like Quentin Tarantino and the Coen brothers, writer/directors renowned for their stylized writing and quirky characters.
It should come as no surprise then that the oeuvre of this new breed of character-driven narratives is most often described as “literary” because of the overt influence of like-minded post-war writers like J. D. Salinger and William Faulkner — two authors whom Anderson readily admits to emulating.
Just like his literary brethren, Anderson’s characters are dynamic and multi-dimensional, individuals not involved in a set plot as much as they are creating a new one with each carefully chosen word. Thus, writing the script for a Wes Anderson film ends up being the most important process at any point of production, one that always starts with co-writer Owen Wilson.
Friends since their days at the University of Texas, Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson have co-written all of Anderson’s directing efforts, while Wilson has gone on to prominence in front of the camera in films like “Zoolander” and “Behind Enemy Lines.” Their first collaboration, 1996’s “Bottle Rocket,” was an emotionally layered melodrama that followed the travails of three would-be crooks. Although it opened to mixed reviews and lackluster numbers (due to a lack of funding), the film showcased Anderson’s rare insight into interpersonal relationships. He followed in 1998 with “Rushmore,” an eccentric Bildungsroman that received much deserved Oscar hype but turned out to be too off-kilter for mainstream tastes.
His third effort, “The Royal Tenenbaums,” seems to thus far be an awards-ceremony darling, having full studio support and an ensemble cast that makes that of “Ocean’s Eleven” look like a high-school production of “Grease.”
The film’s quixotic New York setting has a kind of misleading façade, with beauty and grace on the outside but discontent just below the surface. The same can be said of the family Tenenbaum.
Royal (Gene Hackman, “Behind Enemy Lines”), the hard-headed patriarch, has spent the better part of his life as an ambitious lawyer, ignoring the feats of his precocious children — Chas (Ben Stiller, “Zoolander”), a Wall Street whiz before he was a teenager but now an overprotective father; Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow, “Shallow Hal”), a Pulitzer-prize winning playwright reduced to a chain-smoking neurotic; and Richie (Luke Wilson “Legally Blonde”), a former tennis protégé traveling from pole to pole on an ocean liner.
Morally and financially bankrupt, Royal returns home (by way of faking terminal illness) in a last-ditch effort to make amends with his family. However, the eventual discovery of Royal’s ruse only serves to further anger, alienate and confuse his progeny. In the end, little is actually resolved, but Anderson effectively draws parallels between the lack of finality in his story and in life itself.
Hackman turns in a bittersweet performance as a man who has nothing left but a family that doesn’t love him. He’s an insensitive chauvinist who does little to redeem himself, but his portrayal is at once bitingly funny and strangely endearing.
The cast is well backed by the likes of Anjelica Huston, Danny Glover, Bill Murray and, as expected, a scene-stealing Owen Wilson. Each finds his/her niche in the film with such zeal that perhaps the Academy needs to start giving away best (supporting) actor/actress awards in a Wes Anderson film.
Few directors working today are capable of running the emotional gamut the way Anderson does. Scenes can shift tones instantaneously from somber to hilarious, or they can be skillfully built up to a cathartic sob or belly-laugh of a climax. It’s thanklessly difficult for a film to incorporate so many highs and lows, but Anderson manages to do it in a refreshingly genuine way.
But Anderson’s camera isn’t as much a tour guide to these ups and downs as it is a window through which the viewer partakes in an elaborate character study. Many shots are close-ups of characters centrally framed and in straight-on angle, constantly asking the viewer to evaluate and reevaluate what he sees, almost as though he were reading a novel.
The real treat of Anderson/Wilson scripts is that they are indeed very literary. Their characters are never victims of cinematic constraints like convenience, happenstance or efficiency, but are always allowed to grow with every new chapter — er, scene. It’s a technique that eludes countless aspiring writer/directors, but one that will continue to allow Wes Anderson to make the film equivalent of a page-turner.
