I saw this movie yesterday, when it opened here, and generally disliked it. I confess that I am not a Wes Anderson supporter: if I liked Wes Anderson films, then I would probably have liked this film, since it does seem very like other Wes Anderson films. But I disliked it probably as much as other Wes Anderson films.
What struck me most strongly this time was that I suddenly realized why Wes Anderson films ... or at least this one ... are so easy for me to dislike. It is because they seem above all imbued with a sort of consistent misanthropy.
Or at least this one does. The stylistic and structural elements are not repugnant to me. The cinematography seemed to me to be stylized but delightful. The scenes generally unfold as highly stylized tableaux vivants only loosely concatenated by a very loose plot structure. But the humor was what was most striking. I felt like I was once again a sophomore in high school, with a sneer on my lips for anyone and anything around me. And that is the kind of view of life that I feel I am invited to in this movie. Everything, and everyone, deserves a sneer, seems to be the Anderson message. Even ... in a particularly brutal sequence ... the death of a child.
Contrast another film maker known for his stylized approach to film: Quentin Tarantino. A Tarantino movie seems to invite me to almost the opposite of a sneer for everything; rather, I feel invited to like and respect and find something good and worthwhile in everything. In an Anderson movie, in this one in particular, I am invited to view everything with an amused contempt.
Thanks but no thanks.
I did love the scenes in India. The acting of the main characters seemed competently consistent with the tableaux vivants they adorned. There is a sort of crisp cadence to the unfolding of the loose concatenation of scenes that to me was appealing.
But all in all, I think I'd rather watch things that don't invite me to that sophomoric sneer that I thought I had long ago left behind.
What struck me most strongly this time was that I suddenly realized why Wes Anderson films ... or at least this one ... are so easy for me to dislike. It is because they seem above all imbued with a sort of consistent misanthropy.
Or at least this one does. The stylistic and structural elements are not repugnant to me. The cinematography seemed to me to be stylized but delightful. The scenes generally unfold as highly stylized tableaux vivants only loosely concatenated by a very loose plot structure. But the humor was what was most striking. I felt like I was once again a sophomore in high school, with a sneer on my lips for anyone and anything around me. And that is the kind of view of life that I feel I am invited to in this movie. Everything, and everyone, deserves a sneer, seems to be the Anderson message. Even ... in a particularly brutal sequence ... the death of a child.
Contrast another film maker known for his stylized approach to film: Quentin Tarantino. A Tarantino movie seems to invite me to almost the opposite of a sneer for everything; rather, I feel invited to like and respect and find something good and worthwhile in everything. In an Anderson movie, in this one in particular, I am invited to view everything with an amused contempt.
Thanks but no thanks.
I did love the scenes in India. The acting of the main characters seemed competently consistent with the tableaux vivants they adorned. There is a sort of crisp cadence to the unfolding of the loose concatenation of scenes that to me was appealing.
But all in all, I think I'd rather watch things that don't invite me to that sophomoric sneer that I thought I had long ago left behind.