Wes Anderson practically created a genre, which is something only a few directors can say. How else do you even classify a Wes Anderson movie? Are they comedies? Fairy tales? Sobering dramas with whimsical twists? The answer is really none of the above- they're just Wes Anderson movies. With such a specific set of visual tendencies, thematic occupations, and narrative framing devices, Anderson's eccentric style and detailed composition make him one of the most notable auteurs in modern American cinema. When you sit down to watch a Wes Anderson movie, you know exactly what you're getting, even if you can't really put it into words. His quirkiness has become synonymous with independent cinema, and his filmmaking has been refined so much that it's hard to imagine him making anything but these strange, totally unique "Wes Anderson movies." Picture Quentin Tarantino making a stuffy period drama. That's Wes Anderson delving into literally any other genre beyond the one he has created for himself.
If these last few sentences seem critical of Anderson, they're not meant to be. He's one of my favorite working directors, and he's made a few movies that I consider to be genuine classics. With two sizable exceptions (debut feature Bottle Rocket and the much-maligned Darjeeling Limited), I'm familiar with all of Anderson's filmography. His early work is a mixed bag (I adore Royal Tenenbaums, think Rushmore is overrated, and mostly despise The Life Aquatic), but recently, Anderson has been on an epic hot streak. Fantastic Mr. Fox and Moonrise Kingdom are bona fide home runs, but his next movie blew everything that came before it out of the water. Of course, I'm talking about The Grand Budapest Hotel, Anderson's 2014 masterpiece. The best movie of the director's career and the summation of decades of work, Grand Budapest won 4 Oscars and set the new bar for Anderson.
It's been four years since The Grand Budapest Hotel, but the director is finally back with Isle of Dogs, his second foray into stop-motion animation. Anderson isn't usually one to generate controversy, but Isle of Dogs has landed in hot water in the last few weeks for its treatment of Japanese culture. The discussion of cultural appropriation has almost overshadowed the film itself, and it's undeniably something I had on my mind as I watched. As with many of these discussions, I don't necessarily feel qualified to comment, but this is something that is truly important to the overall effect of this film. The cultural aspects are not a sidebar here- they're sewn into the fabric of the film, and I'll have more to say later in the review. But even with this in the back of my brain, my thoughts began to drift to other questions as Isle of Dogs progressed. The main one- why wasn't I completely loving every second of a new Wes Anderson movie?
20 years into the future, an outbreak of dog flu has seized the city of Megasaki on the Japanese Archipelago. With concerns that the disease could spread to humans, Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura) issues an emergency order to send all dogs to a place simply known as Trash Island. Jump ahead a few years and the situation on the island has gotten pretty dire for our furry canine protagonists. We follow a group of dogs who work together to make decisions as a pack- Chief (Bryan Cranston), Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss (Bill Murray), and Duke (Jeff Goldblum). One day, they notice a young boy flying a plane to the island. After a crash landing, the dogs learn that the boy's name is Atari Kobayashi (Koyu Rankin), and he's the ward of the powerful Kobayashi family. He escaped from the mayoral estate in search of his lost dog, Spots (Liev Schreiber), who was the first canine sent to the island. The dogs agree to help Atari, and the mission begins.
Meanwhile, a young foreign exchange student named Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig) begins to realize that there's something fishy about this entire dog flu business. Through intrepid reporting at her high school paper, Tracy uncovers a vast conspiracy that involves the Mayor, a brilliant scientist (Akira Ito), and an ancient myth rooted in the history of Japan and the Kobayashi family. What you get is basically Wes Anderson's version of a conspiracy film, like a silly journalistic drama or a decidedly less serious version of Francis Ford Coppola's The Conversation. And that's inherently a cute idea, one that fits well with Anderson's uber quirky filmmaking style. He's at his best when he melds serious material with his own distinct approach, filtering different genres and themes through his own particular sensibilities. That's why there's such a killer strain of dark humor running through all of Anderson's films- his candy-colored fantasies clash with the serious ideas he wants to tackle.
Isle of Dogs continues that tradition, and the film has no shortage of ambition. Not only is it a goofy take on the conspiracy thriller, but it also finds much of its inspiration in the twisting of Japanese mythology. Beyond those foundations, there's plenty of underlying messages about authoritarianism and scapegoating, which has emerged as one of the dominant themes in the discourse around Isle of Dogs. But for all of Anderson's weighty ideas and aspirations, the final product feels somewhat scattershot and unfocused. The ancient roots of the Kobayashi family and the story of the young samurai boy feel incomplete and undernourished, while the conspiracy elements are never taken seriously enough to be effective. So instead of zeroing in on a single thing, Anderson casts a wide net, attempting to pull off a wide range of difficult tasks. The results are disappointing, if not totally without merit.
Even if the story doesn't always work, this is still a fairly amusing movie. Jeff Goldblum plays a dog who loves gossip and rumors, and it's as consistently hilarious as it sounds. Anderson's brand of insanely specific quirkiness remains an asset throughout, but particularly as the film establishes the world of its story. He understands visual humor and running gags better than almost any other filmmaker working today, and he also has a spectacular grasp on how to create a sense of deadpan irony in each and every scene. In addition to Anderson's traditional strengths, Isle of Dogs is just an animation wonder. The detail and care given to every character is astounding, and the director's meticulous sense of composition is nothing shy of gorgeous. There's a sense of precision and craft in every single frame, which is hugely beneficial to the overall film.
But despite Anderson's impeccable sense of visual energy, the quick-witted nature of the script, and the speedy pacing, the very core of Isle of Dogs fails to compel. This is a simple story about a boy trying to find his dog, the kind of fundamental narrative that seems engineered to make canine-loving audiences weep with joy. But Anderson has never been one to deliver surface level emotion, always finding his sense of pathos in the oddities of his characters. Picture the unusual relationship between Gustave H. and Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel or the awkward family dynamics of The Royal Tenenbuams- those films aren't served well by being genuine in a straight-forward manner. At his best, it never feels like Anderson is tugging on your heartstrings, but the emotional roots of Isle of Dogs are too simplistic, too predictable. The whole desired effect is diluted pretty quickly, and the film left me cold.
Now for the more tricky part. As I said before, I don't necessarily feel that my commentary on the film's cultural complications is valuable. It's not my place to say whether something is offensive or not, and I'll leave much of that discussion to the excellent Japanese and Japanese-American critics so I can listen and learn. That being said, I think many of the cultural questions being raised around Isle of Dogs stem from Anderson's desire to make both a tribute to Akira Kurosawa (they play the Seven Samurai music during a lengthy sequence) and Japanese culture and a "Wes Anderson movie." If he had just made a Japanese-language film with an entirely Japanese cast, I'm not sure if this discussion about cultural sensitivity would be as prominent. Instead, Anderson still wanted to make a movie with his traditional troupe of actors, so he does things that make no sense at all, things that come at the detriment of the story. The dogs speak English and don't understand Japanese- but their prior owners were Japanese citizens? Why do we need English translators for everything when there are no American characters in the movie? Do all dogs around the world speak English ?
These strange questions dog the movie (pun intended) throughout, but it leads to an even greater question in my mind. Put simply, at what point do we want our favorite auteurs to stop doing the same thing and branch out into something different? Anderson has never made the same movie twice, but his style is so specific that there's little room for flexibility. Isle of Dogs is Anderson's style taken to the extreme, so steeped in its own peculiarities and idiosyncrasies that it begins to feel tedious. This isn't full-blown self-parody, but I could feel Anderson veering into that territory to mediocre results. Essentially, Isle of Dogs is exactly the movie you expect it to be, and that does it no favors. Maybe what Anderson needs, especially after a historic run that brought us a triple crown of near-masterpieces (and one pure and simple classic), is a chance to experiment with something new. Step away from Murray and Norton and Goldblum, step away from the word of witticisms and indie quirk, maybe even throw in a few shots that aren't perfectly composed. Maybe whatever Anderson does next needs to be wholly and totally unexpected.
Or maybe he'll make another great Wes Anderson movie, equipped with every single thing we've come to expect from him, and I'll forget that I ever said any of these things. At this point, I'm not sure if my disappointment with this film has anything to do with his traditional aesthetic. Despite my love for the majority of his work, this isn't the first time I've been let down by an Anderson film. If this sounds overly harsh for a mixed review, it's ultimately just reflective of expectations. Isle of Dogs is by no means a bad film- it's funny and weird and quite often gorgeous to behold. But unlike much of Anderson's work, it never rises above its status as a beautiful curio. For all of its one-of-a-kind design elements, Isle of Dogs feels surprisingly flat and sometimes even tiresome. It never comes alive, and its conspiracy theory-meets-Japanese fable narrative is never quite as memorable as it should be. An occasionally pleasant diversion? Sure. But I've come to expect more from the director who has always shattered expectations in charming and wonderfully unique ways.
THE FINAL GRADE: B- (6.9/10)
Image courtesy of Fox Searchlight
If these last few sentences seem critical of Anderson, they're not meant to be. He's one of my favorite working directors, and he's made a few movies that I consider to be genuine classics. With two sizable exceptions (debut feature Bottle Rocket and the much-maligned Darjeeling Limited), I'm familiar with all of Anderson's filmography. His early work is a mixed bag (I adore Royal Tenenbaums, think Rushmore is overrated, and mostly despise The Life Aquatic), but recently, Anderson has been on an epic hot streak. Fantastic Mr. Fox and Moonrise Kingdom are bona fide home runs, but his next movie blew everything that came before it out of the water. Of course, I'm talking about The Grand Budapest Hotel, Anderson's 2014 masterpiece. The best movie of the director's career and the summation of decades of work, Grand Budapest won 4 Oscars and set the new bar for Anderson.
It's been four years since The Grand Budapest Hotel, but the director is finally back with Isle of Dogs, his second foray into stop-motion animation. Anderson isn't usually one to generate controversy, but Isle of Dogs has landed in hot water in the last few weeks for its treatment of Japanese culture. The discussion of cultural appropriation has almost overshadowed the film itself, and it's undeniably something I had on my mind as I watched. As with many of these discussions, I don't necessarily feel qualified to comment, but this is something that is truly important to the overall effect of this film. The cultural aspects are not a sidebar here- they're sewn into the fabric of the film, and I'll have more to say later in the review. But even with this in the back of my brain, my thoughts began to drift to other questions as Isle of Dogs progressed. The main one- why wasn't I completely loving every second of a new Wes Anderson movie?
20 years into the future, an outbreak of dog flu has seized the city of Megasaki on the Japanese Archipelago. With concerns that the disease could spread to humans, Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura) issues an emergency order to send all dogs to a place simply known as Trash Island. Jump ahead a few years and the situation on the island has gotten pretty dire for our furry canine protagonists. We follow a group of dogs who work together to make decisions as a pack- Chief (Bryan Cranston), Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss (Bill Murray), and Duke (Jeff Goldblum). One day, they notice a young boy flying a plane to the island. After a crash landing, the dogs learn that the boy's name is Atari Kobayashi (Koyu Rankin), and he's the ward of the powerful Kobayashi family. He escaped from the mayoral estate in search of his lost dog, Spots (Liev Schreiber), who was the first canine sent to the island. The dogs agree to help Atari, and the mission begins.
Meanwhile, a young foreign exchange student named Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig) begins to realize that there's something fishy about this entire dog flu business. Through intrepid reporting at her high school paper, Tracy uncovers a vast conspiracy that involves the Mayor, a brilliant scientist (Akira Ito), and an ancient myth rooted in the history of Japan and the Kobayashi family. What you get is basically Wes Anderson's version of a conspiracy film, like a silly journalistic drama or a decidedly less serious version of Francis Ford Coppola's The Conversation. And that's inherently a cute idea, one that fits well with Anderson's uber quirky filmmaking style. He's at his best when he melds serious material with his own distinct approach, filtering different genres and themes through his own particular sensibilities. That's why there's such a killer strain of dark humor running through all of Anderson's films- his candy-colored fantasies clash with the serious ideas he wants to tackle.
Isle of Dogs continues that tradition, and the film has no shortage of ambition. Not only is it a goofy take on the conspiracy thriller, but it also finds much of its inspiration in the twisting of Japanese mythology. Beyond those foundations, there's plenty of underlying messages about authoritarianism and scapegoating, which has emerged as one of the dominant themes in the discourse around Isle of Dogs. But for all of Anderson's weighty ideas and aspirations, the final product feels somewhat scattershot and unfocused. The ancient roots of the Kobayashi family and the story of the young samurai boy feel incomplete and undernourished, while the conspiracy elements are never taken seriously enough to be effective. So instead of zeroing in on a single thing, Anderson casts a wide net, attempting to pull off a wide range of difficult tasks. The results are disappointing, if not totally without merit.
Even if the story doesn't always work, this is still a fairly amusing movie. Jeff Goldblum plays a dog who loves gossip and rumors, and it's as consistently hilarious as it sounds. Anderson's brand of insanely specific quirkiness remains an asset throughout, but particularly as the film establishes the world of its story. He understands visual humor and running gags better than almost any other filmmaker working today, and he also has a spectacular grasp on how to create a sense of deadpan irony in each and every scene. In addition to Anderson's traditional strengths, Isle of Dogs is just an animation wonder. The detail and care given to every character is astounding, and the director's meticulous sense of composition is nothing shy of gorgeous. There's a sense of precision and craft in every single frame, which is hugely beneficial to the overall film.
But despite Anderson's impeccable sense of visual energy, the quick-witted nature of the script, and the speedy pacing, the very core of Isle of Dogs fails to compel. This is a simple story about a boy trying to find his dog, the kind of fundamental narrative that seems engineered to make canine-loving audiences weep with joy. But Anderson has never been one to deliver surface level emotion, always finding his sense of pathos in the oddities of his characters. Picture the unusual relationship between Gustave H. and Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel or the awkward family dynamics of The Royal Tenenbuams- those films aren't served well by being genuine in a straight-forward manner. At his best, it never feels like Anderson is tugging on your heartstrings, but the emotional roots of Isle of Dogs are too simplistic, too predictable. The whole desired effect is diluted pretty quickly, and the film left me cold.
Now for the more tricky part. As I said before, I don't necessarily feel that my commentary on the film's cultural complications is valuable. It's not my place to say whether something is offensive or not, and I'll leave much of that discussion to the excellent Japanese and Japanese-American critics so I can listen and learn. That being said, I think many of the cultural questions being raised around Isle of Dogs stem from Anderson's desire to make both a tribute to Akira Kurosawa (they play the Seven Samurai music during a lengthy sequence) and Japanese culture and a "Wes Anderson movie." If he had just made a Japanese-language film with an entirely Japanese cast, I'm not sure if this discussion about cultural sensitivity would be as prominent. Instead, Anderson still wanted to make a movie with his traditional troupe of actors, so he does things that make no sense at all, things that come at the detriment of the story. The dogs speak English and don't understand Japanese- but their prior owners were Japanese citizens? Why do we need English translators for everything when there are no American characters in the movie? Do all dogs around the world speak English ?
These strange questions dog the movie (pun intended) throughout, but it leads to an even greater question in my mind. Put simply, at what point do we want our favorite auteurs to stop doing the same thing and branch out into something different? Anderson has never made the same movie twice, but his style is so specific that there's little room for flexibility. Isle of Dogs is Anderson's style taken to the extreme, so steeped in its own peculiarities and idiosyncrasies that it begins to feel tedious. This isn't full-blown self-parody, but I could feel Anderson veering into that territory to mediocre results. Essentially, Isle of Dogs is exactly the movie you expect it to be, and that does it no favors. Maybe what Anderson needs, especially after a historic run that brought us a triple crown of near-masterpieces (and one pure and simple classic), is a chance to experiment with something new. Step away from Murray and Norton and Goldblum, step away from the word of witticisms and indie quirk, maybe even throw in a few shots that aren't perfectly composed. Maybe whatever Anderson does next needs to be wholly and totally unexpected.
Or maybe he'll make another great Wes Anderson movie, equipped with every single thing we've come to expect from him, and I'll forget that I ever said any of these things. At this point, I'm not sure if my disappointment with this film has anything to do with his traditional aesthetic. Despite my love for the majority of his work, this isn't the first time I've been let down by an Anderson film. If this sounds overly harsh for a mixed review, it's ultimately just reflective of expectations. Isle of Dogs is by no means a bad film- it's funny and weird and quite often gorgeous to behold. But unlike much of Anderson's work, it never rises above its status as a beautiful curio. For all of its one-of-a-kind design elements, Isle of Dogs feels surprisingly flat and sometimes even tiresome. It never comes alive, and its conspiracy theory-meets-Japanese fable narrative is never quite as memorable as it should be. An occasionally pleasant diversion? Sure. But I've come to expect more from the director who has always shattered expectations in charming and wonderfully unique ways.
THE FINAL GRADE: B- (6.9/10)
Image courtesy of Fox Searchlight
Comments
Post a Comment