There is undeniable charm in Wes Anderson's established style: sets like dollhouses, candy-colored design, formalized symmetry, and painterly camera work with occasional tracking shots. But here's where I jump ship: deadpan delivery from the actors. All the actors. Every single face is frozen as if posing for a painter rather than performing in a motion picture. Perhaps Anderson believes, as some directors are rumored to (von Sternberg, Mamoulian, Clarence Brown), that when actors are expressionless the audience supplies the emotion. That's a big risk, especially inside Anderson's already rigid aesthetic.
Consider Dr. Seuss, another artist with an unvarying style. His drawings are backed by wisdom and poetic genius, while Anderson's style, once established, became a necessary cosmetic for minor storytelling gifts. Ironically, Dr. Seuss's printed images are actually more dynamic than Anderson's movies.
Moonrise Kingdom is a case in point. The plot centers on two humorless twelve-year-old runaways with troubled lives. There are a few amusing lines ("Our daughter's been abducted by one of these beige lunatics!") and a few thoughtful ones, e.g., when the girl says she wished she was an orphan, the boy replies, "I love you but you don't know what you're talking about." The deadpan delivery is perfect for that line; unfortunately, all the dialog is delivered that way, minus any of the messy emotions that make us human.
Sometimes, happily, really talented actors manage to ply their craft in spite of a director's limitations. Tilda Swinton brings a crisp and believable authority to her role as Social Services, in spite of Anderson encasing her in a code-blue uniform. Equally irrepressible, Bruce Willis comes across as the most human character in the bunch, with nothing more than the practiced use of pauses and inflections, evidently the maximum display of human nature that Anderson will allow.
Consider Dr. Seuss, another artist with an unvarying style. His drawings are backed by wisdom and poetic genius, while Anderson's style, once established, became a necessary cosmetic for minor storytelling gifts. Ironically, Dr. Seuss's printed images are actually more dynamic than Anderson's movies.
Moonrise Kingdom is a case in point. The plot centers on two humorless twelve-year-old runaways with troubled lives. There are a few amusing lines ("Our daughter's been abducted by one of these beige lunatics!") and a few thoughtful ones, e.g., when the girl says she wished she was an orphan, the boy replies, "I love you but you don't know what you're talking about." The deadpan delivery is perfect for that line; unfortunately, all the dialog is delivered that way, minus any of the messy emotions that make us human.
Sometimes, happily, really talented actors manage to ply their craft in spite of a director's limitations. Tilda Swinton brings a crisp and believable authority to her role as Social Services, in spite of Anderson encasing her in a code-blue uniform. Equally irrepressible, Bruce Willis comes across as the most human character in the bunch, with nothing more than the practiced use of pauses and inflections, evidently the maximum display of human nature that Anderson will allow.