Tag: Wes Anderson

A palpable shift has occurred in Wes Anderson’s style and tone since the release of 2021’s The French Dispatch. One doesn’t want to use a cliché like “mature” to describe what’s been happening since that perceptible tonal pivot in his filmography, so perhaps the better way to “define” what’s happening to Anderson and his storytelling is that it’s gotten, as Cher Horowitz would note, “Way existential.” Not to say there wasn’t that element to some degree in previous films, but now, it’s amplified—ratcheted up to a maximum that was never there before. Some might proffer it’s because Anderson has transitioned to a new era of his life, therefore possesses a greater concern with mortality; others could posit that our world and society has become so fragile in the years since 2020, that even privileged white men have been rattled by it enough to let it color their work. Whatever the case, the increased focus on mortality and “the meaning of life” in Anderson’s oeuvre is no surprise considering one of his greatest directorial influences is Woody Allen. Yes, he might be cancelled, but that doesn’t change the effect he’s had on Anderson.

Of course, Anderson has managed to take the puerility of Allen’s lead characters and render them “quirky,” “oddball” and “postmodern” instead. What’s more, Anderson has the “marketing sense” not to make his characters come across as “too Jewy,” lest it “scandalize” the often white bread audiences he tends to attract. Some might argue that Asteroid City is his whitest offering yet—which is really saying something. And yes, like Allen, Anderson has begun to favor the “screenwriting technique” of setting his movies in the past, so as not to have to deal with the “vexing” and “unpleasant” complications of trying to address post-woke culture in his casting and narrative decisions. Defenders of Anderson would bite back by remarking that the director creates alternate worlds in general, and should be left to do his own thing without being subjected to the “moral” and “ethical” issues presented by “modern filmmaking requirements.” For the most part, that’s remained the case, even as occasional hemming-and-hawing about his “movies so white” shtick crops up when he releases a new film. But to those who will follow Anderson anywhere, the trip to Asteroid City does prove to be worth it. If for no other reason than to show us the evolution of an auteur when he’s left alone, permitted to be creative without letting the outside voices and noise fuck with his head.

In many regards, the “town” (or rather, desert patch with a population of eighty-seven) is a representation of the same bubble Anderson exists in whenever he writes and directs something. To the point of writing, Anderson returns to the meta exploration of what it means to create on the page (as he did for The French Dispatch), anchored by the playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). Although he’s not one of the more heavily featured characters, without him, none of the characters we’re seeing perform a televised production of Asteroid City would exist. If that sounds too meta already, it probably is. With the host (Bryan Cranston) of an anthology TV series serving as our guide, the movie commences in black and white as he stares into the camera and proceeds to do his best impersonation of Rod Serling at the beginning of The Twilight Zone. Indeed, it’s clear Anderson wants to allude to these types of TV anthology series that were so popular in the post-war Golden Age of Television. And even on the radio, as Orson Welles showcased in 1938, with his adaptation of The War of the Worlds. A broadcast that caused many listeners to panic about an alien invasion, unaware that it wasn’t real. In fact, Cranston as the host is sure to forewarn his viewers, “Asteroid City does not exist. It is an imaginary drama created expressly for this broadcast.” That warning comes with good reason, for people in the 50s were easily susceptible to being bamboozled by whatever was presented to them on the then-new medium of TV. Because, “If it’s on TV, it must be true.” And the last thing anyone wanted to believe—then as much as now—is that there could be life on other planets. Sure, it sounds “neato” in theory, but, in reality, Earthlings are major narcissists who want to remain the lone “stars” of the interplanetary show.

Set in September of 1955, Asteroid City centers its narrative on a Junior Stargazer convention, where five students will be honored for their excellence in astronomy and astronomy-related innovations. Among those five are Woodrow (Jake Ryan), Shelly (Sophia Lillis), Ricky (Ethan Josh Lee), Dinah (Grace Edwards) and Clifford (Aristou Meehan). It’s Woodrow who arrives to town first, courtesy of his war photographer father, Augie Steenbeck (Jason Schwartzman). Although they’ve arrived to their destination, Augie still has to take the broken-down car to the mechanic (Matt Dillon). After much fanfare and tinkering, The Mechanic concludes that the car is kaput. Augie decides to phone his father-in-law, Stanley Zak (Tom Hanks), to come pick up Woodrow and Augie’s three daughters, Andromeda (Ella Faris), Pandora (Gracie Faris) and Cassiopeia (Willan Faris). Stanley doesn’t immediately agree, instead opting to remind Augie that he was never good enough for his daughter (played briefly, in a way, by Margot Robbie) and that he ought to tell his children that their mother died. Three weeks ago, to be exact. But withholding this information is just one of many ways in which Augie parades his emotional stuntedness. Something that ultimately enchants Hollywood actress Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson), who also happens to be the mother of another Junior Stargazer, Dinah.

All the while, the vibrant, almost fake-looking set seems there solely to reiterate that all vibrancy is belied by something darker beneath it. That was never truer than in postwar America. And talking of vibrant cinematography and explosions, if Barbie’s color palette had a baby with Oppenheimer’s explosive content, you’d get Asteroid City (which, again, features Margot “Barbie” Robbie herself). With regard to explosions, it bears noting that the intro to the movie includes a train plugging along, bound for Asteroid City carrying all manner of bounty: avocados, pecans and, oh yes, a ten-megaton nuclear warhead with the disclaimer: “Caution: DO NOT DETONATE without Presidential Approval.” So much about that wide array of “transported goods” speaks to the very dichotomy of American culture. Priding itself on being a land of plenty while also doing everything in its power to self-destruct all that natural wealth. What’s more, the presence of hazardous material on trains is only too relevant considering the recent tragedy that befell East Palestine, Ohio. And yet, these are the sorts of environmentally-damaging behaviors that were set in motion in the postwar economic boom of America. Complete with the “miracle” of Teflon.

Accordingly, it’s no coincidence that as the “progress” associated with modern life accelerated at a rate not seen since the first Industrial Revolution, some were concerned about the potential fallout of such “development.” After all, with technological advancement could arise as many inconveniences as conveniences (see also: AI). For those who came of age after the so-called war to end all wars, a natural skepticism vis-à-vis “advancement” was also to be expected. Perhaps the fear of modern existence, with all the implications of war and invasion being “leveled up” due to “better” technology (i.e., the atomic bomb), planted the seed of suddenly seeing flying saucers all the time starting in the 40s and 50s. A phenomenon that many government officials were keen to write off as being somehow related to atomic testing (this being why the Atomic Age is so wrapped up in the alien sightings craze of the 50s). The sudden collective sightings might also have been a manifestation of the inherent fear of what all this “progress” could do. Especially when it came to increasing the potential for interplanetary contact. For it was also in the 50s that the great “space race” began—spurred by nothing more than the competitive, dick-swinging nature of the Cold War between the U.S. and USSR. That was all it took to propel a “they’re among us” and “hiding in plain sight” mentality, one that was frequently preyed upon by the U.S. government via the Red Scare. Such intense fear- and paranoia-mongering does fuck with the mind, you know. Enough to make it see things that may or may not really be there (literally and figuratively). The term “alien,” therefore, meaning “foreigner” or “other” as much as extraterrestrial as the 50s wore on.

So it was that Americans did what they always do best with fear: monetize it! To be sure, Asteroid City itself only exists to commodify the terror of an asteroid hitting Earth and leaving such a great impact thousands of years ago. Then, when news of an alien infiltrating the Junior Stargazer convention leaks, a fun fair materializes to sell merch (“Alien Gifts Sold Here”) related to commemorating the “event.” As such, the train that goes to Asteroid City suddenly becomes the “Alien Special” and there’s now “Alien Parking,” as well as signs declaring, “Asteroid City U.F.O.” and “Spacecraft Sighting.” With this American zeal for exploitation in mind, plus the alien element, there’s even a certain Nope vibe at play throughout Asteroid City as well. And a dash of Don’t Worry Darling, to boot. Mainly because of the unexplained sonic booms that go on in the background while the housewives are trying to kiki.

Anderson extracts the paranoia element that might have been present in films of the day (like Flying Saucers Attack!) and instead relates the discovery of an alien life form to the added feeling of being insignificant as a human in this universe. To highlight that point, J.J. Kellogg (Liev Schreiber), father to Junior Stargazer Clifford, demands of his son’s escalating antics related to performing unasked dares, “Why do you always have to dare something?” He replies meekly, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid otherwise nobody’ll notice my existence in the universe.” To be sure, the reason most people behave obnoxiously is to get the kind of attention that will convince themselves they matter. They mean something in this grand abyss.

Even Midge, a movie star, feels mostly unseen. So when Augie takes her picture in such an intimate way, she can’t help but feel allured by him. Seen by him. That, in the end, is what everyone wants. In the spirit of alluding to 50s Americana, Midge herself seems to be a loose representation of Marilyn Monroe, also prone to pills and alcohol, and constantly referred to as a brilliant comedienne despite flying under the radar as such. Then there’s another six degrees of Marilyn separation when Willem Dafoe appears as Saltzburg Keitel, an overt homage to Elia Kazan and his Actors Studio—a version of which we see when Earp shows up to a class to try to get insight on how to convey a certain scene. And yes, the concern with whether or not the acting in the play is being done “right” keeps coming up, reaching a crest as a metaphor for what Asteroid City is all about: what is anyone’s place in the universe? Does any of it mean anything? So yeah, again with the Woody Allen influence.

Toward the end of the play/movie, Jones Hall, the actor playing Augie, asks Schubert Green (Adrien Brody), the director, “Do I just keep doing it?” He could be asking about his performance as much as his very existence itself. Schubert assures, “Yes.” Jones continues, “Without knowing anything? Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of answer out there in the cosmic wilderness?” When Jones then admits, “I still don’t understand the play,” that phrase “the play” doubles just as easily for “life.” Schubert insists, “Doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story.” In other words, just keep rolling the dice and living as though any of it means anything at all.

And maybe nihilism, for some people, is part of compartmentalizing that meaninglessness. This much appears to be the case for Midge, who tells Augie stoically, “I think I know now what I realize we are… Two catastrophically wounded people who don’t express the depths of their pain because…we don’t want to. That’s our connection.” But a connection is a connection—and that’s all anyone on Earth is really looking—starving—for…no matter how many decades fly by and how many according “advancements” are made. It’s likely the convention-interrupting alien could sense and see that desperation among the humans during his brief landing.

So it is that Augie tells Midge afterward, “I don’t like the way that guy looked at us, the alien.” Midge inquires, “How did he look?”  “Like we’re doomed.” Midge shrugs, “Maybe we are.” “Maybe” being a polite euphemism for “definitely.” But even though we are, maybe the art will make sense of it all in the end. Even if only to “just keep telling the story.” For posterity. For whoever—or whatever—might come across the ruins and relics in the future. Hopefully, they’ll learn from the mistakes that we ourselves didn’t.