Jimmy Loves Everything – Wes Anderson Edition

As I've stated before, I love everything, movies, comics, horror conventions, obscure historical facts, ‘80s cartoons simply made to sell toys, collectible lunch boxes, you name it. I'm a man who can't turn the channel when any of the Jaws films are on tv and love to discuss why every single one of them is entertaining. So when I don’t like something, you know it’s personal.

Last time, I laid out my love-hate heartbreak with Paul Thomas Anderson (click here to read that article). Today, we pivot to another Anderson, Wes Anderson. Yes, thee Wes Anderson. The pastel-drenched, symmetry-obsessed auteur who’s become the poster child for cinematic quirk. The man who made me feel all the things... and then made me want to burn my film degree in protest.

Let’s rewind.

I remember seeing Rushmore and thinking, “Whoa, who is this guy?” It had personality, charm, and just the right amount of weird. Then I discovered his first film, Bottle Rocket. More of the same weird storytelling, just more raw, and two of my favorite Wilsons, Owen and Luke (albeit, very young and goofy looking versions). Then The Royal Tenenbaums came along and I was in. Hook. Line. Sinker.

Gene Hackman delivered a career-best performance. Anjelica Huston, Danny Glover, Ben Stiller, Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Owen Wilson, and of course Bill Murray gelled to created the ultimate viewing experience. The writing was sharp, the characters richly layered, the entire experience like a perfectly bound novel where every chapter hurt and healed.

I was ready to follow Wes Anderson to the ends of the Earth. I would've watched him direct an adaptation of Webster's Dictionary and called it art.

Apparently I was wrong. Or maybe the Dictionary is just better written then his follow-ups.

Next came The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Yikes. I still have nightmares trying to think of a positive thing about that flick. Still searching I guess.

You ever have a friend invite you over, say they made something amazing for dinner, only to hand you a plate of cold, unseasoned tofu? That was Life Aquatic for me. I sat there in the theater waiting for the spark, for the magic, for anything remotely resembling The Royal Tenenbaums. Instead, I got a slow-moving, self-indulgent mess that tried to coast on charm and came up empty.

I rarely regret spending money at the movies. This was one of the exceptions. I walked out angry. Betrayed. It wasn’t that Wes Anderson lost his talent, it was that he drowned it in his own style.

Every frame screamed, “Look how quirky I am!”

And I screamed back, “I just want to feel something again!”

So I broke up with him.

I didn’t go see The Darjeeling Limited. I passed on Fantastic Mr. Fox, despite the stop-motion charm. Moonrise Kingdom came and went. I heard the buzz, read the reviews, but I stayed strong. I refused to be suckered in by pastel-colored promises and whimsical narration.

I was done with Wes Anderson.

Unfortunately, my wife wasn’t.

She rented The Grand Budapest Hotel because it looked fun, she'd heard great things, and she doesn't share my insane unexplainable vendetta against directors who have betrayed my viewing sensibilities. Because I’m a loving husband who wishes to remain a loved husband, I succumbed to the cinematic punishment. I watched it while trying (although my wife might say not trying hard enough) to enjoy the movie. I’ll admit, it’s gorgeous. The cast is insane. But it was the same quirky storytelling, the same stylistic overkill. It was a diorama in motion. A moving painting. But you know what paintings don’t do? Tell good stories.

Back on the blacklist he went.

Despite amazing casts that I would love to support, I successfully avoided The French Dispatch, Asteroid City, and his most recent film, The Phoenician Scheme.

I was free of his machinations… until the children stepped in where my wife once struck.

One Friday night, in a moment of parental generosity (or weakness), I let my kids pick the family movie. They chose Isle of Dogs. Whether they knew how to twist the knife or it was just cosmic irony, we’ll never know. But 25 minutes in, I hit “stop” and announced bedtime early. It was that dumb. My kids didn't argue, so I can only assume they agreed with my power move. My wife accepted the decision, which only hardened my resolve. She had totally redeemed herself!

I had been hurt before. I wasn’t going to be hurt again.

So no, Jimmy does not love everything. He does not love Wes Anderson. Not anymore. Not since that fateful dive into The Life Aquatic. I will rewatch The Royal Tenenbaums at my leisure.

But I’ve built walls now for all future projects.

Stylishly symmetrical walls.

With muted color palettes, star studded cast, and a Bill Murray cameo.

But they are walls nonetheless.

Stay quirky, Wes.

But stay away from me.

Because we all know...