Wes Anderson and the Cult of Nostalgia

[Note: Even though this is about Wes Anderson, this actually contains some spoilers for Midnight in Paris, a film directed by Woody Allen, which has nothing to do with Wes Anderson... Or does it...?]

Quiz Time: Is this a Wes Anderson movie or a Hans Christian Anderson book?

In Midnight In Paris (2011) Owen Wilson's character,  Gil, writes a screenplay about a man who works in a "nostalgia shop." A nostalgia shop, as Gil explains, is "a place where they sell old things, memorabilia." What does this have to do with director Wes Anderson? Didn't Woody Allen direct Midnight In Paris? Those are both sensible questions.

The thing about Wes Anderson is that he IS a nostalgia shopkeeper. 

You know Wes Anderson from his "quirky" and "off-beat" movies that scream "stick a bird on it," like Rushmore (1998), The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), and Moonrise Kingdom (2012), to name a few.  Like a lot of (let's call them) auteur filmmakers, he tends to collaborate with the same actors, writiers, and crew on many of his movies. Among actors and writers, this mainly means Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray, and college chum Owen Wilson. Can you imagine the crazy shenannegans of these two strapping Texans in their college days? Probably not, since they were most likely closed away in a dark room writing Bottle Rocket (1996), which Owen and brother Luke went on to star in.

What's located in his nostalgia shop? Lots of wood paneling, patterned fabrics, and a lingering scent of the French new-wave (I hear they don't use deodorant). It's a bit like a temple or an occult shop. Among Puertorrican communities, we call this a botanica, a store serving the needs of Santeria religious practices. Wes Anderson's occult is the Cult of Nostalgia. Watching one of Anderson's films is like seeing an old, weird movie, except you're there on opening weekend, in the 70's, and there's no chance to see it again except in theaters because VCRs haven't been invented yet. If you were alive in the 70's, then this literally triggers all the warm fuzzy memories you have of that time. If you weren't alive then, it triggers all the warm fuzzy idealized images of that time.

Much like the French Renaissance courts recalled Europe's Middle Ages, (as a pastoral canvas covered in fair maidens and knights errant), Wes Anderson draws viewers into a soft, primary-colored sense of security, then dashes it to bits with its severely messed up course of events. [Seriously, reread Sir Gawain and the Green Knight- twisted business]. In fact, it seems like The Knight Errant tends to be the protagonist in all of Anderson's films, or at least the character who drives most of the plot. This would also explain why all of the female characters in his films are either prizes in love triangles or in need of a champion to joust away conflict. In fact, the main conflict in each of Anderson's films tends to be about courtly or fraternal love, the two main themes of those nostalgic tales of knights and damsels. It's safe to say that Anderson's nostalgia shop also contains a copy of Mallory's Le Mort d'Arthur, Chrétien de Troyes' stuff, and some of Marie de France's leis. Furthermore, much like characters in Aurthurian legends, actors tend to pop in and out of scenes in these flicks, as if jumping out of the wings of a stage. The presence of lots of doors, windows, and hatches facilitate these actions.

They were all out of shining armor, so I grabbed this.

Speaking of doors n' such, lets talk about the sets and locations this guy uses. Often when watching one of Anderson's movies, I find myself wondering, "When are these stories set?" Occasionally it's made apparent, but often audiences need to look for clues. I find myself picking apart the environment looking for hints, thinking things that I haven't thought since my intro set design class in high school. Things like, "it's before t.v. but after vacuum cleaners, they use metal buckles instead of plastic clasps." Each set and location work for each shot work as a projection of each character, telling much more than dialogue or any kind of non-verbal acting could do. This is not to say his characters are shallow or can't stand without the set. The very opposite, but only because the associations our minds make to the objects, colors, and textures included in a shot evoke certain story lines in our minds. Sets and characters are a single thing, working together to tell a single story rather that providing a place for a story to take place, creating a tapestry (to use the medieval comparisons I made earlier)- a seamless mis en scene. [Note: Jeez, that sounded pretentious.] You could say his shots are 3D in the sense that they project out their intent rather than build in and on top of characters and plot. On a literal level, shots are constructed like old school Disney frames, with different depths illustrated and layered on top of each other for a single image. The result is a lush, textured, fathomless world that speaks clearly for itself; dialogue, at times, seems incidental.

Do you even care what anyone is about to say? No! Because Bill Murray in those pants!

[Note: Here Be Spoilers! Beware!]

The notion of a nostalgia shop in Midnight In Paris is meant to signal a disengagment with the present. Gil was so unwilling to confront many of the issues in his life, that he chose to inhabit a romanticized the past, specifically the 1920's. As one would expect from Woody Allan's m.o., all the authors he idolizes (and reasons he wishes to live in their era) are revealed to be tragic, petty, and unfulfilled. But wait, doesn't that make them all the more cool? No. It doesn't. It just makes them looser dill-weeds who probably just need a hug, but eew, they reek of smoke and alcohol. The huge irony is that the people who live int he 20's idealize the Belle Epoque, the period stretching from the 1870's until the start of WWI. Of course the people of the Belle Epoque idealize eras farther back, and so on, presumably until early man who thought, "Man, living in trees, those were the days! This whole bipedal business is just a departure from real living."

Not only am I not sure what year it is, it's unclear what movie I'm in!

Gill eventually finds balance between admiring the triumphs and aesthetic of the past while living fully in the present. By letting go of obsession with a constructed fantasy, he is able to confront the personal and professional crises in his life. Nostalgia becomes a savored retreat rather than something wrought with the longing of addiction. But what of dear Wesley? More importantly, what of his nostalgia shop? Is it just a place for him to hide from that all too awful present reality? Are we just watching a man work out personal trauma and inability to cope as it literally plays out on the silver screen? Possibly.

As it turns out, dear Wes Anderson's personal life filters into his films quite a bit. He too used to base plays he produced as a kid on well known works of fiction (much like the main protagonist of Rushmore). Wikipedia also tells me that he believes his parents' divorce was the most defining moment in his and his brothers' lives, (much like the siblings in The Royal Tenenbaums). There's also a lot that can be said about his obsession with larger than life father figures, (Bill Murray in virtually all of his films), but I could probably go on for another six paragraphs on that alone. As far as I can see, however, the process of working his shit out via cinema is working. Certainly working financially. Really, he should turn to his parents and say:

If the Brothers Anderson are still working through the trauma of their parents' divorce, partially stuck in a place in the past, it would explain dear Wes' Cult of  Nostalgia and certain aspects of his film making I find most enjoyable. The thing about Wes Anderson's movies that I love is that they take kids as seriously as kids take themselves. I don't know how you felt about all the deep and profound thoughts you had as a kid, but for me they certainly weren't adorable, fleeting, or insubstantial. I hated when adults thought I was "cute." It felt patronizing. Maybe that says more about the kind of kid I was than children in general, but it definitely points to the fact that kids feel they aren't taken seriously nearly often enough. When you're a kid, shit matters! And why shouldn't it? If you've only been alive nine years, then an hour is like two days in adult time. In this way, it's been asserted that Charles Schultz's Peanuts characters have been a huge influence in Anderson's films. (Especially their wardrobes). Maybe this is an underlying factor of any unsorted emotions. Maybe no one took seven-year old Wesley's input all that seriously. Maybe, if someone had just listened, we'd know a very different film maker.

So the next time you see Wes Anderson, give him a hug. Tell him "Ya' did good kid," with a Texan accent if possible. Let him know you're here for him. Here to listen. Say "Thanks for sharing," when he's done talking, then check in a couple days later. Only do this if you're willing to accept the consequences, though; he may start writing his first thriller.

Good night, Wesley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.