Up on Coosa Creek — which as you know is not New York or Los Angeles — it’s been a pretty grim prestige-film season. I just haven’t yet seen anything like a crop of year-end hopefuls that would get my blood going, much less anything that will make me mildly curious come Oscar time. (Insert standard critical disclaimer about Oscars here).
I did see a couple of films back-to-back over the Thanksgiving holidays. My daughter and son-in-law were in town from Williamsburg (Virginia not Brooklyn), and their mother and they hatched a plan to see two movies back to back, simulating a double feature. The problem was that the films were (a) Fantastic Mr. Fox and (b) 2012. But, trooper that I am, I reluctantly went along, hoping for a little excitement as we snuck (sneaked?) from the first (Fox) to the second (2012). Alas, that was not to be: my straight-laced wife and children actually bought tickets for the second before we went into the first, leaving me to wonder: where is the sense of larceny these days? Where is the sense of sticking it to “the man?” Sigh.
In retrospect, and in view of the U.S. film industry’s batting average these days, one out of two ain’t bad. I liked Fantastic Mr. Fox a lot, especially since I’m kind of a curmudgeon, at the moment, when it comes to animation. Not that I dislike it, you understand, but so much of it these days is in the soul-less Pixar mode, and yes, I know I’m in the minority, but I can’t help it.
The point is that Fantastic Mr. Fox was a pleasant surprise: it is low-key and unassuming and nigh-onto irresistible. And I qualify that (with Southern homeliness) because while I liked it, I wasn’t bowled over by it, and the reason for both reactions is the same: Wes Anderson. First, the reason for the “like:” I am a perennial fan of Mr. Anderson, and it displayed all the inventiveness of his better work. The quirky humor, the understated performances (in this case, vocal performances), the post-modern ironic detachment. All things I greatly admire about his work. In addition, the physical humor — an under-appreciated facet of films like Bottle Rocket and The Royal Tennenbaums – has been amped up, Roadrunner style, by the freedom of animation.
At the same time, it is a Wes Anderson film, and it looks and feels like it. The same sibling-rivalry concerns, and fatherly absence/detachment themes (etc.) are given life by the same devices: the introduction of scenes and locales via titles, the penchant for mapping out — literally — both plot and domicile . . . Remember the diagram of the ship in the The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou? The (literal) life-is-a-stage construction of Tenenbaums (and Rushmore and Zissou)? When narrative quirks get to be standard operating procedure, it may be time to get some new quirks.
Still, it belongs in the top part of Anderson’s output (which, truthfully, includes all but the abysmal Zissou). That means it is very enjoyable, if not highly original, ant it’s more than I can say about the second half of our double feature. 2012 is the over-long, over-loud movie your mother (or maybe John Cusack’s mother) warned you about. And the theater was packed: despite the fact that it and Fox opened the same day here in Tuscaloosa, the latter had only a smattering of people, while the end of the world was filled almost to overflowing.
Having seen it, I can say that I’ve read the usual critical complaints and I have little to add. Waste of a fine cast? Check. Defies the laws of physics? Check. Braying, jingoistic nationalism? Check. About an hour-and-a-half into this turkey, I looked at my watch in despair, hoping against hope that a chance meteorite might hit the fictional fan, thereby obliterating the entire cast, and ending the production, but no: there was a whole hour left at that point. Then I started hoping against hope that a meteorite would hit us.
Alas once again: there was no meteorite, and no guilty pleasure, either — just a bloated exercise in pandering filmmaking. I was even looking forward to seeing Amanda Peet looking like a tranny, like my dearly-missed friend Fox said, but no dice. She looked pretty good in an end-of-world, mussed-up-chic way, as she tried to say all the ridiculous dialog with a straight face.
All I can say is thank God I paid for this; it was not worth sneaking into.
RSS 2.0
i will wait thx
Tell me about it Rick! My wife is straight-laced in that sense too. I always promote larceny while in the multi-plexes as they get enough from us, even sucking us dry with the popcorn and soda prices! And I agree it’s exciting to roam as well! Ha!
I do agree with you on FOX, and I am aware that you’re usually resistent to animated features, particularly the Pixar canon. But there’s a sardonic wit here that was perfectly imparted from Roald Dahl’s classic novel, and Anderson’s sensibilities were perfect for this transcription. I agree it’s near the top of his output, for me on par with THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS.
Tennenbaums is my favorite of Anderson’s, I think … “Fox” is just behind, along w/Rushmore and Bottle Rocket. I also love “Darjeeling Express,” although it is somewhat below the others, in my estimation, at least.