Slabaugh on Wes Anderson as Auteur

Wes Anderson: Genuine Auteur or Stylish Charlatan?
By Andy Slabaugh

Few filmgoers familiar with the work of director Wes Anderson would deny that he is an "auteur". What they understand this to mean is another question entirely. Some take the term literally, from the French, to mean that he is simply the main author of his films. This is certainly the most basic use of the term and one implied by the French critics of the 1950's who put forth such a theory in the first place. With his recognizable style and meticulously designed costumes and sets, it's impossible to watch any of Anderson's four directorial efforts without acknowledging that it is, indeed, a Wes Anderson film.

There is, however, more to the word "auteur" than simply the notion of control or some certain directorial flair. Andrew Sarris was the first American film critic/theorist to make use of what he called "the auteur theory," and for him the term implied three things: technical proficiency as a film director, personal style, and interior meaning. Anderson, who never went to film school and studied philosophy in college, earned real-world filmmaking experience at a local access cable station in Houston. This paper will not debate the technical merits of his films, but will instead focus on Anderson's personal style and how it fits in with the interior meanings in his work.

Even Anderson's most vociferous detractors acknowledge his unique style; actually, they tend to complain that his films are nothing but stylish. Though not as obvious in his low-budget feature debut Bottle Rocket (1996), Wes Anderson pays an incredible amount of attention to seemingly minor aesthetic details in his films that most directors probably wouldn't bother with, even if they noticed them in the first place.

In his latest film, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), Anderson outfitted nearly the entire cast in matching uniforms from wetsuits to red stocking caps to Adidas sneakers that Anderson himself personally designed and commissioned for the film. He had an enormous life-size cross section of the Belafonte, the ship used by the fictional film crew in the movie (Bill Murray plays Steve Zissou, a Jacques Cousteau-type marine filmmaker), which was docked near the Cinecitta studios in Italy where much of the film was shot. He even used stop-motion animation for his undersea fauna in order to avoid computer rendered versions.

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), Anderson's third film, takes place in New York City, but not a version of the city that would be recognizable by anyone who actually lives there. The streets are filled with beat-up cabs operated exclusively by the Gypsy Cab company, the down and out stay at the 375th Street YMCA, and everyone wears clothes that may have been more appropriate, if then, thirty years ago. Anderson claims the fictional version of the city as depicted in the film was inspired The New Yorker magazine and stories by J.D. Salinger. It's been compared to the sort of New York City that might a reader might encounter in a novel for older children, much like the made-up book used in the film to frame the narrative. The story seems to take place out of time, in some sort of protective bubble (the Tenenbaum family home, perhaps) unaffected by the ravages of time, and Anderson makes that very clear in the look of the film.

Almost as much as his visual style, Anderson is noted for his deft use of older pop music. Except for Sigur Rós's "Starálfur," a relatively contemporary song he used to dramatic effect near the end of The Life Aquatic, his soundtracks have consisted almost entirely of late 60's/early 70's rock and folk. Bottle Rocket features the Rolling Stones' "2000 Man," Rushmore (1998) makes use of the Who's "A Quick One (While He's Away)" and the Faces' "Ooh La La," and the failed prodigies in The Royal Tenenbaums wallow in Nick Drake, Nico, and the Velvet Underground. The Life Aquatic is mostly accompanied by Portuguese versions of David Bowie classics sung on-screen by one of the crew members.

There are other minor recurring elements in Anderson's films as well. As a child he was enchanted by Jacques Cousteau, the model for Steve Zissou in The Life Aquatic, and had in fact been trying to formulate some sort of marine script for years, though it wasn't until recently that collaborator Owen Wilson convinced him to do so. Knowing about Anderson's Cousteau obsession informs subsequent viewings of Rushmore, in which the protagonist Max (Jason Schwartzman) meets his romantic interest, Miss Cross (Olivia Williams), when he finds a comment she made in the margin of a library book about Jacques Cousteau. He then proceeds to try unsuccessfully to win Miss Cross's affections by constructing an aquarium on the campus of their private school.

Though not a thematic element, Anderson also tends to return to the same actors. Seymour Cassell, for example, features in all but the first film, playing Max's father in Rushmore, the hotel attendant Rusty in The Royal Tenenbaums, and most recently Steve Zissou's friend Esteban who is devoured by the jaguar shark at the beginning of the film. All three Wilson brothers (Andrew, Luke, and Owen) are featured prominently in Anderson's movies as lead actors, supporting players, or in cameo roles. Kumar and Dipak Pallana, who are not actors but ran a coffeeshop that Anderson used to frequent in Texas, both have roles in several films. Bill Murray and Anjelica Huston have both had multiple major roles, and Gwyneth Paltrow was scheduled to appear in her second Anderson film as Jane Winslett-Richardson (actually played by Cate Blanchett) in The Life Aquatic, until scheduling conflicts prevented her from doing so.

Recurring actors don't necessarily signify that a director is likely to be an auteur, but in Anderson's case, many of his multi-film actors play recurring roles as well. Bill Murray plays the same sort of downtrodden, but not defeated, old soul in each of the three later films, and he exudes the same rascally charm in the prominent roles he plays in Rushmore (as Henry Blume) and The Life Aquatic. In Anderson's most recent two films, Anjelica Huston has played the same amicably divorced (Anderson's parents split up but lived down the street from one another), intelligent and successful ex-wife, once opposite Gene Hackman and the other time with Bill Murray. It wouldn't be much of a stretch of the imagination to picture Gwyneth Paltrow playing Miss Cross in Rushmore, with her frequent British accent and her slender, sophisticated good looks.

Clearly Anderson retains many ingredients from film to film, giving his projects a similar look and feel through repetition of actors, types of music (in addition to the classic rock, Mark Mothersbaugh has provided original scores for all four films), and aesthetic and visual styles. However, many viewers and critics tend to get hung up at this point, positively or negatively, never looking beyond Wes Anderson the director to "Wes Anderson" the structure. Peter Wollen, an advocate of "auteur structuralism," suggests that, "Auteur analysis does not consist of retracing a film to its origins, to its creative source. It consists of tracing a structure (not a message) within the work, which can then post factum be assigned to an individual, the director, on empirical grounds."

For any of Wes Anderson's individual films, we could easily enough find some part of his life that served as the basis for that film if we wanted to. Bottle Rocket, for example, was based on the ennui he likely felt while living with Luke and Owen Wilson after graduating from college, as well as some minor theft-related misadventures, though nothing as serious as what is portrayed in the film. The divorced parents of the latter two films, the stage productions in the middle two, and the Cousteau references in Rushmore or The Life Aquatic would all allow us to retrace the films to their creative source, but we can look deeper to find the auteurist structures Wollen mentions as well.

One structural element we can spot in each of Anderson's films is the taboo love interest. Most Hollywood films feature a male protagonist in a sometimes difficult pursuit of his romantic interest, but Anderson's heroes go far beyond what we might normally expect. In Bottle Rocket, Anthony (Luke Wilson) falls in love with their Nicaraguan housekeeping maid, Inez (Lumi Cavazos), at the motel where they hide out after their first robbery, inserting himself into a world where he doesn't seem to belong. Actually, his friend Dignan (Owen Wilson) gets punched in the face when the three of them go out to a Spanish-speaking bar, but that may have more to do with the Dignan's personality than any karmic payback for a transgressive romance.

In Rushmore Max falls in love with a teacher at Rushmore Academy who is twice his age. The third and fourth films, which both feature ensemble casts, have two taboo romances. In each, the main older male is trying to win back his ex-wife, which while not traditional, isn't as bizarre as the love interests in the first two films. However, The Royal Tenenbaums features an incestuous (though technically legal) romance between Richie (Luke Wilson) and Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow), and in The Life Aquatic, both Ned (Owen Wilson) and Steve Zissou pursue the journalist Jane Winslett-Richardson, who is noticeably pregnant.

A result of the unrealistic expectations Anderson's characters have for themselves is that they tend not to achieve their objectives, romantically or otherwise. None of the above relationships resolves with the couple clinched in ecstasy. In addition, Dignan's objective in Bottle Rocket (he doesn't have a romantic one) is to become a successful thief, but the film ends with him in jail. Max fails out and then is expelled from Rushmore Academy, his other one true love, and Etheline (Anjelica Huston) marries her accountant instead of Royal (Gene Hackman).

What's important about the failures Anderson's characters go through is that they aren't exclusively tragic experiences. Dignan may be in jail, but he did manage to break into Hinckley Cold Storage with his pals just like he wanted. Max doesn't manage to re-enroll in Rushmore or win over Miss Cross, but he does mount a successful stage production at the local public high school and in the process meets a girl more appropriate for his age. Royal doesn't win back Etheline, but he does manage to reintroduce himself into the lives of his ex-wife, children, and grandchildren. Steve Zissou never kills his nemesis the jaguar shark, his friend Esteban is still dead, and he loses his surrogate son Ned in the process of making his docudrama, but the film ends with Zissou triumphantly carrying a young protégé on his shoulders to the strains of another perfectly timed David Bowie song. Though the lives of Anderson's characters are rife with disappointment, they discover that there is still more life to be lived.

Beyond the loves and disappointments of Anderson's individual characters, and perhaps more importantly, the attentive viewer will notice a recurring pattern of relational behavior, generally between the two main male characters. The duelling pairs in the four films (more than one for the ensemble pictures) are, in chronological order: Dignan and Anthony; Max and Henry Blume; Richie and Eli Cash/Royal and his son Chas (Ben Stiller)/Royal and Henry Sherman, the accountant (Danny Glover); Steve Zissou and Ned Plimpton/Steve Zissou and Alistair Hennessy. Though not every relationship fits the pattern perfectly (e.g. Royal and Henry don’t start out as friends, Dignan doesn't try to steal Anthony's girlfriend), the general progression suggests a strong theme of male companionship (illogical and immature) and how it is affected by the extraneous influence of a woman (logical and mature).

The male relationship is generally established early in the picture, showing either how the two meet or suggesting that they have been lifelong friends. In Bottle Rocket, Dignan and Anthony have been friends forever, and the real world brotherly bond between them cements the relationship for the viewer. Steve and Ned need to discover whether or not they are actually related. Richie and Eli were close friends as children and it makes sense that they would reconnect when Richie returns home. They may have a shared goal or they may be competing for the affections of the same woman, but the close connection between the characters is always well-established.

Eventually, the relationship is put under strain by an outside influence, which may or may not have been obvious from the start. Dignan wants to continue his life of crime, but Anthony wants out. Henry was originally enlisted to help Max win Miss Cross, but Henry takes a shine to her as well. Steve and Ned were originally intending for their voyage to be one of father-son bonding, but the pregnant journalist sparks a conflict between them.

Generally both of males are unreliable, and prone to acts of skulduggery. Over the course of The Life Aquatic, we learn that both Steve and Ned know more about their potential biological relationship than either lets on. Royal lies constantly (about his nonexistent stomach cancer) and insults both of his competitors (outdated racial slurs directed toward Henry and slights about Chas' dead wife). Max fakes an accident to get into Miss Cross's bedroom, and Henry tells Max that Miss Cross won't see him, which isn't exactly true, in order to have her to himself.

The conflict between the males invariably climaxes in either a physical confrontation or some ultimate act that makes it clear to both parties that their struggle is foolish and must end. In Rushmore, the feud escalates to the point where Max cuts Henry's brake line and then attempts to crush him with a falling tree. In The Life Aquatic, Steve goes into a rage (as much of a rage as is possible in an Anderson film) when he finds Ned and Jane in bed together. In Bottle Rocket, the car that Dignan and Anthony hotwire to get back to Houston dies on the side of the road, which brings their conflict to a boiling point. Dignan, impulsive and short-sighted as he is, frustratedly punches Anthony in the face and runs off. Chas and Henry Sherman collude to expose the fact that Royal has cancer and eventually succeed in getting him kicked out of the house. Because Anderson's characters, for better and worse, lack the emotional maturity to handle their conflicts any other way, each relationship must inevitably deteriorate to the breaking point before it can be restored, but since Anderson doesn't make proper tragedies, we know that the rift in the relationship will heal.

Each scene of physical violence or ultimate betrayal is followed by one of self-revelation and eventually reconciliation, which is often the most poignant and memorable scene in the film. Anderson's unique dialogue tends to shine through here, such as when Steve Zissou admits, remorsefully, "I haven't exactly been at my best this past decade." His characters speak in ways that would seem odd in most other movies, but fit these personalities perfectly.

On the subject of interior meaning, Andrew Sarris tries to explain himself in the following way: "It is not quite the vision of the world a director projects nor quite his attitude toward life…. Dare I come out and say what I think it to be is an élan of the soul?" He defines the soul as "that intangible difference between one personality and another." Sarris tries to explain by describing a scene in La Règle du Jeu where Renoir "gallops up the stairs," then halts for a brief glance at a "coquettish maid" before continuing on. Imprecise, perhaps, but a theory that is easy enough to apply to a film like Rushmore. [See Anthony Lane's review in The New Yorker.]

In an outstanding hospital elevator scene in that film in which a morbidly depressed Henry Blume smokes multiple cigarettes, pours vodka into his Diet Coke, and proceeds to nonchalantly hide all the evidence in a stack of linens, Max asks Henry how he's doing, and Henry replies, "I'm kind of lonely these days," before plodding away. Credit goes to Murray for his performance, of course, but also to Anderson for encouraging such a performance and knowing what improvised bits to keep in the film.

Despite or perhaps because of their immaturity, Anderson's characters have a gift for blunt emotional honesty, like when Margot asks Richie about his attempted suicide. He replies that he slit his wrists because of her and when she asks him, "You're not going to do it again, are you?," he replies not in absolute terms, but rather with unbearably ambiguous honesty, "I doubt it."

In the same way, when Dignan and Anthony meet up after their falling out in the middle of nowhere, they're approached by Future Man, the older brother of their third partner in crime, who belittles Dignan. Anthony tells Dignan not to get worked up about it, and Dignan responds, "I don't know. Sometimes I'm not always as confident as I look." Anderson's knack for drawing out these moments from his actors and editing in such a way to give them optimum emotional heft is exactly what Sarris was talking about when describing the interior meaning apparent in the films of an auteur.

Perhaps the most memorable moment of self-revelation in any of Anderson's films is when Royal Tenenbaum, nearly ready to be thrown out of the house, tells his gathered family, "I just want to say that the last six days have been the best six days of, probably, my whole life." The narrator then follows, "Immediately after making this statement, Royal realized that it was true." This tiny sequence perfectly captures the way Anderson's characters try to protect themselves by lying and cheating, but ultimately realize that they can only succeed by letting their guard down, compromising their unrealistic ambitions, and relating honestly with the people around them.

Anderson's critics have a litany of complaints with his method of storytelling, but most amount to the claim that Anderson hides behind his style, keeping his characters terminally dry-eyed and unemotional. While it's clear that Wes Anderson has a very stylized cinematic vision, it can't be said that he doesn't deal with the same emotions every other film and director deals with. As with the example immediately above, most directors or writers probably wouldn't have foregrounded their character's chronic and self-acknowledged dishonesty as Anderson did, choosing instead to evoke pathos by way of innocence, but the coupling of Royal's moral failure with his regret and grudging love for his family is just as powerful and perhaps more true to life for many than a melodramatic scene filled with tears and hugs. Anderson's characters may not reveal themselves that often or for lengthy periods of time, but when they do it counts.

Kent Jones has tackled this topic in Film Comment as well as anyone. In an interview for the magazine conducted by Jones and Gavin Smith, Anderson himself is quoted as saying, "Whatever emotions you're dealing with, you show just enough, you don't linger on it. I've had people tell me that I'm always cutting away right when it all hits." In another piece on The Royal Tenenbaums, Jones himself writes:

He [Anderson] always gives you just enough to get by, and if you blink you may just miss a gesture or a line or a detail that imparts a crucial aspect of his characters' emotional lives, the core dilemma that they're hiding for fear of being embarrassed before the world…. Too many movies and sitcoms that have primed us to wait for the underlining of emotions before we can respond to them.

Wes Anderson may be more Howard Hawks than John Ford, choosing to work in his "sheltered, semi-exclusive, self-contained universe," rather than manufacturing myths of nationhood, but a minor auteur is an authentic auteur nonetheless. He may not be one of the all-time great filmmakers, but he does have an engaging personal style and, though it is difficult to prove empirically, he seems to possess that certain "élan of the soul." The true test of an auteur is the consistency of the themes and oppositions in his work, and the director Wes Anderson will continually be judged against the structure "Wes Anderson," but at this point in his career, for whatever it's worth, his body of work amounts to one worthy of a truly talented and consistent film author.

Works Cited

Jones, Kent. "Family Romance." Film Comment. Nov/Dec 2001: 24-27.

Jones, Kent and Gavin Smith. "At Home with the Royal Family." Film Comment. Nov/Dec     2001: 28-29.

Lane, Anthony. "Renaissance Teen." The New Yorker. 7/14 Dec 1998: 214-216.

Sarris, Andrew. "Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962." Film Theory and Criticism. Eds. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. New York: Oxford University Press. 561-564.

Wollen, Peter. "The Auteur Theory." Film Theory and Criticism. 565-580.

Filmography

Bottle Rocket. Dir. Wes Anderson. Perf. Luke Wilson, Owen Wilson, James Caan. Columbia Pictures, 1996.

Rushmore. Dir. Wes Anderson. Perf. Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray, Olivia Williams. Buena Vista Pictures, 1998.

The Royal Tenenbaums. Dir. Wes Anderson. Perf. Gene Hackman, Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow. Touchstone Pictures, 2001.

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Dir. Wes Anderson. Perf. Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Cate Blanchett. Buena Vista Pictures, 2004.

Comments

[jamie allan]

i liked it

[John Maher]

I felt I gained more from Cameron Nordholm's comments than I did the entire Slabaugh piece. It seems to me your example heavy essay was more a listing of recurring character traits than an analysis of Anderson as an auteur.

[Cameron Nordholm]

I must agree completely – and insist on a furthering – with Mr. Slabaugh’s assertions on the nature of Wes Anderson as autuer. His aesthetic is consistent and often contrived, but the repetition of his narrative structures and characters is almost heroic. His aesthetic still seems to bleed through as the most remarkable aspect of his filmmaking and autuership.

The rich, color-selected range of hues employed in his arsenal in such films as the “The Royal Tenenbaums” and “The Life Aquatic” insists that the major actors are engaged in the film and highlights the action occurring in every seen. Moreover, the elaborately constructed sets lend a sense of otherworldliness to the films that both enhances his aesthetics and enriches the other elements in the films. Jumpsuits and bright tones, wood tones, and heavy saturation completely obscure the grain of the film and the distance of the viewer.

This emphasis brings the viewer close to the characters and suspends their disbelief through consistent use of color, motion, and constructions in the frame. Diagetic music and consistent casting also put the viewer – not in uncomfortably familiar relationship with t he actors – but in a world dominated by Anderson’s qualities and technique. He is indeed an autuer in his aesthetic emphasis and ability to deliver a consistently original product while maintaining film authorship on the material.