There aren’t many directors active today that inspire stronger emotions than Wes Anderson. In a true auteur-styled career, with writer-director credits for 5 feature-length films in 12 years, he has fashioned a unique visual and story-telling style. Some love it, some hate it. I’m one of the few that often finds myself somewhere in between, wanting to like it, but realizing that my own mood swings may keep me from doing so.
In The Darjeeling Limited, Wes extends this style but also themes that have been explored in his previous film, mainly his interest in the theme of family. In this venture, we begin with a fascinating opening shot, showing Bill Murray and Adrien Brody running to catch up with a train. Murray is one of Anderson’s favorite actors, and so fans of his films almost expect Murray to board the train. But he doesn’t, and as Brody hops aboard, it’s as if we leave behind Murray’s character and his presumably fascinating story to follow Brody’s character.
But I get ahead of myself. The film has a prologue, The Hotel Chevalier, that sets the stage in a unique way. There, we are introduced to Jason Schwartzman’s character Jack, who is spending time in a hotel in Paris when his girlfriend from America, played by Natalie Portman, shows up for a rendezvous. In a short few minutes, we see his emotional barrenness, his inability to communicate, and even his cruel way of mistreating her. While it’s played with Anderson’s quirky sense of comedy, we realize that something is wrong with this guy.
Darjeeling explains to us what is wrong. Jack, Peter (Brody), and Francis Whitman (Owen Wilson), are brothers who haven’t seen each other in a year. Some time ago, their mother left their father and moved to India. She didn’t even return last year when their father died unexpectedly, the last time the brothers have seen each other. Now, Francis has brought them together to travel through India as a way of rediscovering themselves and, unbeknown to them, reunite them with their mother.
So begins their spiritual quest. What becomes clear is that each of them bears the scars of a youth that remains in the background. Francis is a control freak, Jack seems incapable of expressing emotion, and Peter displays a weird process of mourning his father’s death. Each of the quirks becomes occasion for odd comedy in the Anderson universe, but each emerges with a common narcissism as a way of dealing with their past. This kind of self-involvement quickly shows each of them as an unlikely candidate for a spiritual quest of any sort, and the journey quickly becomes a farce as a result.
While they set out to find themselves along the road, they slowly come to recognize the inadequacy of this kind of search. Their answer will not be found in a mystical encounter, something that each of them is grossly unsuited for. Nonetheless, their journey is not without hope.
In the course of this journey, there is occasion to explore their relationships, and in that exploration lies the strength of the piece. Along with a unique visual and writing style, Anderson is cultivating a unique commentary on family, letting Darjeeling build on Life Aquatic and The Royal Tennenbuams in particular. He seems to see in family a safe place within which to express our eccentricities and to find healing for the challenges of the past. In his creative expressions, here as in the other films, he invites us to consider the complexity and the diverse ways of expressing this healing. In that light, the metaphor of journey, seen through the train of Darjeeling and the boat of Life Aquatic, seems to support his vision of healing.
Darjeeling seems to embrace the tension of family life, that there are equal parts acceptance and change as we learn to live with one another. The characters that emerge at the end are pretty much the characters that we meet at the beginning, though perhaps a little wiser, a little more sympathetic to each other, and a little more capable of handling the challenges that they face in each of their lives. I like that idea, as it invites us to consider family as healing place in a life of incremental change. In a fast food world, where we are bombarded with false promises of instant life change, I embrace the reminder that change, whether that is overcoming the failures of the past, mourning for loss, or the emotional hiccups of our lives, does not come quickly, and that one of the most powerful salves we can hope for is family to walk with us along the way.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: A Review
Fatalism runs throughout The Assassination of Jesse James. The title reveals the direction the movie’s heading, and most everything in the movie, from the lighting, the camera work, the music, even the characters themselves seem to have that sense of doomed destiny.
Not that the essential story is so invested. As the movie unfolds, Jesse James met Robert Ford as a 19-year old who was meeting his boyhood hero. Enamored with the mystique of Jesse and his fame and notoriety, he and Ford’s brother eventually convince him to let him join the gang and to become part of his inner circle of trust. In a matter of months, James would die at the Ford’s hand, shot in the back in his own home. In terms of history, it is not a death that was invited or expected. At least, not on the surface.
The film depicts the final months of James’ life. This is a time when he is already an iconic figure, with years of robberies behind him. But he is also seeing an unwinding of his work, as most of his original gang is now dead or in prison. In the opening moments of the film, we see them pull off a train robbery, after which even his brother Frank leaves Missouri and heads back east. It’s as if we are joining the film at the end of Jesse’s story, celebrating what should be his last hurrah and his final sendoff.
What follows then is a kind of working through of the aftermath of Jesse’s career, even though nobody acknowledges or knows it as such. Even as Jesse talks about pulling off other crimes, mostly he seems to wander from gang member to gang member, some of whom are feeling the pressure of the law. In the midst of this is Bob. When we first meet him, Bob, remarkably played by Casey Affleck, comes across as awkward, even a bit slow, and definitely playing over his head. His hero, Jesse, starts out as a relaxed and winsome person, but over time his personality changes provokes Bob to change his view. What begins as hero worship becomes increasing jealousy at his success, his fame and notoriety. Couple that with an increasing fear of Jesse, and the groundwork is laid for Bob’s betrayal.
The place where the film invites the most discussion is on the portrayal of Jesse James by Brad Pitt. When we see his early charms, it seems a natural place for us to connect with a character played by a Hollywood megastar. But over time we see his explosive violence, his erratic depression, and his looming sense of despair. What becomes increasingly apparent throughout the story is Jesse’s foreknowledge that his death is coming quick, and at times a seeming acceptance, even invitation, for that relief.
Where the film takes off for me is in its final 25 minutes. After Jesse’s death, the film considers the aftermath of the assassination for Bob. In a sense, he achieves his dreams, as he becomes a household name throughout the country. In that single act, the film posits, he achieves as much fame as Jesse did in his entire career. But it’s a success that charges an enormous price. When he killed Jesse, he thought he’d be appointed a hero. The film’s title reminds us that neither history nor his contemporary audience were so kind. Instead, as he retells the story on stage, something the film claims he did over 800 times in the years following Jesse’s death, he deals with the increasing knowledge that he is seen as a coward. It’s a sense of failure that shapes his life and leaves him, like Jesse, seeming to long for death as his release.
The film provoked my thinking on at least a couple of topics. Jesse’s foreboding sense of doom seems to stem from a kind of saddling of sin. Weighed down by years of guilt, he seems here to long for escape. We don’t see him enjoying his fame or the fruits of his crimes. Instead, the only moments he seems somewhat happy is when he hides in his private life, living with his wife and kids under an assumed name. Having chosen his lot, he seems full of regret, but not knowing any way to escape.
Whether it’s Jesse or Robert, the film offers interesting commentary on our contemporary celebrity culture. Historically, it is a reminder that our celebrity culture may not be as new as we think, as we witness the appointment of legendary status to an outlaw. More importantly, though, the film invites us to consider the stories of fruitless pursuits. Whether it’s Jesse or Robert, their pursuit of wealth and fame winds up hollow, though for different reasons. For Jesse, he seems to glimpse happiness in the mundane life of a family man, but it is a life that eludes him because of a lifetime of sinful choices.
For Robert, his ambition gets the best of him. Admiration turns to jealousy, and so he achieves his dreams in the form of wealth and fame. But the price is heavy indeed, costing him friends and family, and dumping on him an isolation that must be lived out in the public eye.
While the film invites us to be careful about what we seek, it’s interesting that it sees no redemption for these choices. It only lets the characters live out the consequences of what they pursued.
Lord, save me from myself, my ambitions, and my pursuits.
Not that the essential story is so invested. As the movie unfolds, Jesse James met Robert Ford as a 19-year old who was meeting his boyhood hero. Enamored with the mystique of Jesse and his fame and notoriety, he and Ford’s brother eventually convince him to let him join the gang and to become part of his inner circle of trust. In a matter of months, James would die at the Ford’s hand, shot in the back in his own home. In terms of history, it is not a death that was invited or expected. At least, not on the surface.
The film depicts the final months of James’ life. This is a time when he is already an iconic figure, with years of robberies behind him. But he is also seeing an unwinding of his work, as most of his original gang is now dead or in prison. In the opening moments of the film, we see them pull off a train robbery, after which even his brother Frank leaves Missouri and heads back east. It’s as if we are joining the film at the end of Jesse’s story, celebrating what should be his last hurrah and his final sendoff.
What follows then is a kind of working through of the aftermath of Jesse’s career, even though nobody acknowledges or knows it as such. Even as Jesse talks about pulling off other crimes, mostly he seems to wander from gang member to gang member, some of whom are feeling the pressure of the law. In the midst of this is Bob. When we first meet him, Bob, remarkably played by Casey Affleck, comes across as awkward, even a bit slow, and definitely playing over his head. His hero, Jesse, starts out as a relaxed and winsome person, but over time his personality changes provokes Bob to change his view. What begins as hero worship becomes increasing jealousy at his success, his fame and notoriety. Couple that with an increasing fear of Jesse, and the groundwork is laid for Bob’s betrayal.
The place where the film invites the most discussion is on the portrayal of Jesse James by Brad Pitt. When we see his early charms, it seems a natural place for us to connect with a character played by a Hollywood megastar. But over time we see his explosive violence, his erratic depression, and his looming sense of despair. What becomes increasingly apparent throughout the story is Jesse’s foreknowledge that his death is coming quick, and at times a seeming acceptance, even invitation, for that relief.
Where the film takes off for me is in its final 25 minutes. After Jesse’s death, the film considers the aftermath of the assassination for Bob. In a sense, he achieves his dreams, as he becomes a household name throughout the country. In that single act, the film posits, he achieves as much fame as Jesse did in his entire career. But it’s a success that charges an enormous price. When he killed Jesse, he thought he’d be appointed a hero. The film’s title reminds us that neither history nor his contemporary audience were so kind. Instead, as he retells the story on stage, something the film claims he did over 800 times in the years following Jesse’s death, he deals with the increasing knowledge that he is seen as a coward. It’s a sense of failure that shapes his life and leaves him, like Jesse, seeming to long for death as his release.
The film provoked my thinking on at least a couple of topics. Jesse’s foreboding sense of doom seems to stem from a kind of saddling of sin. Weighed down by years of guilt, he seems here to long for escape. We don’t see him enjoying his fame or the fruits of his crimes. Instead, the only moments he seems somewhat happy is when he hides in his private life, living with his wife and kids under an assumed name. Having chosen his lot, he seems full of regret, but not knowing any way to escape.
Whether it’s Jesse or Robert, the film offers interesting commentary on our contemporary celebrity culture. Historically, it is a reminder that our celebrity culture may not be as new as we think, as we witness the appointment of legendary status to an outlaw. More importantly, though, the film invites us to consider the stories of fruitless pursuits. Whether it’s Jesse or Robert, their pursuit of wealth and fame winds up hollow, though for different reasons. For Jesse, he seems to glimpse happiness in the mundane life of a family man, but it is a life that eludes him because of a lifetime of sinful choices.
For Robert, his ambition gets the best of him. Admiration turns to jealousy, and so he achieves his dreams in the form of wealth and fame. But the price is heavy indeed, costing him friends and family, and dumping on him an isolation that must be lived out in the public eye.
While the film invites us to be careful about what we seek, it’s interesting that it sees no redemption for these choices. It only lets the characters live out the consequences of what they pursued.
Lord, save me from myself, my ambitions, and my pursuits.
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