The Royal Tenenbaums
Not sure if I should laugh, even though its funny.
Not sure if I should cry, even though is sad.
A Wes Anderson film.
The reason this review is prefaced by a haiku is because that’s what his films remind me of. There is a complete disregard for cinematic rules. Any kind of plot, visual cues or dialogue are just supporting the atmosphere.
The script is hilarious and the deadpan delivery only makes it better. On the other hand, the themes are utterly sad and depressing. This fails to neuter both emotions, and instead amplifies them.
A good companion piece to Steve Zizou.
If Wes Anderson’s films are haikus, I can’t resist drawing parallels with other directors:
- Kubrick is Shakespearean iambic pentameter for hundreds and hundreds of pages, masterfully recited by veteran actors.
- David Lynch is whispered ramblings which generate a cottage industry of people pattern matching noise.
- J. J. Abrams is koans, more specifically Ice Cream Koans, not the regular variety.
- Michael Bay just screams in your ear and spits in your face, while shoving dollar bills in your mouth.
This is my place for ramblings about sequences of images that exploit the human visual limitation know as persistence of vision.