Wes Anderson’s bruised souls

What is it with his love of the fake and the theatrical anyway? Why the goofy “Yellow Submarine” glub-glub-glubbing at the end of “Zissou”? Why remind us that what we’re watching isn’t real? Is he trying to keep us at an emotional distance? Doesn’t he like us?

The thrust of a Wes Anderson film is about becoming a member of a team or a family — “I always wanted to be a Tenenbaum,” Eli Cash admits, to which Royal responds, sympathetically, and thus profoundly, “Me, too. Me, too” — but, for all the team-building and acceptance of outsiders like Eli, it feels like we, the audience, are still left out. Anderson’s use of irony, rather than being a private comment between creator and audience (with the characters left out of the joke), increasingly feels like a private joke between creator and characters (with the audience left out of the joke). He’s not letting us on board.

Deadpan style
So can he rebound with “The Darjeeling Limited”? I’m not sure. Because of his deadpan directing style, he needs to work with real actors who are full of life (Gene Hackman), rather than deadpan actors who aren’t (Bill Murray), and I don’t know if he has them. Even in the 13-minute short, “Hotel Chevalier,” a prequel to “Darjeeling,” it’s the literally bruised and lively Natalie Portman who intrigues, while the figuratively bruised and deadpan Jason Schwartzman merely bores. In the middle of Paris and he’s watching TV? You want to yell as him: Life hurts! Grow up! Move on!

“Darjeeling” promises to be a spiritual journey in the Anderson manner: estranged siblings who, on a train ride through India, come closer to being a real family. I hope it works. But in dramatic terms, as opposed to spiritual ones, exclusion isn’t necessarily a problem; and inclusion isn’t always a solution.

Erik Lundegaard knows he’s never made a movie, so who the hell is he to say anything, but feel free to tell him anyway at:

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