Dossier: Wes Anderson 02
BELOW The Crayon Ponyfish of The Life Aquatic
with Steve Zissou
“Does This Seem Fake?”:
Wes Anderson’s Kingdom
of Visual Absurdity
By Matt Herzog
KEYWORDS: Wes Anderson, visual absurdity, animation,
cartoons
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FRO M IT S AE ST HE T I C S A LON E ,
the world Wes Anderson continuously brings
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us back to in his films is distinctly his own,
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but simultaneously not very different from
the world we live in at first glance. We can
recognize locations and landscapes from the
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world around us that are blatantly included
within the settings of his films and observe
that real-world physics seem to uniformly
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apply for the most part as well; but the lush,
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predominantly yellow color palettes and
symmetrical cinematography indisputably
bear Anderson’s proverbial trademark.
However, within these on-screen worlds we
are initially deceived into believing we are
wholly familiar with, we will find ourselves
suddenly confronted at varying lengths of
time into the films with a peculiar, astounding
sight completely foreign to us. Steve Zissou
will look upon the sand to observe the mating
ritual of colorful, stop motion-animated
“Sugar Crabs.” A young boy running from
his scout troop will be suddenly struck by
cartoonish lightning to no serious injury.
For any other director, such moments of
unprecedented visual absurdity within a
film would not come without significant
audience confusion; but with Anderson’s
films, we are made to simply accept them as
they come. How can Anderson’s work have
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such an effect on us? What message does he
intend to send with such moments? To find
the answers to such questions, we must dig
deeper into Anderson’s visual rhetoric, strap
on our musical scuba gear and search for the
Jaguar Shark within.
Of course, absurdity in its true meaning
cannot truly exist unless surrounded by what
we deem to be the ordinary, thus making
the contrast apparent. In this sense, it can
certainly be said that perhaps no other
Wes Anderson film so casually embraces
visual absurdity (which can be defined as
aesthetic elements blatantly at variance with
any sense of realism) as a centerpiece as
much as The Life Aquatic (2004). From the
first few minutes of the film, which present
oceanographer Steve Zissou begrudgingly
facing the less-than-favorable reception
of his newest documentary in an upscale
theatre, the audience is led to assume the
story takes place within the world we know.
However, as Zissou is leaving the premiere,
a young child gives him a bag containing a
blatantly unnatural-looking bright, rainbow-
colored seahorse that Zissou refers to as a
“Crayon Ponyfish.” It is when confronted
with a graceful close-up of the fantastical,
Claymation-animated animal dancing
around before our eyes that the audience
Film Matters Fall 2014
must reflexively pose the reactionary
question: “Why?”
Thus, we must contemplate the different
results this scene would bring if the creature
in the bag was merely an ordinary seahorse.
In doing this, we can come to ascertain that
this reveal would be missing a major element
that the original scene in the film instills: a
sense of wonder. As writer Devin Orgeron of
Cinema Journal remarks on this moment, “The
gift itself, while glossed within the narrative,
is critically important … Beautifully and
ridiculously artificial, the ‘animal’s’ natural
habitat is clearly within the child’s (or the
childlike) imagination” (52). In being so
spontaneously presented with such an odd,
never-before-seen sight, we as viewers are left
wide-eyed and curious toward the creatures
put before our eyes. It is this emotion that in
turn bolsters the importance and pioneering
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spirit of Zissou’s exploratory endeavors in the
film, thus leaving the audience considerably
more invested than they otherwise would
have been.
While always bearing a certain artistic
intention, Anderson’s brand of visual
absurdity does not always function in
this particular way. Whereas the world
of artificial, whimsical aesthetics found
in The Life Aquatic serves to bolster the
wondrous, adventurous spirit of the film
and its characters, the comic-book visual
exaggerations of Moonrise Kingdom (2012) on
the other hand are merely reflections of the
energetic, youthful passion of adolescent love
felt by its two central characters. In other
words, it is the characters’ spirits that in turn
seem to stylistically distort the surrounding
world within the film.
In a way, Moonrise Kingdom takes a page
from The Life Aquatic’s deceptive strategy
of suddenly displaying visual absurdity,
except only further prolonging the period
before its implementation. The first half
of the film, while still distinctly bearing
Wes Anderson’s unmistakable color palette
and cinematographic symmetry, features
no supernatural or out-of-the-ordinary
sights. However, once the two young main
characters Sam and Suzy have fallen in love
and make it their mission to defend this love,
this lack of absurdity is promptly put to an
end in the film’s latter half. When running
from his scout troop, Sam is struck by
lightning only to quickly recover from being
knocked off his feet, brushing the cartoonish
black ash off his glasses. The tent of Sam’s
scout leader explodes in a comically over-the-
top manner that blatantly calls attention to
its artificiality. At the juncture of the film at
which the young love between Sam and Suzy
is at its most palpable, their surroundings
Dossier: Wes Anderson 02
BELOW Sam is struck by lightning in Moonrise
Kingdom
almost feel rejuvenated with the energy of
their forbidden feelings between one another.
Thus, the world around them comes to
plainly echo elements of fantasy. In Wes
Anderson’s own words regarding this artistic
decision:
For somebody that age, when they fall
in love, it can be so powerful, it almost
becomes like some kind of fantasy – the
whole world is altered. I kind of relate
it to the way, when you’re that age and
you find a book that is going to be one of
those ones that you will always love and –
particularly if it’s a fantasy kind of story –
you want the fantasy to be reality so much
that you start to kind of imagine that it
is. There’s something about children and
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their desire for fantasy to be real that’s part
of […] what the movie’s about. (Pinkerton)
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Even though it is the characters’ spirits that
are reflected in the absurd nature of their
surroundings and not the other way around,
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the effect on the audience is still very much
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similar. The moments of visual absurdity
accentuate the mutual passion felt between
Sam and Suzy, allowing the audience to
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more thoroughly connect with their feelings
of desire. Surely, there are other ways of
expressing the protagonists’ emotions that
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do not consult the absurd, but without the
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childlike awe meant to be roused within us
in response to imagery so blatantly make-
believe, could we truly be able to attain the
same feeling?
Still, why continually rely on the absurd
to provoke such reactions to the audience?
Judging by the widespread acclaim and
impact of Anderson’s films and filmmaking
style, it is hard to deny that his strategy
is effective. However, for a filmmaker to
consistently employ such a specific technique
to the point where it becomes an expected
characteristic is not without a form of
particular creative ethos. From Rushmore’s
(1998) Max to The Royal Tenenbaums’s (2001)
Royal to The Life Aquatic’s Steve Zissou, it can
indeed be seen as no coincidence that there
is a trend of Anderson’s central characters
being narcissistic auteurs or paternal figures
determined to mold their situations or
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“Does This Seem Fake?”: Wes Anderson’s Kingdom of Visual Absurdity
surroundings into how they envision them. MATT HERZOG is a recent graduate of the
In making a habit of both crafting and University of North Carolina Wilmington.
including his own unique breed of visual He has had a lifelong passion for film and
absurdism across his filmography, Anderson for years has focused on film from a writing
not only allows his characters and stories angle, having worked as a scriptreader for
more audience sympathy and immersion, but Voltage Pictures in Los Angeles in 2013.
is also allowed to spawn a unique cinematic
universe that can truly be called his own.
As Christopher Borelli of the Chicago Tribune
aptly summarizes:
The details [of Wes Anderson films]
are eccentric, elegant, anachronistic, a
tad precious. After almost 20 years and
eight movies, his work has become so
synonymous with an intricately composed,
melancholy storybook aesthetic – the
fading, color-coordinated patriarchs of
“The Royal Tenenbaums,” the “Peanuts”-
like whimsy of “Moonrise Kingdom,” the
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alternately manic and lonesome shoe-box
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world of “Rushmore.” (Borelli)
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No matter the story he tells or the location
he tells it in, his recognizable visionary
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aesthetic remains consistently rooted within
all his films, just as much as his own brand
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of quirky characters almost too comical to
exist within the world we know. He has made
it his craft to take moments and images of
the real world and turn them into a creation
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of his own, just as Steve Zissou crafted the
below-deck observation bubble of his ship
that he “thought up in a dream, actually.” In
the affirming words of Bottle Rocket’s (1996)
Mr. Henry, “The world needs dreamers.” It is
hard to imagine a more fitting artistic credo
for Anderson.
/END/
Works Cited
Borelli, Christopher. “Inside Wes Anderson’s
eccentric aesthetic.” chicagotribune.com. Chicago
Tribune, 12 March 2014. Web. 30 April 2014.
<http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2014-
03-12/entertainment/ct-wes-anderson-
interview-20140312_1_grand-budapest-hotel-wes-
anderson-tony-revolori>.
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Orgeron, Devin. “La Camera-Crayola: Authorship
Comes of Age in the Cinema of Wes Anderson.”
Cinema Journal 46. 2 (2007). 40–65. Print.
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Pinkerton, Nick. “An Island of His Own.” Sight &
Sound 22.6 (2012). 16–19. Film & Television Literature
Index with Full Text. Web. 30 April 2014.
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Film Matters Fall 2014 ➜