There’s a cliched opinion amongst cinephiles that the films of Wes Anderson are the epitome of style over substance. Those who have that opinion want us to believe that as a filmmaker, Anderson lacks human depth or empathy. What they fail to see are the cracks in Anderson’s perfect worlds. They don’t see the tragedy amongst the hijinks of these heightened scenarios. Because within these beautifully built tapestries is a strong sense of grief. In fact, all of Anderson’s films deal with grief in one way or another.
It’s not always a grief of humans mourning the mortality of other humans. Though, there are several examples of those. It’s more than that with examples ranging from a loss of self to a loss of purpose to a loss of friendship and finally, overarchingly, the nagging grief that persists with nostalgia. Grief permeates the essence of every one of Wes Anderson’s films. It’s the catalyst of the action and the resolution of the climax.
When I first discovered this theme of grief in Wes Anderson’s films I was in a period of grief myself. I wasn’t looking for it, I was looking for an escape. I popped my disc of Fantastic Mr. Fox in and as the film progressed, a bespoke filament light bulb went on above my head. I suddenly filtered what each character was going through with the feeling of my own pain. I went through the other Anderson films in my collection and I found the same sense within each of them.
After seeing the trailer for Asteroid City, I knew it would not only follow the same theme, but its message would be overt. I wasn’t disappointed. Since Asteroid City is still in many movie theaters I won’t go into too much detail, but there is a scene within it that perfectly encapsulates how Anderson filters grief through his lens. It’s a scene within the framing story of the play in which two characters discuss a scene that we will never see acted out. In their discussion, the emotion of the ideas inherent in the unfilmed scene hit as if we had actually seen it. It works so perfectly and is so beautifully idiosyncratic of an Anderson film.
That particular scene inspired me to share my research into Andersonian grief in all its forms. At first I intended to dissect each second within each individual film. Quickly, I became aware of how daunting that task would become, likely losing the patience of any readers in the weeds of Anderson’s less beloved films. So instead I will be dissecting grief as it appears within Anderson’s films using a model developed by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
Each piece in the series will be built around one of the stages of grief. I’ll start with denial, then go to anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Anderson’s filmography is rife with examples for each of these stages. Though, I will avoid any discussion of Asteroid City as there are people who wait for things to be streaming directly to their television for some reason.
I will also be strict in my views as a practical critic. Which is to say I subscribe to the literary theory that leaves out any outside context or authorial intent and focuses only on the text of what happens within the runtime. These essays will be examinations of the films as they are, not a profile of why Wes Anderson may have presented them this way or what in his past or his development of his works could have influenced how the film is presented. I won’t even turn this series into an appreciation of how Anderson, time and again is recognizing the versatility and presence of Adrien Brody like no one else behind the camera today. That’s a different series entirely.
I hope through this series I can break through the notions of those opinionated few who ruin the joy of Wes Anderson for the rest of us. I also hope it helps you to see some of the wonderful hidden depths inside the beautifully crafted films Wes Anderson creates.
