13th
![This is an adventure.
While Wes Anderson may not quite reach the artistic heights of The Royal or Rushmore with Fantastic Mr. Fox, he has created his most exuberant and joyous movie yet. A pastiche of Rankin/Bass, Roald Dahl, old Disney adventure tales, and ’60s pop, Fantastic Mr. Fox has an energy and a spirit all its own. When the Rolling Stones hit on the soundtrack as the bulldozers bear down and Fox & Friends dig for cover, a sense of euphoria overtook me. Suspense, excitement, emotion: I couldn’t help but feel that this is all I ever want in a movie.
A con-man story through-and-through, Mr. Fox faces an (and I quote) “existential dilemma” after hanging up his chicken-stealin’ boots for a job at the local paper, a mortgage, and a family. What keeps the story fresh is the medium and the author, transplanting an old adult tale to a child’s playground (which some might say is the trademark of Anderson).
The movie shares a kinship The Life Aquatic. Both focus on aging adventure heroes, men hobbled by midlife crises and responsibilities, trying to enjoy one last score. It makes sense, since Anderson again partnered with fellow Aquatic scribe and Squid and the Whale auteur Noah Baumbach on the script. However, it does lead to a disappointing reuse of a central symbol.
But the story almost becomes secondary to life of the movie itself. Somehow these animals (who despite the tweed and ivy-league lexicons remain very much animals) are the liveliest Anderson characters this side of Royal Tenenbaum himself. The decision essentially to film the movie first with the actors acting together and then animating it, gathering their tics and exertions, imbues the movie with a similar humanity and jolt as Spike Jonze’s Wild Things. These characters breathe, and the movie - like an absurdly small motorcycle with sidecar - takes flight.
[Disclaimer: Whitney claims I shows signs of “deification of Wes Anderson.” I cannot create a cogent rebuttal.]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kt244iQOCU1qz6gd2o1_400.png)
This is an adventure.
While Wes Anderson may not quite reach the artistic heights of The Royal or Rushmore with Fantastic Mr. Fox, he has created his most exuberant and joyous movie yet. A pastiche of Rankin/Bass, Roald Dahl, old Disney adventure tales, and ’60s pop, Fantastic Mr. Fox has an energy and a spirit all its own. When the Rolling Stones hit on the soundtrack as the bulldozers bear down and Fox & Friends dig for cover, a sense of euphoria overtook me. Suspense, excitement, emotion: I couldn’t help but feel that this is all I ever want in a movie.
A con-man story through-and-through, Mr. Fox faces an (and I quote) “existential dilemma” after hanging up his chicken-stealin’ boots for a job at the local paper, a mortgage, and a family. What keeps the story fresh is the medium and the author, transplanting an old adult tale to a child’s playground (which some might say is the trademark of Anderson).
The movie shares a kinship The Life Aquatic. Both focus on aging adventure heroes, men hobbled by midlife crises and responsibilities, trying to enjoy one last score. It makes sense, since Anderson again partnered with fellow Aquatic scribe and Squid and the Whale auteur Noah Baumbach on the script. However, it does lead to a disappointing reuse of a central symbol.
But the story almost becomes secondary to life of the movie itself. Somehow these animals (who despite the tweed and ivy-league lexicons remain very much animals) are the liveliest Anderson characters this side of Royal Tenenbaum himself. The decision essentially to film the movie first with the actors acting together and then animating it, gathering their tics and exertions, imbues the movie with a similar humanity and jolt as Spike Jonze’s Wild Things. These characters breathe, and the movie - like an absurdly small motorcycle with sidecar - takes flight.
[Disclaimer: Whitney claims I shows signs of “deification of Wes Anderson.” I cannot create a cogent rebuttal.]
