This darling film about first love between a young girl and boy is a short step from director Wes Anderson’s wonderful animation film The Fantastic Mr. Fox—not so much in theme as in storytelling technique. Mr. Fox was about adults, the eponymous hero, his irrepressible yen for stealing chickens, and the impact of his risk-taking behavior on his wife and children.
Moonrise Kingdom, on the other hand, is about the children of hapless adults who haven’t grown into their parenthood. Sam (Jared Gilman) is hovering in the foster care system, and Suzy (Kara Hayward) and her little brothers live with parents who communicate through a megaphone (mom Laura, played by Frances McDormand)and a chainsaw (dad Walt, played by Bill Murray). So Sam and Suzy run away to the local island, where she spins 45s on her portable record player and he paints her portrait as an odalisque in panties and barely necessary brassiere.
Despite the difference in thematic perspective, though, Moonrise has some of the cartoonish character of Mr. Fox. Suzy’s home is filmed like a dollhouse, each family member on view in his or her separate cubby, conscious or not of the walls between them. Character is developed through clipped dialogue and visual clues, actual props: the aforementioned record player, paint set, megaphone, and chainsaw, as well as the pearl brooch Sam wears on his camp scout uniform to remind him of his mother and the fishhook earrings Suzy wears as a badge of loyalty to Sam and their adventure (as well as the bloody sign of her emergence into womanhood). Method acting here, as in all of Anderson’s films, is thankfully eschewed. As is realism: these two precocious children elope with the unlikeliest of provisions, including a kitten and a suitcase full of cat food and books for young adults. They have Sam’s scouting skills and their mutual trust and determination, though, and that’s what it takes in this film to make a home.
Anderson is fascinated with boy-men in groups, at school, at camp, and within the family. Moonrise refers often to this fascination, in the music by Benjamin Britten, composer of Billy Budd, and in the dynamics of the scouting world from which Sam decamps. What is more, when the scouts find the runaways, they spend an idyllic evening with them in their moonrise kingdom, or rather Neverland, where Suzy reads them stories a la Wendybird to her lost boys.
The children are returned to the “real” world, but their adventure does not end unhappily. Laura and Walt don’t separate Sam and Suzy; life will do that in time.
What a cast! In addition to the magical McDormand and Murray, the film boasts Bruce Willis as the simpatico sheriff and Edward Norton as the deeply sincere camp leader.
I have not really been a fan of Wes Anderson in the past, but I have to say I found this film enchanting. I loved the way this fantasy captures childhood so far removed from the context of what is going on in the real world at that time…it handles the first kiss of the kids perfectly. Your discussion of how character is developed through visual props is interesting…had not consciously thought about that.
Randy, have you seen The Fantastic Mr. Fox? You might like that one, too. And thanks for commenting!
“Life will do that in time?” You’re a bigger buzzkill than Buzz Killington!
I was a little bit disappointed in the movie. There were hints at further developments between Bill Murray and Frances McDormand that never materialized, though her affair with Bruce Willis was seen through to a reasonable conclusion. And the frenetic piling up of chase on chase on disaster on chase that led to the climax left me with metaphorical motion sickness and just seemed like too much–certainly Anderson was hardly trying for mimetic realism, but he went over the top with complications, and I got lost. It reminded me of Scooby Doo and the gang chasing bad guys around a haunted house, except that I knew there was theoretically an actual plot unwinding. I really could have done without the final tableau of Suzy hanging onto Sam hanging onto Bruce Willis’s tie (or that’s what I thought I saw, anyway). Sheesh! Definitely a bridge too far.
Possibly “The Fantastic Mr. Fox,” which I didn’t see, would have prepared me for all the galloping about. You mention a cartoony quality about “Moonrise,” and the frenzy might be seen as part of that. As for Murray and McDormand, I guess I was half hoping to see a miniature version of Angelica Huston and Gene Hackman’s story in “The Royal Tenenbaums” played out, and that just wasn’t going to happen. The conversation in the twin beds established that they knew they were inadequate as parents, and I guess that was the point of it.
I liked the kids, though–their intelligence and competence and the leaps of faith they make toward each other. Suzy has amazing eyes. I liked the other Khaki Scouts and their sudden about-face. I really liked Jason Schwartzman as the older Scout, for some reason–a sawed-off Sgt. Bilko-ish hustler whose heart of gold you could see coming long before he pushed back the can of money. There were lots of little moments that made me happy. One was when Tilda Swinton mentions the stabbing with scissors and Edward Norton and Bruce Willis, both sympathetic to Sam, urgently explain, “The GIRL did that! It was the GIRL who did that!” That was sweet and a little grotesque (which is good). Sam and Suzy’s meeting was uncanny. He’s possessed by some Marlon Brando spirit to point directly at her and ignore the others, while she stares back at him in that mysterious mask. The boy who starts bouncing on the trampoline as Sam and Suzy have their pro forma discussion about whether they should get married was hilarious. Sam and Suzy’s camping idyll at 3.25 Mile whatever-it-was (later to be renamed Moonrise Kingdom) was wonderful all around. I think one of the best touches was the way Sam laughed when Suzy talked about the troubled-kid book. He didn’t know what to say, I think, but took a shot at connecting with Suzy by implying “It’s crap, isn’t it?” He wasn’t so sure himself, though, and it turned out to be the wrong decision. So he apologized like an intelligent person and she accepted the apology like a tolerant person. Kindness and tolerance are such an enormous and refreshing part of Anderson’s movies and this scene establishes the kids as citizens of that world, I think.
You mentioned a couple of things I hadn’t noticed or thought about. The blood from the ear piercings as sign of “emergence into womanhood.” Suzy as Wendy with the lost boys (it was very cute the way they all said “Yes, go on”).
Anderson’s world has some similarities to that of Eric Kraft, the novelist whom I’m pretty sure you’ve heard me ramble on about. In both places, boys are curious and intelligent, and carefully develop skills–camping and scouting for Sam, and mechanical skills that go into Peter Leroy’s home projects. The world is a collection of knowable, available and manipulable things that offers them great present and potential fun. While I’m no dummy, I never felt that kind of confidence about the world, either natural or mechanical, and I find the boys rather heroic.
I just love Wes Anderson’s films. It doesn’t happen all at once. His dramatic inversions grow like crystals in solution. Thanks for the insightful commentary!
Hi, Mona D.! So nice to see you here. Dramatic inversions sound intriguing. What are they, exactly?
You got me. For some reason lately, in some parallel universe to Roger Waters, I find myself uncomfortably vague. I shall strive to remedy but can offer no promises. When I watch Wes Anderson I invariably think I am just across the way from John Waters.
I might have chosen other words. Anderson’s films are situational rather than plotted. They are driven by character and personality rather than action. An anti-drama or dramatic inversion (likely poor word choice) occurs in the sense that the story, meandering as it does like an unresolved series of pedestrian chase scenes unfolds something internal to the characters and in some cases the setting or atmosphere, as in “Bottle Rocket,” more than any aspect of the film architecture such as the action or plot. I suppose I used the term ‘inversion’ simply because Anderson focuses solely on the mysteries of the heart. He takes them out of time and we watch as the character and audience discover them together. That is my impression of the filmmaker’s sense of drama. It may be a bit like a slo-mo of a lotus unfolding in the dark. I say in the dark because what Anderson so steadfastly reveals are things that cannot be seen. His ‘drama’ does not propel anything forward. It propels the audience to the interior. My apologies. So many words to say so little. The vagaries of vagueness do pursue me.
Not vague at all, Mona D. Very well said. Sometimes the characters are practically running in place, as in Tenenbaums, when Ben Stiller’s grieving and emotionally stuck widower conducts fire drills with his children.
Well, Petie, this is quite a meaty comment. As in nutmeat, not reindeer meat. I guffawed at your remark about my being a buzzkill. Not at all! Young love is a great gift. I was lucky enough to experience it and I’m thankful. But people usually need to unyoke in order to explore. Trying to stay in tandem while experimenting with experiences that may disappoint the other person can be a mistaken course.
I agree that the movie includes a lot of running, but I rather like Anderson’s decision to include running and bicycling rather than car chases. His version of an action movie is so pedestrian. Also, I loved the cutaway of the house, which was just as fragile a structure, emotionally, as the children’s camp.
I also agree that Anderson’s movies include a lot of kindness and tolerance, as well as mistakes. I guess the two go together, or should.
The ear-piercing as a symbolic deflowering wasn’t my idea, I’m sad to say, but I think that’s the only thing I took from another commentary–should have referenced it.
Now, you aren’t the first friend to wish that Frances McD.’s character had been further developed. I think it was developed, through her “props” and especially through the scene with her daughter in the bath tub, which has its parallel in Tenenbaums, you will remember. It interests me that Anderson gives these scenes to mother/daughter pairs rather than to parents.
If I started on Eric Kraft, where should I begin?
Thank you so much for commenting! Hugs.
That bathtub scene was good, you’re right.
I am behind on Eric Kraft, but it might be best if you read one of his earlier books anyway. I would try “Herb and Lorna” or “Where Do You Stop?” The latter is more like a Wes Anderson movie than the former.
Pete, so I don’t need to read them in order?
Well. You could, but it would be a tall order. “Herb and Lorna” is the first Kraft wrote, I think, but has very little about his alter ego Peter Leroy and thus wouldn’t be much of an example of what I wrote earlier. I think “Where Do You Stop?” will make perfect sense on its own. It’s a fun little book. There is also a collection of eight short(-ish) stories about Peter called “Little Follies.” Most or all of the stories were originally published as what I guess you could call chapbooks. They’re fun, especially “The Fox and the Clam” (that might not be quite the right title).
Pingback: Moonrise Kingdom: Simply Adorable « My Film Record