![]() ![]() Sons desperately trying to please emotionally withholding father figures Having seen them all at least once, here is an incomplete list of things that Wes Anderson loves: He wears his tics on his tweed sleeves, with an instantly recognizable style (a “shtick,” one might even call it), and a list of interests and affinities that seems to carry through all of his movies. Whatever you think of him, he’s one of the most easily parodied directors working, possibly the most easily parodied director that ever lived. Or maybe it’s that he’s usually just vulgar enough - think the vagina painting in Grand Budapest Hotel, Max Fischer bragging about handjobs - that I forgive him for being so twee (and for probably being the reason I ever learned the word “twee”). Once you reach a certain level of liberal arts education I believe you’re simply powerless to resist Wes Anderson’s bullshit. I get about as fed up with his precious, fussy, practiced kitsch as any inveterate Wes Anderson hater, and yet I still find myself mostly enjoying all his movies, even when parts of them press hard on my gag reflex. It’s fair to say that I have a love/hate relationship with Wes Anderson, as I do with most things smug and overeducated (for the simple reason that I’m both but I try not to be). KNIFE FIGHT ME, COWARDS! Meet me behind the internet at dawn. I’ve seen them all, I have strong opinions, and pretending otherwise would just be an affectation. ![]() But let’s be honest, I’m 100% not above that. Sure, I could pretend I’m above it that I’m better than ranking Wes Anderson movies, that I can simply enjoy things without assigning numbers to them. ![]() Wes Anderson movies: we love to rank them, don’t we, folks? It’s both one of the most hack listicles a movie writer could write, but also dishonest not to write. ![]()
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