An Appeal for Charming Roguishness

I don't know how Wes Anderson manages it. He seems to have the skill to make a movie that, without fail, will look visually stunning (in that hypersaturated Wes Anderson way), have a solid soundtrack (in that indie Wes Anderson way), and manage to be deeply pleasing/amusing/comforting without being uproariously hilarious all the time. Must be a gift. Anyways, the Wes Anderson touch is still strong in our second installment of "Movies I Missed When I Was In Another Country," "Fantastic Mr. Fox." Again, it's been out for a while, you've probably already seen it or heard lots about it, so let's get right down to subjective analysis of what made this so pleasing.

But I suppose I can't resist a little plot summary. George Clooney, appropriately, voices the titular Mr. Fox, a charming devil of a man-animal with a weakness for grand thievery. He's retired, after a promise to Meryl Streep (wifey) to quit the dangerous life of stylish crime they lead, but you know how these things go. Eventually the allure of three huge super-farmers becomes too much, and old Foxy can't resist the challenge of stealing their precious products. And again, as these things tend to go, our hero runs into trouble when the farmers, lead by smart and evil Michael Gambon, try to track him down and avenge their loss violently. This imperils the rest of the forest animals, leading to some deep questions about reckless antics, a last big plan, and the Wes Anderson stop-motion equivalent of the shootout at noon.

Once you get used to the wild movements of the stop-motion puppets (a bit more frenetic than claymation, but somehow more peaceful than straight animation), the movie becomes immensely pleasurable to watch, kind of a orange-tinted dreamscape. The music, despite the English countryside setting, borrows heavily from American folk (I thought) and is jaunty, and the voice acting is stellar. But what really distinguishes "Mr. Fox" from your run-of-the-mill well done animated piece is the weird combination of the melancholy and the subversively optimistic. Wes Anderson tends towards the former (and much of his style of dialogue, the self-deprecating meditation on love and self and uniqueness, remains, especially in the Jason Schwartzman character), and Roald Dahl tends extremely towards the latter; surprisingly, the combination produces wonder, like an unlikely chemical equation. Things get bleak from time to time, but there's an undeniable sense of righteousness, even as Mr. Fox loses his tail. We all know that such things will not stand, and that a counteroffensive will be planed with all the dashing charm present in such a fox.

Which leads me to our point, mentioned in the title: one could look at this movie as an allegory for industrialization/big corporations vs. country farmers, or the struggle between animal instincts and polite society. But what I saw tends a bit towards the romantic: Mr. Fox, fantastic as he may be, is one of the last true charming rogues and debonair adventurers in a world where such gentlemanly virtues are disappearing fast. I find myself bemoaning the loss of adventure in the world more and more these days, but this doesn't entirely relate to the taming of the world. An essential component of the adventure is the adventurer, the sort of person just crazy enough to strike out for uncharted horizons purely for the sake of exploring the unknown. These individuals can be mercenary, insane, driven, or any number of adjectives that, when applied to a man's character, lead him to set out for the vast unknown. But one subset of the adventurer has always been the dashing man of action, equal parts gentleman and explorer, possessed of enough panache to sustain himself for weeks without food or pleasant company. His drive relates to some subtle internal recklessness, boredom with the tamed world some may say, but also to a different way of processing his world. Why not go home a different way? Why not see what happens when we do this? The spirit of adventure isn't entirely about the result, but the process, a kind of curiosity to seek the unknown.

And here is where our appeal for charming roguishness comes in: the world is becoming a smaller place. Bold explorers of old, the type who were really only at home braving the elements for months at a time with only the clothes on their backs and a really huge knife, are less and less needed, and may very well be a dying breed, regulated to living of the fringe and laughing as the end of society draws near. But we, as human beings, still need an element of adventure, which in turn requires people to go and seek this adventure. We need people to point out the excitement that lurks behind the mundane, people that can describe our exploits in such glowing terms as to make us feel that we braved Cape Horn. And of course, it helps if they can deliver a good toast, know a little about wine, and act like a gentleman (or lady; my apologies for the male-centric use of "him" in this rant). And this is what Mr. Fox represents: he may be a role model, in the fine Cary Grant tradition, of dashing yet slightly dangerous seeming men of the world, but he is also at heart a sort of adventurer straining against his tame desk job as a newspaper columnist. His need to steal mirrors our own need to see our exploits as extraordinary. He speaks to the unquenchable desire in the collective hearts of living things to feel fulfillment, and for humans (or anthropomorphized foxes) that fulfillment comes from adventuring, braving the unknown or unusual. And so his struggle is our own, his dangers the (cinematically dramatized) risks that one must take to sleep soundly at night, his very existence a sort of appeal for the existence of more like him: Mr. Fox, through his actions and reversals, but most importantly through his attitude, represents a type of person that we need now more than ever. May his presence serve as an inspiration and appeal to the youth of today to don their corduroy coats, snap their fingers, and light out into our constructed unknown in search of invented adventures, all the while remaining a gentleman.

Yeah, that's about all I have to say. I just might add a mini review of "Police, Adjective," a recent Romanian release that I had the misfortune of sleeping through: it is a very slow and dry police movie, not quite a drama and not quite a comedy. Yet there is a purity in the long silences, a beauty in the slightly bleak long shots, and there are a few inspired sequences between the detective and his wife about life. I think it's kind of a meditative and at least enjoyable pause from the hustle and bustle of things. But it is very, very slow, so be warned. If not, you might have the same experience I had of confusing my half-dreams with the plot, and then wondering what my friends are doing in the movie, or what happened to the old woman. But that in itself might be interesting.

Developing Countries Look Like Home Now

So I'm back, freshly returned from the wilds of Bali, Indonesia. It was wild, wonderful, amazing, adjective, and all that cliche study abroad stuff; in short, every inch the adventure I had hoped it to be despite my vocal complaints beforehand. That entire story is chronicled (and still being chronicled, as I'm not quite done letting go) over at my stunning associate's site, Fear and Loathing in Bedulu. Now that I've assured my loyal readers in this part of the world that I'm alive and well, let's get back to what we do best: reviews of movies in a belated fashion.

Catching up with movies missed, we'll be writing about "The Hurt Locker" today, one of the few movies that I wanted to see still in theaters somewhere (thank the Golden Globes dudes for that, I think. Or SAG?). Anyways, this one's been out for a while, so this is going to end up being more impression-y. Basically, what we've got here is another movie chronicling the latest conflict, our little perpetual Iraqi involvement, but a fresh angle in that the film focuses on a few soldiers, specifically a bomb squad. Our two noble support tech guys, Sgt Sanborn and Spc Eldridge, have to deal with a new supervisor, one SSgt. Will James. With fewer than forty days left in their rotation, Sanborn and Eldridge just want to make it home alive; challenge is that James is a bit of a cowboy, and comes in after the former squad leader dies from taking a risk. Shocked and more than a little scared for their own lives, Sanborn and Eldridge react badly to James' risk-heavy madman approach to diffusing IEDs. And so things get down to business: the movie focuses on the psychology of soldiers fighting unfathomable odds (a more obtuse way of avoiding the phrase "invisible enemy"), and to a lesser extent the camaraderie of a group of egos (well, mostly Sanborn and James fighting over protocol) all on the same side.

"The Hurt Locker" is certainly a realistic movie, as one woman in the audience remarked loudly a couple of times, and that realism is one of its great strengths. Although we don't have faux-documentary style footage, the camera still shakes like a head in a helmet as our boys scatter for cover on a dusty street (although not sickeningly), and the writer/director team puts their time in country to good use (I forget who spent time imbedded) by serving up technical jargon. My main objection here is that I was thinking it would end up a bit more like "Apocalypse Now," probably because James reminds me so much of Bob Duval's Col. Kilgore. But instead of mysticism, we get psychology, which is nice in its own right. I have a feeling that "The Hurt Locker" will take a place of honor in the pantheon of Iraqi conflict movies of the future, but we're still missing a masterpiece.

Let me see... we've got plot, realism, objections. Other than that, I don't have much else to say. This one is definitely memorable, but not something that'll prey on the consciousness for days. There are inspired sequences, such as a run-in with British or Australian paramilitary contractors in the vast desert, that kind of distill the jaded sense of fear that must develop during a rotation, but the real meat is maddening bomb diffusing. Tight and thrilling movies don't come any realer than a sequence in a crossroads where one wire just leads to another.

Hmm... a bit rusty, but it's an inaugural effort. I've already got another review in the tubes, and hope to get to current release stuff with "Police, Adjective" before I head back east. In the mean time, thanks for tuning back in. It's good to be home.