Finally got to see Moonrise Kingdom. It was sweet, charming, wonderful, and so on. A fairy tale from a childhood a certain sect of the population wish their strangeness could have gifted them.
And then.
I can’t help but think back to the first time I watched Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums. As gorgeous as Wes Anderson’s films are, there’s nothing like experiencing that style for the first time. Or listening to those soundtracks. Hey, this is the man who introduced me, albeit indirectly, to The Velvet Underground at twelve. When I grew up, actually read Salinger, and realized Anderson ripped off the Glass family… it was kinda, sorta, maybe still alright. Now, he’s moved from Mark Mothersbaugh to Alexandre Desplat - a little less whimsical, a little more fantastical. J.D. Salinger to E.L. Konigsberg? Or maybe it’s been that way the whole time.
Plenty of initials and intellectual pathos to go around.
It’s nice to know that ‘you are not alone’ - especially when it comes to co-currently enjoying Prokofiev, Nico, Hank Williams, and The Kinks without not ending up a frozen, concave carcass of a functioning, empathetic human being.
p.s.
however, the life aquatic is still insufferable.
