Review of Isle of Dogs (2018) by Filipe C — 24 Mar 2018

Wes Anderson films are often viewed as pieces of art that transcend the medium's limitations, moving paintings brought to life by a one-of-a-kind brushstroke. They're rarely perfect (or perhaps just a little too perfect), but always rewarding and enlightening, mostly because of their relentless honesty and commitment in showing the benefits of unexpected spurts of violence is such proper worlds.

And isn't that most people's lives, an existence governed by rules enhanced by moments of pure, unadulterated rebellion? No other movie in Wes Anderson's canon embodies that sentiment so effectively as Isle of Dogs, the filmmaker's returns to stop-motion animation almost ten years later.

If Fantastic Mr. Fox had shown the potential of such playground for someone with Anderson's obsessively detailed vision, Isle of Dogs is a fully realized utopia. At once an apt metaphor for today's political instability, and a touchingly dark narrative of loss and acceptance, the film's craftsmanship is unlike anything seen before.

From the lush, textured character design to the transfixing beauty of the miniatures, the film's able to create a meditative-like experience, a stunningly harmonious blend of drama and comedy, sadness and ecstasy, indifference and nostalgia.

In that regard, Anderson's awe of Akira Kurosawa is noticeable: the fundamental 'human' decency, the damaged people looking for their place in the world, the ethically driven narrative. This is all deconstructed in a simple tale of a boy looking for his lost dog, or, a dog looking for his lost boy, depending on you choose to interpret it.

Either way, attached there's a deeply sentimental love letter to true friendships wrapped in a cunning satire, and it's gripping all the way through. Isle of Dogs is a career-defining achievement by any metric, and quite possibly, the filmmaker's best.