Review of Moonrise Kingdom (2012) by Paul C — 10 Jun 2014

Wes Anderson's seventh film Moonrise Kingdom begins with an almost hyper calm; the camera whirls around disorientingly, stopping to show us different, perfectly strange glimpses of what's happening in different rooms in the home of the people we are about to be eavesdropping on. It's a weirdly interesting and unique opening, compelling as much for its delightful cinematic style as subtle eye-raising content. As the film rolls along, with its wonderful, unique mixture of methodical, albeit brisk storytelling, it becomes apparent that the composition will threaten to overtake the cinematic oddities in a way that maybe no previous Wes Anderson film has accomplished. That is, there's a palpable grit of true emotion that rings throughout, giving his eccentricities more weight.

The story of two children seeking refuge from their lives on a small New England island is told through current incidents and quick recaps. The boy, Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman), is an orphan who has earned the ire of his fellow "Khaki Scouts" just by being a bit different than they are. (This is no small feat in an Anderson film, often largely populated with all sorts of unconventional folks). The girl, Suzy Bishop (played by Kara Hayward), has a penchant for creating havoc amid an already shaky relationship between her parents (a tragi-comical Bill Murray and uber expressive Frances McDormand). The two kids begin a "pen pal" relationship of sorts, which leads them to scheme to run away together to the woods.

One of the most profound moments of the film comes early on when Sam questions Suzy on her reasons for wanting to run away. She shows him the book that she found on top of the refrigerator, the title of which is "How to Deal With a Troubled Child." Suzy's eyes instantly reflect her deep hurt Suzy. Sam`s immature reaction - he laughs - turns her hurt to anger. It`s also one of the few reminders that hey, this kid is only twelve. In a very big way, these tiny heartbreaks are the reasons the audience will relate and become attached to these characters. There are significant junctures where the camera is allowed to linger for maybe a second longer than it does in the more outright comedic segments. In fact, some scenes are structured with a kind of emotional schizophrenia; we might be driven to awkward laughter only a few seconds before one of those little shards of delicate despair strikes.

It makes the viewer aware that anything could happen, creating an unsteady consistency that drives the film with its paradoxical inevitability. That is, there is more than one reaction that the characters could have, and there is more than one road that the story could take. It's refreshingly pleasant poetry to watch, with the director confident that the understated complexity of present emotions is stronger than any direct imagery could be, regardless of how stark and striking.

His signature framed backdrops become the outline of a painting in which the characters' actions and reactions play out.

Wes Anderson's films often have a signature aesthetic, and they feature familiar actors delivering unfamiliar performances and Moonrise Kingdom is no exception: In Moonrise, Bill Murray plays his Walt Bishop in a nearly breakable way; it's different than the almost stubborn acceptance of Herman Blume, his character in Anderson's excellent Rushmore. His voice is almost unrecognizable in a few scenes. In other words, he isn't just playing Bill Murray. Similarly, Edward Norton plays the perpetually confounded Khaki Troops leader Scout Master Ward with a touching innocence and concern.

Maybe even more impressive is the performance by Bruce Willis, far from his smart mouthed John McClain type roles. Willis is utterly believable and mostly sympathetic in his role as the local police captain. He's not delivering his lines in a tongue-in-cheek manner as his parts often call for, rather with a ponderous weight, as if he's really thinking about these things before he says them. He's not Bruce Willis scaling buildings and spouting catchphrases; he's a lonely, middle-aged man searching for hope in a small, idyllic town that he doesn't quite belong to and finding an unlikely friend he maybe didn't even know he needed. It's a charming, memorable portrayal.

Put simply, Moonrise Kingdom is a beautiful film. The art direction is exquisite, the colors are appealing and ambrosial without being distracting or obnoxious. Viewers are drawn into this singular dreamy world with delight; it's a very strong reflection of the importance of a child's individuality, as well as the many ways that adults fail them, both accidentally and out of exasperation. The kid actors are wonderful, portraying the freedom of a child's infinite imagination and the frustration with the adults around them, already resigned to their own unpleasant stations, and therefore trapping the children, however protectively and unknowingly. Their eyes are soulful, sad, playful, sometimes all in the same scene.

Driven by atmospheric music, the movie jettisons effortlessly between vivid images of sixties small town life, haunting climactic frames, emotional peaks and valleys, and little fragments of sheer delight. It's an example of a contemporary artist with something to say, beyond the commercial triviality of another summer blockbuster.

Most importantly, it's a tiny peek into a different world, where charm and innocence are celebrated. And a desperate look at two awkwardly lovely children who seem fully and even painfully aware of their frail hold on what is likely the most unregimented summer they will ever experience.