In the current pantheon of film directors, I used to think that there was no one as obnoxious and egotistical than Quentin Tarantino, but at least when he’s not spitting on the press he manages to still throw in a few surprises – whereas Wes Anderson has stagnated in the same pretentious white bread cornball storybook shit that he tries to pass off as whimsical and poetic (excluding Fantastic Mr. Fox-thanks to the pure imagination of Roald Dahl). So in his latest ever so precious artistic endeavor, Moonrise Kingdom, we are once again subjected to the same dysfunctional misunderstood lovestruck heartbroken characters that communicate with each other in soundbites bordering on autistic retardation.
The star studded cast comprised of Bruce Willis, Ed Norton, Frances McDormand, and of course Bill Murray are wasted and play second fiddle to the no name kids that populate the movie, sorta like Charles Schultz Peanuts. The difference here is that the Adults unfortunately reveal the rest of their bodies from the waist up and that Charlie Brown and Snoopy are lovable – unlike the young protagonist Sam the Orphan (Jared Gilman) and his bookwormy Girlfriend Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), the daughter of lawyers that live on the same remote island, who scheme to elope, and when discovered missing send the island into a tizzy.
As a search party commences, they are hellbent on following some ancient Indian beaver trail and stripping down to their knickers. Though it’s rated PG-13, I promise there is nothing steamy about this love affair – unless of course you think a girl totting around a pair of binoculars is sexy? In fact, the most vulgar atrocity is the murder of the Khaki Scout’s Puppy! Charlie Brown, a child of the Fifties, was an adorably sympathetic loser who loved his Dog whereas these Brats of the Sixties not only stab each other but killed a dog for no fucking apparent reason! Another pet peeve, Wes’s soundtrack. This time around instead of butchering The Kinks he replays Hank Williams tunes to underscore this flight of fancy. But instead of feeling nostalgic like in The Last Picture Show everything just comes off contrived and forced – from the dollhouse that Suzy lives in to the Khaki Scouts campsites, but nothing more so than the acting. And speaking of acting, besides the old fogey in the Dos Equis beer commercials, nobody tries to pose more like a Rhodes Scholar and Renaissance Man like James Franco who glowingly announces to his fellow Huff Po readers that Wes Anderson Rises. But I say, considering my previous review of MIB 3, you’re better off not wasting you’re time by watching this instead –