1996’s Bottle Rocket is Wes Anderson’s first subtle film, and it will be his last.
By now, I assume most of you have formed an opinion on Wes Anderson. He may very well have the most distinct style of any working director. His gut-wrenchingly twee cinematography shows an obsession with symmetry and detail, his song choices are very sentimental, his characters deliver their dialog as if they were Owen Wilson, and, more than most directors, his daddy issues are constantly on display. Early on in Anderson’s career, he quickly became a cult director, especially after the release of Rushmore, but as time has gone on, his highly stylistic take on film-making has bridged the gap between the stuffy film critic and the casual moviegoer.
That being said, Anderson’s style is very, very specific, and isn’t for everyone. There are a handful of tropes, design choices, and camera tricks that you will see in every film Anderson has ever worked on. For the most part, he’s known for his use of symmetry, which draws comparisons to Stanley Kubrick, Yasujirō Ozu, and Paul Thomas Anderson (no relation).
I became a Wes Anderson junkie the first time I saw Rushmore. Its sets, its bizarre editing, and its quirky characters all drew me in. I grew to love Royal Tenenbaums, and even his more polarizing films, The Life Aquatic and Moonrise Kingdom. These days, his work is a bit harder for me to stomach.
My theory here is that at some point, most people who delve deep into film history will eventually find that one director who pulls off exactly what Anderson pulls off, only better. For some, this could be Kubrick, but Kubrick used symmetry to create uneasiness rather than Anderson’s pastel hipster paradise. For others, this could be Yasujirō Ozu, but his style was far more nuanced and less obsessively focused. For me, the origin of what I call “Wes Anderson Fatigue Syndrome” (WAFS for short), was Peter Greenaway.
Greenaway is primarily known for 1989’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover, a rather demented film that looks like a grotesque Baroque painting come to life in the form of a stage play. Many of you may know it as, “That one time when Helen Mirren got naked.”
He’s also responsible for 1985’s A Zed and Two Noughts, which is my personal favorite Greenaway film. ZOO, as it is often abbreviated, involves twin zoologists obsessed with the decay of living things. You can imagine the opportunities for symmetry.
Perhaps the closest to Anderson’s style is 1988’s Drowning by Numbers, a film known for its gimmick of including the numbers 1 through 100 throughout the film, in reverse order. These numbers were conveyed as a part of character dialog, a background object in the shape of a number, or in other more abstract ways.
Remember this scene from Moonrise Kingdom?
Just kidding, that’s Drowning by Numbers.
Becoming aware of Greenaway’s filmography has made me painfully aware of Anderson’s techniques, and because I vastly prefer Greenaway, watching a film like Royal Tenenbaums is now either a chore or a reminder that I should be watching something more interesting. His style is distracting if you’re approaching his films with the intention to deconstruct, and now, a Wes Anderson film feels like an homage to other Wes Anderson films.
When The Grand Budapest Hotel was released, I had difficulty enjoying it. Sure, it’s a technically interesting film if you’re not critical of Anderson’s aesthetic, but Grand Budapest turned that aesthetic up to 11. Behind every shot, I felt Anderson’s presence, as if he were staring into a mirror and frantically masturbating to his own artistic merit for 100 minutes.
As someone who is thoroughly bored with Anderson’s excesses, watching Bottle Rocket is a phenomenal breath of fresh air.
Bottle Rocket began as a black-and-white short film released in 1994 to positive acclaim. The short is co-written by Owen Wilson, a man whose contribution to those early Anderson films is highly overlooked. In 1996, Bottle Rocket became a feature-length film with a score by Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo fame, and to those familiar with the short (and those who weren’t), it was a massive let-down. The movie absolutely tanked. It nearly ended Owen Wilson’s career. Its Columbia Pictures test screening scores were some of the lowest in the history of the company. There’s no denying that Bottle Rocket would have been Anderson’s last film if it were not for the intervention of another filmmaker.
For whatever reason, Martin Scorsese took a liking to the film. His endorsement and encouragement is the only factor that kept Bottle Rocket afloat, and allowed Anderson and the Wilson brothers to continue making films. It underwent some rather hasty critical re-evaluation, and after 1998’s Rushmore, neither Anderson nor the Wilson brothers would have trouble finding work ever again, unless their first name happened to be Luke.
Even for a film from a director notorious for the elegant simplicity of his plots, Bottle Rocket’s plot feels even simpler. Anthony (Luke Wilson) is nearing the end of his stay at a mental hospital, and his friend Dignan (Owen Wilson) decides to break him out, not knowing that Anthony has been voluntarily committed the whole time and can leave when he chooses. This very quickly sets up the relationship between Anthony and Dignan, showing us that Anthony is quite willing to feign enthusiasm for Dignan’s unrealistic penchant for minor criminal activity.
Anthony and Dignan find the only friend they know with a vehicle, and recruit him as their getaway driver. Dignan has a detailed master plan to travel the country and rob as many stores and homes as possible. Their “practice robbery” is Anthony’s parents’ home. After a few more small-scale robberies, the trio spend several days at a hotel in order to “lay low.” This inflated sense of artificial danger drives much of the humor in the film, as do the characters’ casual reactions to Digman’s strange plans.
This is the basic plot of the film. There is no complicated sub-plot, and no highly-metaphorical imagery that serves to comment on the plot as it’s unfolding.
The real strength of the film lies not in gimmicky pastel colors and busy set design, but rather in the relationship between the main characters. Both Owen and Luke Wilson deliver what should be career-defining performances, and while current Anderson would probably portray a character like Dignan as an obnoxious tool, 1996 Anderson treats Dignan with genuine compassion.
The side characters in the film are also very strong. James Caan makes an appearance as a sort-of crime boss, who turns out to be rather friendly. Lumi Cavazos is Inez, the hotel maid and love interest of Luke Wilson, who doesn’t speak a word of English, but bonds with Anthony anyway. The big stand-out here is Robert Musgrave as Bob Mapplethorpe, the timid and eccentric getaway driver that struggles throughout the film to find a place in the group, while maintaining some degree of agency in his own life.
Wes Anderson characters have always been just a little polarizing, but in Bottle Rocket, your experience is going to hinge almost entirely on your acceptance of these characters’ eccentricities. I often hear Dignan’s character referred to as obnoxious, and while I see that criticism, I appreciate Anderson’s gentle treatment of a harmlessly-delusional 20-something trying desperately to find his place in society. This is a theme Anderson would explore later in his career, but in a more cynical way.
Another make-it-or-break-it factor is going to be the audience’s experience with WAFS. While I know I’m not exactly patient zero here, I also know I’m not alone. I feel that my jaded perspective of Anderson’s later oeuvre is in many ways the primary reason that I still enjoy Bottle Rocket so much. It’s Wes Anderson at his most human, with far fewer bells and whistles attached. The film is more enjoyable now than ever, because while I’m critical of Anderson’s excesses, his characters have typically been the highlight of his films, something that shows through in Bottle Rocket more than his other work.
8/10
For many years, Bottle Rocket has been somewhat difficult to obtain. It’s the kind of movie that randomly shows up for two weeks on a streaming service like Crackle, then disappears. There is a Criterion DVD/Blu-Ray release, if you want to shell out $40.
However, if you happen to live near Goshen, Indiana, The Art House is playing it at 7:30p.m. on May 28, 2018.