Calling filmmaker Wes Anderson “eccentric” is like saying the Pope is slightly Catholic. The word doesn’t begin to convey the vast scope of Anderson’s outré sensibilities.
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| The motel manager (Steve Carell, left) is distracted by another atomic bomb test, when J.J. Kellogg (Liev Schreiber, right) and his son Clifford (Aristou Meehan) arrive in Asteroid City. |
But Anderson — a true artiste — remains undaunted, which is just fine; even his bizarre films are interesting … and everything he does is visually fascinating.
That’s certainly the case with Asteroid City, which is a dazzling display of architectural whimsy by Anderson, production designer Adam Stockhausen, and the art direction team headed by Stéphane Cressend. I mean, like wow; you’ve never seen so many pastels. They’ve gotta be Oscar-nominated.
Whether this colorful setting is supported by an equally compelling story … is another matter. Anderson and co-writer Roman Coppola’s script is, ah, really Out There.
The film begins in standard-ratio black and white, as a host (Bryan Cranston) presents the back-story to the newest production by celebrated playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). We subsequently become the “audience,” as a huge cast of actors present the play in three acts (plus an epilogue). These dominant portions of the film are in stylized wide-screen pastels, sumptuously staged by cinematographer Robert D. Yeoman.
The actors occasionally break character in between scenes, which adds yet another (often confusing) layer to the story-within-a-story.
The year is 1955, the setting Asteroid City, a dot-on-the-map desert community — population 87 — in the American Southwest. The enclave includes a luncheonette, a gas station, a phone booth, an unfinished highway ramp, and a motel comprising a dozen or so cute little bungalows.
The city is named for its regional monument: a massive crater created by the grapefruit-size Arid Plains Meteorite, also on display. Small radio telescopes and an observatory can be seen not far away.
The occasion is Asteroid Day, a celebration which has gathered five junior scientists and their families; master of ceremonies Gen. Grif Gibson (Jeffrey Wright) acknowledges each teen’s fabulous invention with an award, followed by the presentation of the annual Hickenlooper Scholarship to one of the quintet.
They are:
• Woodrow (Jake Ryan), winner of the White Dwarf Medal of Achievement, his father Augie (Jason Schwartzman) and three younger sisters, Andromeda, Pandora and Cassiopeia;
• Dinah (Grace Edwards), who earns the Red Giant Sash of Honor, and her mother, Midge (Scarlett Johansson), a film actress;
• Clifford (Aristou Meehan), winner of the Black Hole Badge of Triumph, and his father, JJ (Liev Schreiber);
• Shelly (Sophia Lillis), who earns the Distant Nebula Laurel Crown, and her mother, Sandy (Hope Davis), both wearing brown-and-white gingham Girl Scout-type uniforms; and
• Ricky (Ethan Josh Lee), winner of the Collapsing Star Ribbon of Success, and his father, Roger (Stephen Park).
Additional key players include the motel manager (Steve Carell); the gas station mechanic (Matt Dillon); Montana (Rupert Friend) and his quintet of musician cowboys; Dr. Hickenlooper (Tilda Swinton), a celebrated astronomer; June (Maya Hawke), a schoolteacher accompanied by ten 8-year-old pupils; and Augie’s father-in-law, Stanley Zak (Tom Hanks).
A bit later, in between scenes, we meet the play’s director, Schubert Green (Adrien Brody), who has been living in the Tarkington Theatre scenic bay during all 785 performances.
Primary character themes focus on Augie, grieving over the loss of his wife, and who — three weeks later — has yet to tell his children; Augie and Midge, in adjacent bungalows, who exchange mildly flirty banter; spirited debates, all around, about the chances of extraterrestrial life; the growing bond between the five young scientists; and a possible mutual crush between Woodrow and Dinah.
As often is the case in Anderson films, all of these Asteroid City characters address each other in deadpan monotones. Frivolity occurs only when a song breaks out. After all, these are actors playing stage roles; they display actual emotion only in between scenes.
If this sounds stilted and mannered, well, yes; it is. Some of the cast — notably Carell — excel at such straight-faced delivery; others, not so much. Whether it becomes tiresome and tedious, will be up to the individual viewer. Regardless, it’s impossible to praise or criticize anybody’s performance, because almost nobody establishes anything approaching a credible character.
Things take an unexpected turn during the final scene of Act I, when Dr. Hickenlooper’s midnight viewing of an “astronomical ellipses” is interrupted by … well, that would be telling.
Some of the incidental bits are amusing: a memory game played by the young scientists, all possessing astonishing memories; the visual gag of the motel vending machines, which offer everything, including real estate; and a blue roadrunner that periodically darts back and forth, and — for my money — has more personality than most of its two-legged co-stars.
The five young scientists’ inventions also are a hoot. My favorite: Dinah’s botanical incubation box, which speeds up photosynthesis (but makes vegetables toxic).
And I guess the atomic bomb tests, which occasionally go off in the distance, qualify as a macabre running gag.
But other bits are simply what-the-heck bewildering, such as the mechanical whatzit that falls from the chassis of Augie’s car, and seems to have a life of its own. Seriously?
The best way to approach all this stuff and nonsense is as sardonic, slow-burn satire, dripping with quiet irony. Enduring that for 104 minutes will test the patience of even Anderson’s faithfuls.
But this much remains true: Asteroid City sure as hell is fun to look at.
Oh, and be sure to hang around for the end credits, when that roadrunner really gets to shine.
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