Wes Anderson’s Tiresome Racist Hipster Act

I’m not a huge Wes Anderson fan. I wanted love Rushmore, but didn’t. I liked Royal Tennenbaums, though. N + 1 posits that Anderson’s aesthetic is the ‘hipster’ point of view running out of gas:

All Anderson’s movies share one overriding theme: the fundamentally disappointing quality of adulthood. So Anderson and his characters wish they were still children. Surely there must be a trust fund, or at least a platinum card, in sight. They exist in a state of perpetual luxuriant slumming. They drink blue-collar beers but hold white-collar jobs. Or vice versa. Whether he comes from above or below, the hipster takes care never to appear to be striving. Class anxiety isn’t hip.

A casual racism pervades Anderson’s movies. He has this in common with fellow hipster auteur Sofia Coppola. Her Lost in Translation succeeded mostly as a sustained mood piece—Williamsburg goes to Tokyo, holes up in a fancy hotel, feels sorry for itself, hangs around in its underwear, then bumps into Bill Murray drinking himself to sleep at the bar.

Published by Andy

Gay Hoosier Taurus INFJ ex-playwright pianist gymbunny published author in San Francisco.

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