The Darjeeling Limited, auteur Wes Anderson's newest work, is the story of three estranged American brothers (the recently suicidal Owen Wilson; Francis Ford Coppola's tiniest nephew, Jason Schwartzman; and Adrien Brody, who makes most of his income selling bottles of his sweat labeled as "Talent Juice") who go on a journey through India in an attempt to reconnect with each other and grow spiritually.
I had the opportunity to sit down with director/co-writer Wes Anderson and star/co-writer Jason Schwartzman before the screening, and--
Well, I sat down across the room from director/co-writer Wes Anderson and star/co-writer Jason Schwartzman with some other very serious journalists and--
I had the opportunity to sit down with director/co-writer Wes Anderson and star/co-writer Jason Schwartzman before the screening, and--
Well, I sat down across the room from director/co-writer Wes Anderson and star/co-writer Jason Schwartzman with some other very serious journalists and--
Okay, I stood in the middle of Borders and watched a douche from the
MetroTimes ask director/co-writer Wes Anderson and star/co-writer Jason
Schwartzman lame questions. And then after that, other audience members
asked lame questions. Then after the screening of the film, more people
asked more lame questions. The fact is, I didn't ask them any questions
personally. The thought of Wes's eyes locking onto mine, looking into
my soul...
That has no bearing on this review.
Darjeeling has gotten a lot of flak in the media (mostly illegitimate media such as blogs and The Michigan Daily) for being "racist" and "misogynistic," and, more importantly, for "not giving Natalie Portman's ass enough screen time."
I have to say that I disagree heartily. Would a racist go through all the effort of going to India just to be racist against Indians? I think not! Plus, I don't think I've ever seen a picture of Wes Anderson riding a horse or wearing a hood. And I have seen a lot of pictures of Wes Anderson. More than you can imagine.
As for the second accusation, that it's misogynistic, that's a pretty long word, so I'm not sure, but I bet it's not true either (unless "misogynistic" means "Oh God, this makes me want to lick Wes Anderson's neck").
And the third claim, about Ms. Portman's ass? Hotel Chevalier, the short prequel to Darjeeling, is like an ass fair! An ass carnival, even! An exhibition of Ass Through the Ages at a moderately prestigious art museum! Just because she only makes a three second appearance in the feature doesn't mean you can disregard what a central role her ass plays in the prequel. It's even depicted in slow motion! (Granted, a whopping 73% of The Darjeeling Limited is also in slow motion, most of which consists of people running and jumping onto moving trains.)
As opposed to some of Anderson's other movies, like Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited does not conform to the pattern of steadily increasing title length (I am disregarding Bottle Rocket for personal reasons). What, the discerning film-goer might ask himself, does this mean? I'd have to say that I honestly don't know, but it is indisputable that Wes works in mysterious ways. (Did you know that "Wes" has the same number of letters as "God?")
While I was watching Wes attempt to spice up his response to some inane question after the screening, my mind began to wander. How was it that so much genius could be crammed into a wispy-looking man in an expensive suit and sagging argyle socks? How powerful must you be to be able to make Bill Murray submit to your every whim? Why did his hair look so damn nice? Like, you could just run your fingers through it and carefully, oh-so-slowly, pull down his collar, revealing the pale, lickable skin beneath, and--
I, uh, think we might have gotten off track again.
The Darjeeling Limited? I will say, in conclusion, that it evokes both an emotional and a physical response. It's beautifully, majestically, and intimately filmed. Wes summons the sights, sounds, and scents of India with the same ease that he allows the humanity of each of his characters to shine through. Under his skilled, trademark wide lens, his subjects are naked to us. If only he would turn his lens on me, I would be naked, so naked...whenever...whenever he wanted...I could...
Oh, Wes...
Oh...yes...
Wes! WES!
That has no bearing on this review.
Darjeeling has gotten a lot of flak in the media (mostly illegitimate media such as blogs and The Michigan Daily) for being "racist" and "misogynistic," and, more importantly, for "not giving Natalie Portman's ass enough screen time."
I have to say that I disagree heartily. Would a racist go through all the effort of going to India just to be racist against Indians? I think not! Plus, I don't think I've ever seen a picture of Wes Anderson riding a horse or wearing a hood. And I have seen a lot of pictures of Wes Anderson. More than you can imagine.
As for the second accusation, that it's misogynistic, that's a pretty long word, so I'm not sure, but I bet it's not true either (unless "misogynistic" means "Oh God, this makes me want to lick Wes Anderson's neck").
And the third claim, about Ms. Portman's ass? Hotel Chevalier, the short prequel to Darjeeling, is like an ass fair! An ass carnival, even! An exhibition of Ass Through the Ages at a moderately prestigious art museum! Just because she only makes a three second appearance in the feature doesn't mean you can disregard what a central role her ass plays in the prequel. It's even depicted in slow motion! (Granted, a whopping 73% of The Darjeeling Limited is also in slow motion, most of which consists of people running and jumping onto moving trains.)
As opposed to some of Anderson's other movies, like Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited does not conform to the pattern of steadily increasing title length (I am disregarding Bottle Rocket for personal reasons). What, the discerning film-goer might ask himself, does this mean? I'd have to say that I honestly don't know, but it is indisputable that Wes works in mysterious ways. (Did you know that "Wes" has the same number of letters as "God?")
While I was watching Wes attempt to spice up his response to some inane question after the screening, my mind began to wander. How was it that so much genius could be crammed into a wispy-looking man in an expensive suit and sagging argyle socks? How powerful must you be to be able to make Bill Murray submit to your every whim? Why did his hair look so damn nice? Like, you could just run your fingers through it and carefully, oh-so-slowly, pull down his collar, revealing the pale, lickable skin beneath, and--
I, uh, think we might have gotten off track again.
The Darjeeling Limited? I will say, in conclusion, that it evokes both an emotional and a physical response. It's beautifully, majestically, and intimately filmed. Wes summons the sights, sounds, and scents of India with the same ease that he allows the humanity of each of his characters to shine through. Under his skilled, trademark wide lens, his subjects are naked to us. If only he would turn his lens on me, I would be naked, so naked...whenever...whenever he wanted...I could...
Oh, Wes...
Oh...yes...
Wes! WES!
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