Asteroid City is the newest film by master of symmetry Wes Anderson, an ensemble piece set in a weird retro-futuristic version of the 1950s where brainy Junior Stargazers receive prize ribbons from the military for the creation of such science projects as propulsion packs and molecular incubators. It is also the name of the small Nevada town where the film is set, a bustling metropolis of eighty-seven residents that includes a diner, body shop, rentable cabins, observatory, outdoor shower facilities, vending machines (some of which dispense land deeds for as little as ten dollars), and an abandoned overpass project, all situated around a crater that was formed some 5000 years ago. It is also the name of the in-universe stage play penned by famed playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton), who is shown laboring over his creation as the story unfolds in grainy black-and-white sequences that employ a vintage 1.37:1 aspect ratio. This eponymous play has been produced for a live television broadcast, hosted by a somewhat Rod Serling-esque Bryan Cranston, who frequently comments on both the creation of the play as well as the events of the play itself, at one point even wandering into the action before sheepishly retreating back to the wings.
One of Wes Anderson’s stylistic trademarks is his elaborate framing devices. The Grand Budapest Hotel’s plot (set in the 1930s) unfolds by way of a story being recounted to Jude Law in 1968, whose book on the subject is being read by a nameless woman in a cemetery in 1985, all of which is introduced by an older version of Law’s character (played by Tom Wilkinson) in the present day (but not necessarily our present day). Asteroid City takes the concept to new levels of metatextuality, defying immersion by fully acknowledging that the film we’re watching is a play being written for the stage to be aired on television by an acclaimed but struggling writer. Like those equally-colourful Muppets of yore, various characters occasionally break the fourth wall to discuss their ambiguous motivations and other aspects of the script they’re not clear on before reverting to their roles. All that’s missing is Wes Anderson inserting himself in his own film, appearing intermittently to inform us how he wrote and directed the play-for-television-for-film and disclosing some of the narrative elements he himself wasn’t quite clear on before fleeing the studio lot in a panic. Bill Murray could have appeared in a single scene explaining with his typical deadpan delivery how he was supposed to have played the innkeeper before contracting COVID-19 and being replaced by Steve Carell.
Bit of a digression, but back in 2014 I commented that The Grand Budapest Hotel was Wes Anderson’s love letter to himself. Every director has one – a self-indulgent ‘look at me’ piece that sacrifices substance for style and caters to the given director’s worst impulses. Tarantino’s is The Hateful Eight. James Cameron’s was Avatar, until Avatar 2 finally limped onto the big screen. Spielberg delivered his last year with The Fablemans. These movies aren’t terrible, per se, only stylistically excessive and too personal to be widely accessible. With its precise framing, extravagant set design, and whimsical flourishes, I initially dismissed Grand Budapest as unrestrained and too rich for my personal tastes (full disclosure – I was in a fairly bad mood for all of 2014, the year my drinking took me to new lows). Anyway, it wasn’t a fair assessment. Upon a recent rewatch, I found myself beset with newfound enthusiasm for Grand Budapest, which I’d now rank at number three or even two on my Junior Cinephiles Movie Checklist.
Besides, Asteroid City is Wes Anderson’s love letter to himself.
Unlike other cinematic love letters, I actually really, really liked Asteroid City. The total absurdity of its framing device coupled with the sheer level of anxiety suffered by its players who don’t know how to feel because the characters they’re portraying also don’t know how to feel makes it loads of fun, and I found myself laughing out loud quite a bit. Anderson’s traditional deadpan deliveries and stiff formalism are on full display here, and the quirky, precocious children representing the Junior Stargazers are as quirky and precocious as ever (though my heart still belongs to the Khaki Scouts of Moonrise Kingdom). The cast is the largest of any of Anderson’s films to date, finding a place for most of his regular collaborators (with the notable exceptions of Bill Murray and Owen Wilson), all of whom are thoroughly invested even if their characters aren’t. Many of Anderon’s signature elements, from the garish colours to the visual symmetry, from the cutesy love plot to the use of claymation, are present, and I enjoyed the experience immensely. The problem is I can’t really recommend Asteroid City to anybody who isn’t intimately familiar with Anderson’s style, because this is very much a Wes Anderson film for people who love and adore Wes Anderson. Anybody unaware of the perfectly-centered cinematic tapestry he’s been weaving since Bottle Rocket will likely be left feeling a little mystified as to what really happened, especially since not much really happens in the film.
While the film ostensibly centers on grieving, depressed widower Augie Steenbeck (Jason Schwartzman in a role that darkly mirrors Rushmore’s Max Fischer) and his attempts to pawn off his four children onto his estranged father-in-law (Tom Hanks), there isn’t a whole lot of focus, and the frequent check-ins with the large ensemble cast slow down the pacing considerably. Granted, the plot does hinge on the Junior Stargazer convention in the middle of the crater, and the appearance of a claymation alien at the mid-point (whose visit legitimately brought the house down) does result in a military lock-down led by Jeffrey Wright as a delightfully bombastic general, but all these events come across as incidental when they should be turns in the overall narrative momentum. This is Wes Anderson at his most lackadaisical – the final product is entertaining, sure, but it’s also a little tough to justify simply because Anderson doesn’t seem that concerned with doing so.
While most directorial love letters come across as smug and somewhat pretentious, Asteroid City contains all the sincerity and earnestness of Anderson’s previous work. It’s not really about anything, but if the lack of an overall point isn’t intentional, then Anderson is at least keenly aware of it. In his dual role as Jones Hall (the actor portraying Augie Steenbeck for the stage production), Schwartzman agonizes over his lack of proper motivations and context, wondering if he’s doing it right and begging the director (Adrien Brody) to tell him. Scarlett Johansson’s Mercedes Ford (the actress portraying Midge Campbell, who becomes romantically involved with the bereaved Augie in the play) doesn’t seem to understand the script either, but is more at peace with it. The point seems to be that there often isn’t a point, but we search for it anyway, with the search for the point being as good a point as any. Or something. Honestly, I half suspect that Wes Anderson just wanted to make a damn movie and didn’t particularly care about using it to say something important. The end result left me entertained, so I’m content to leave it at that.
In all, Asteroid City is fun and funny, though perhaps a little long and slow. It’s Wes at his most Andersoniest, which both helps and hurts the film, though not as much as it could have. While I haven’t taken the time to properly rank my Anderson films, I’d probably place this one somewhere near the middle, like so: Moonrise Kingdom, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Isle of Dogs, Bottle Rocket, The Royal Tenenbaums, Asteroid City, Rushmore, The Life Aquatic, The Darjeeling Limited, The French Dispatch, and Fantastic Mr. Fox.
7.5/10
SnootyFilmCritic 