Red wine, popcorn, a blankey and five back-to-back Wes Anderson films seemed like a nice way to spend a night in London when it was pissing it down one summer’s evening. And it may well have been, if you could be melted into your own couch in your own flat in your undies where no one can see you snoring and drooling onto your own chest by film number three. Settling down to watch Bottlerocket, the comedic tale of company workers who decide to take revenge against their boss, I was all warm and gooey inside with the directorial debut which failed to become a commercial success in 1996. As the night was very much in it’s infancy, so was Anderson’s poignant portrayal of tortured characters, methodical cinematography and casting of Luke and Owen Wilson. i.e BC all that shit got old yo’.
Onto Rushmore, the film that launched the career of Jason Schwartzman and re-launched the career of Bill Murray, earning him the award for Best Supporting Actor, recognition within the independent film industry (let’s not forget he did Space Jam) and solidifying a role in everything Wes Anderson ever touched ever again in his entire whole life as a director man. The film gained this review in Time magazine: “an often deft, frequently droll little movie turns into an increasingly desperate juggling act, first trying to keep too many dark and weighty emotional objects aloft, then trying to bring them back to hand in a graceful and satisfying way“. Welcome to the man’s entire collection of work. By the rolling credits, I had taken my shoes off, untied my hair and been told off for putting my feet up on the chairs in front of me.
Roll on The Royal Tenenbaums for Pete’s sake. With fresh popcorn and an empty bladder I was looking forward to this master piece with a stellar cast, claimed by many WA fans to be his finest work- having Ben Stiller act a part that doesn’t involve him acting like a tool around a hawt girl who thinks ‘wow you are a tool’ at the start but ends up with her legs wrapped around his head is a huge feat in itself. I woke up in the part near the end where the dog gets squashed under Owen Wilson’s car as a large man in a red beanie climbed over me to go for a wee. I then woke up in the credits when he climbed back over me and thought ‘Nevermind, I have it on DVD… why am I here again?’
Right, must.stay.awake for The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou because I’ve heard it’s great and lots of people have come dressed as Steve Zissou and I’d like to know what he’s about. Wait, three people next to me are yawning and leaving! Before I’ve even met Steve I have flipped up the arm rests, tucked my jeans into my socks, wrapped my scarf around my head, put my ear plugs in (I came prepared) and blissfully blocked out the world around me. I heard some shouting and a fvck load of gun shots but it’s London so what else can you expect?
Lastly, one of my most watched films in the DVD cabinet at home began playing, The Darjeeling Limited. I stayed wrapped up and stretched out selfishly but I couldn’t possibly go to sleep during one of my favourite films that I know all the lines to! So I laid there like a mummy and listened to the 91 minute long melancholy comedy-drama, eagerly anticipating every scene I know is coming. I think I even mouthed the last line ”Let’s go get a drink and smoke a cigarette”. What a freaking saddo.
At 6.30am in the morning, I peeled myself off the cinema seats and walked out into the daylight with stinging eyes. Making my way to the train I knew that it wasn’t worth £25, two buckets of popcorn and nine and a half hours of my life that I’ll never get back and was annoyed by an inexplicable craving to watch Space Jam. I can say with confidence that the all night marathon was the equivalent of a long haul flight: lots of disturbed micro naps, breathing of recycled air and people climbing over you to go to the toilet.
Anyone seen the new Moonrise Kingdom? Looks like a cross between Submarine/AnythingWesAndersonhaseverdone.