The Life Aquatic

Would you trade family for a crew of dreamers? Collect yours like you would pieces of sea glass, funny carved wooden boxes and odd things found on street corners? Wes Anderson makes movies for those of us who wish we could. Melancholy runs through them, because these accrued families aren’t always perfect. And the family you were born with and chose as you went along never quite lets go. A lot was loaded onto the wonderfully named Belafonte. A lot was thrown overboard. The ship was a giant stage set, cut apart by the camera. It was a doll’s house for the wonderfully strange cast. Wes Anderson reminds me of the little girl (or boy) who might dress up his pet kitten; build it elaborate castles; create worlds just to show how much he cares. His movies are child’s games, but by dreaming of modern families that look nothing like the ones we know, he suggests something wonderful.

And walking home tonight, thinking of how Anderson creates fantasy, pieces of silver glitter swirled, hung in mid-air. It had stopped snowing, but Cambridge was a movie set. The ground was a swamp of muddy slush, but looking up into the sky I saw sparkles.

I’m all for the Life Aquatic. I’ll wear the red hat and squeeze into the Speedo.