Isle of Dogs, the ninth and newest effort from the other (other) filmmaking Anderson, is his most humane film in some years. Since Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Wes Anderson’s films have done something worse than spiral—they’ve remained static. Each increasingly consumed by his well-documented quirks, in the Anderson-verse the auteur comes before the art. Isle of Dogs is hardly a break from any of the above, but stop motion animation pumps something sanguine into his little manicured world.
The premise is incredibly thrifty. Framed by a legend about a boy samurai who defends dogs against the cat loving Kobayashi clan, we quickly jump to a now dystopian Megasaki City. An industrial, polluted hellscape, renewed anti-dog hysteria is at fever pitch. Dogs have been relocated to Trash Island, and young Atari goes on a quest to rescue his dog Spots. The narrative remains tightly wrapped around this concept as it runs the length of its lean 101 minutes. And along the way, there are some conspiratorial notes, cautious friendships, and valuable lessons learned.
Where this is all good and well, I’m really just here for the takes. And does any director give us more molehills to refashion into mountains than Wesley Wales Anderson? BRING ME ALL THE SPICY TAKES!
Cats/Cat People are Lame
People on world’s worst website, Twitter.com, are pissed about what they describe as the film’s, “anti-cat sentiment.” But if a hot take falls in the truth forest, is it just a fact? Yes, where Anderson seems like a human cat in a corduroy jacket, homie is a dog person. And therein lies Isle of Dogs’ easy hook: dogs are good and cute and smart and the best. And goodness, every time their little dog eyes well with tears? Effing bawling.
So much of the film’s kindness is lived through our titular dogs. Where their interactions are stilted and emotionally distant—Anderson’s love language—the characterization fits the mind of a mutt. Kind in a perfunctory way, loyal as almost genetic predisposition, their sincerity is a welcome, warm infusion into Isle of Dogs. And where this film does trade in the cat versus dog versus their insane human companions cliche, the story is useful as a meditation on entrenched power. Where it comes from, the motivations behind, and this power as a profound corrupting force. The cats and dogs could have just as easily been swapped, but through this age old polarity Isle of Dogs asks s a more covert question: Why are there even sides?
All the same, dogs rule.
Wes Anderson Made the Same Movie...Again
If this is the axe, let me be your Tormach PSG 612 surface grinder. In a 2012 interview with Terry Gross, Anderson offered the following, “I have a way of filming things and staging them and designing sets. There were times when I thought I should change my approach, but in fact, this is what I like to do. It's sort of like my handwriting as a movie director. And somewhere along the way, I think I've made the decision: I'm going to write in my own handwriting.” This strange creative ambition has somehow enabled and stifled his oeuvre all at once, and Isle of Dogs does not break the spell.
This film is more successful than previous forays into his universe for several reasons. One, there are more voices in the room. With credited writers including Anderson as well as Jason Schwartzman, Kunichi Nomura, and Roman Coppola (with whom he has previously collaborated), the overall tone feels more varied. Also, as bizarre as this may be, perhaps non-humans are a better vessel for Anderson’s mannerisms. Arrested development and singular motivations suit dogs, teenagers, and myopic politicians.
But we’re here for torrid takes, and Anderson making the same film again and again is hardly even balmy. So my fire ass take? Wes Anderson should make a bad movie. Isle of Dogs is good, very likable, but let’s feeeeeeeel something. Splurge the creative capital accrued over twenty years! Make an out-of-the-comfort-zone fever dream of a project. Make it sweaty and haggard and insane. For lest we forget, another Anderson had the guts to redraw his creative boundaries, and he emerged as the finest filmmaker of a generation.
Cultural Appropriation
Now to the takery core for some truly molten POVs. L.A. Times critic Justin Chang wrote an excellent review of Isle of Dogs. Paired with his praise, he asks some relevant questions about the film’s treatment of Japan as a place, people, and culture. Two of his critiques are resonant above the rest. One is the use of language. Dogs speak in English, and all others speak in their native tongue with no subtitles. Chang asserts the approach makes the Japanese characters foreigners in their own city. The other, our pro-dog resistance leader is played by a young white American woman who repeatedly pushes back against stereotypical Japanese timidity.
This conversation is frustrating but necessary. As Chang took the dialogue to social media, he offered there was nothing malicious about Anderson’s portrayal, but the dastardly trick of harmful representation is passing itself of as something benign. In the end, Chang’s argument delves into culture being used as a prop on no terms of its own. Anderson would likely make an impassioned defense citing hours of research, diligence to cultural aesthetic, time spent worshiping the heroes of Japanese cinema, but a narrow ledge separates tribute and fetishization.
“So, a white person can never make a movie about Japan?” one million anime avatars on Twitter cry out at once. No, instead it’s a call for artists and admirers of any culture to create space where they recognize their position as the outsider. A space to learn and to have their best held notions upended and to be surprised by a culture they believe to know. Anderson failed to create that space. Yes, the problem of xenophobia and some current politics color Isle of Dogs. As such, this comes off as more a problem of Anderson’s unyielding vision than it is willful appropriation, but any effort to gloss over this point makes for a nearsighted evaluation of the film.
This does not, for me, destroy the experience. In an effort to be a more empathic observer of art, it’s part of the conversation, but several other facets elevate Isle of Dogs to Anderson's most successful film in years. It may read as a cop out, but perhaps the searing takeaway from this film—whether in regard to cats, dogs, cinematic monotony, or cultural appropriation—is that nuance may be the most provocative take of all.
—Monte Monreal
The premise is incredibly thrifty. Framed by a legend about a boy samurai who defends dogs against the cat loving Kobayashi clan, we quickly jump to a now dystopian Megasaki City. An industrial, polluted hellscape, renewed anti-dog hysteria is at fever pitch. Dogs have been relocated to Trash Island, and young Atari goes on a quest to rescue his dog Spots. The narrative remains tightly wrapped around this concept as it runs the length of its lean 101 minutes. And along the way, there are some conspiratorial notes, cautious friendships, and valuable lessons learned.
Where this is all good and well, I’m really just here for the takes. And does any director give us more molehills to refashion into mountains than Wesley Wales Anderson? BRING ME ALL THE SPICY TAKES!
Cats/Cat People are Lame
People on world’s worst website, Twitter.com, are pissed about what they describe as the film’s, “anti-cat sentiment.” But if a hot take falls in the truth forest, is it just a fact? Yes, where Anderson seems like a human cat in a corduroy jacket, homie is a dog person. And therein lies Isle of Dogs’ easy hook: dogs are good and cute and smart and the best. And goodness, every time their little dog eyes well with tears? Effing bawling.
So much of the film’s kindness is lived through our titular dogs. Where their interactions are stilted and emotionally distant—Anderson’s love language—the characterization fits the mind of a mutt. Kind in a perfunctory way, loyal as almost genetic predisposition, their sincerity is a welcome, warm infusion into Isle of Dogs. And where this film does trade in the cat versus dog versus their insane human companions cliche, the story is useful as a meditation on entrenched power. Where it comes from, the motivations behind, and this power as a profound corrupting force. The cats and dogs could have just as easily been swapped, but through this age old polarity Isle of Dogs asks s a more covert question: Why are there even sides?
All the same, dogs rule.
Wes Anderson Made the Same Movie...Again
If this is the axe, let me be your Tormach PSG 612 surface grinder. In a 2012 interview with Terry Gross, Anderson offered the following, “I have a way of filming things and staging them and designing sets. There were times when I thought I should change my approach, but in fact, this is what I like to do. It's sort of like my handwriting as a movie director. And somewhere along the way, I think I've made the decision: I'm going to write in my own handwriting.” This strange creative ambition has somehow enabled and stifled his oeuvre all at once, and Isle of Dogs does not break the spell.
This film is more successful than previous forays into his universe for several reasons. One, there are more voices in the room. With credited writers including Anderson as well as Jason Schwartzman, Kunichi Nomura, and Roman Coppola (with whom he has previously collaborated), the overall tone feels more varied. Also, as bizarre as this may be, perhaps non-humans are a better vessel for Anderson’s mannerisms. Arrested development and singular motivations suit dogs, teenagers, and myopic politicians.
But we’re here for torrid takes, and Anderson making the same film again and again is hardly even balmy. So my fire ass take? Wes Anderson should make a bad movie. Isle of Dogs is good, very likable, but let’s feeeeeeeel something. Splurge the creative capital accrued over twenty years! Make an out-of-the-comfort-zone fever dream of a project. Make it sweaty and haggard and insane. For lest we forget, another Anderson had the guts to redraw his creative boundaries, and he emerged as the finest filmmaker of a generation.
Cultural Appropriation
Now to the takery core for some truly molten POVs. L.A. Times critic Justin Chang wrote an excellent review of Isle of Dogs. Paired with his praise, he asks some relevant questions about the film’s treatment of Japan as a place, people, and culture. Two of his critiques are resonant above the rest. One is the use of language. Dogs speak in English, and all others speak in their native tongue with no subtitles. Chang asserts the approach makes the Japanese characters foreigners in their own city. The other, our pro-dog resistance leader is played by a young white American woman who repeatedly pushes back against stereotypical Japanese timidity.
This conversation is frustrating but necessary. As Chang took the dialogue to social media, he offered there was nothing malicious about Anderson’s portrayal, but the dastardly trick of harmful representation is passing itself of as something benign. In the end, Chang’s argument delves into culture being used as a prop on no terms of its own. Anderson would likely make an impassioned defense citing hours of research, diligence to cultural aesthetic, time spent worshiping the heroes of Japanese cinema, but a narrow ledge separates tribute and fetishization.
“So, a white person can never make a movie about Japan?” one million anime avatars on Twitter cry out at once. No, instead it’s a call for artists and admirers of any culture to create space where they recognize their position as the outsider. A space to learn and to have their best held notions upended and to be surprised by a culture they believe to know. Anderson failed to create that space. Yes, the problem of xenophobia and some current politics color Isle of Dogs. As such, this comes off as more a problem of Anderson’s unyielding vision than it is willful appropriation, but any effort to gloss over this point makes for a nearsighted evaluation of the film.
This does not, for me, destroy the experience. In an effort to be a more empathic observer of art, it’s part of the conversation, but several other facets elevate Isle of Dogs to Anderson's most successful film in years. It may read as a cop out, but perhaps the searing takeaway from this film—whether in regard to cats, dogs, cinematic monotony, or cultural appropriation—is that nuance may be the most provocative take of all.
—Monte Monreal
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