The Wes Anderson Complex

People love themselves. Even people who hate themselves really, in fact, love themselves. That is the twisted fact of life. Artists, being perceptive as they are, were quick to figure this out and have thus began to make pretty things that show people loving themselves and encourage others to love themselves. This is quite clearly seen in film. Thus enter what I like to call The Wes Anderson Complex.

Wes Anderson is the mind behind The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and most recently The Darjeeling Limited. These movies generally include some family issues between some funny, awkward, and emotionally stunted people, one of which is always struggling writer. They will include Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, and Anjelica Huston. These movies are quiet, simple and beautifully filmed with great use of color and position and props.

I pick on Wes Anderson, not because he is the only one who does this, but because he represents someone who has made millions creating movies that are all about people loving themselves in to misery. If you have seen these movies, this might seem a little strange since most of his characters do not appear to not be very pleased with themselves, don't like life, and are way to fashionable to be cliche enough to love themselves.



->Owen Wilson: "Come on guys, pray to something. It might fulfill you."




But the unfortunate reality of existentialism is that it always and absolutely leads to narcissism. To attempt to put existentialism in simple terms: When someone accepts the assumption that the only thing he can know for sure is that he exists. Next, assuming he does not commit suicide, he is free to go about making for himself what ever life he wants with what ever set of morality he wants, and draw meaning from whatever he wants. An existential catch phrase is that existence precedes essence. That is, we exist and then make what ever essence we want. We assign ourselves to be human or family oriented or money oriented, etc. There are many branches and theories that go with existentialism but that is the main gist.

The problem is that the 'journey to meaning' is never cut and dry or complete. Since everything is jacked up, nothing will ever completely give concrete meaning to life. So existentialist are continually looking inwards asking the eternal question, "What fulfills me?" It is all about themselves being fulfilled. Sure they will do nice things if it fulfills them, but the second it doesn't they move on to something else.

I say this like there is a organized group of existentialist out there that meet and stuff. The truth is that most people are existential, though they wouldn't call them selves that by name. And who would want to meet with a bunch of people who are shoveling anything they can into their fulfillment hole? Its not a pretty site. Just visit any given frat party for an example.

Wes Anderson's characters are just confused, immature people that stylishly bumble through life craving meaning. At least one in each movie is having an affair, drugs are involved, and there are plenty of obscure, colorful hobbies.

Generally I enjoy these kinds of movie. But, like with most movies, there is the proverbial step back and once that is taken, the childish, narcissistic pettiness of these wasteful rich people becomes unbearable.

The witty and intellectual generally like these movies because the characters are rich and stylish enough to live the artsy and posh existential journey we all wish we could have but typically can't - at least not to the full extent - because our journeys get inhibited by things like a job and the desire not to starve to death . This appeals to our pride and the fleeting high of selfishness. Even when we loathe ourselves, we still like to dwell on how much we loathe ourselves. The shivers of artsy-ness travel down our spine as we think how edgy we are that we can be honest and can really loathe ourselves. Just as Hank Moody.

To put this genre in even more context of reality consider a man, sad from his wealthy father's recent death, takes his inheritance and lives in an expensive hotel in Paris for a few months doing nothing but missing his ex. This is the story of the Wes Anderson short and prequel to The Darjeeling Limited, Hotel Chevalier. Now think about this in context of the rampant need of people all over the world. While he is enjoying his little narcissistic pity party, thousands of children die from hunger and young girls are sold in to the sex slave industry, amongst other tragedies. The absurdity of thinking oneself important enough to merit so much time and money resounds.

This is not to say that it is not important to know oneself. It is to say that one will never grow, change, or know oneself when one isolates and turns inward. People, loving them, helping them, knowing them, are how we become the people we hope to be. We might not know who, why, or what, but being stagnant and stationary is not the way to answer these questions. Move forward, and do life. Waiting to figure it out before you start will lead to a futile and petty existence.

And once again Dostoevsky said it best