Wes Anderson's previous effort, Rushmore, was in my opinion unclassifiable. Despite having seen it three or four times I haven't yet come close enough to being able to give it a just review. It's brilliant, of that there is no doubt, but its genius is so complex, so often hiding itself before jumping out at you unexpectedly, that I couldn't write a review of it even if I tried. So it is with The Royal Tenenbaums, only this time I have to write something because I just saw it and it's sadly my job now. Goddammit.
The Tenenbaums are a family of geniuses who, over a period of twenty or so years, have suffered a series of disasters, catastrophes and personal tragedies. The father, Royal (Hackman), has been estranged from his wife, Etheline (Huston), since their children were very young. She in turn was left to raise their three young progedies on her own; Chas (Stiller), the financial whizzkid, Richie (Luke Wilson), the tennis superstar, and Margot (Paltrow), a brilliant playwright. His absence after twenty years from a serious part of their lives begins to grate and in a last gasp effort to become their father again, he fakes a mortal illness and moves back into their house to see out his 'final days'. For various reasons his children move back as well, Chas because ever since the death of his wife he fears for his own childrens safety, Margot because she is depressed and unable to communicate with her much older husband (Murray) and Richie, whose seemingly never ending round-the-world cruise/flight from frustration is getting boring. There are so many minor details, so many other characters, that I couldn't even begin to properly describe them. I will, but I warn you it won't be very comprehensive.
Like Rushmore this film is essentially an ensemble piece, each actor is a fully fleshed out character into whom life is breathed by a cast who fit their roles almost symbiotically. Hackman for instance is perfect as the schemeful, uncaring patriarch whose brash honesty causes everlasting friction; Glover a surprising delight as the dignified new suitor of Huston's equally graceful mother; Paltrow suitably moody as the permanently depressed Margot and Luke Wilson, giving what will surely be his true breakthrough performance, a near replica of a man suffering the pain of unrequited love. Anderson's ability to get the best out of his stars is the key to the film, and the stuffing of the smaller supporting roles with his friends and neighbours leaves you constantly thinking 'Yes! He was in Rushmore too!'.
The film has a style all of its own, from the wholly original choice of soundtrack - which not only features a selection of pieces by Anderson stalwart Mark Mothersbaugh, but also brilliant tracks by the likes of the Rolling Stones, Elliott Smith (whose best work is always for the medium of film) and Nico - to the ramshackle and utterly out-of-place house the family lives in. Everything appears to have been chosen to evoke a kind of august elegance contrasting with decadent decay. Glover and Murray wear beautifully ugly suits and sport impressive beards, Stiller a permanent red tracksuit (black for funerals) and Owen Wilson a bizarre Western-style selection of clothing. Its like seeing the 70's, a kind of twisted Brady Bunch family, living in the nineties and not having any of it intrude on their way of life. The people they meet, the places they go, it is they who change and appreciate them, not the other way round.
This is the secret of Anderson's film-making style; he presents to the audience a group of people, who in any other film would be a selection of peculiar loners, and makes them the kind of people you want to be friends with, or whose family you would want to be a part of. Owen Wilson's character Eli sums it up best when he says near the end, 'I always wanted to be a Tenenbaum', and frankly me too Eli, me too. |
