Bright Wall/Dark Room.
3 months ago
permalink
Admittedly, we’ve been entirely too Wes-centric around here lately, but we couldn’t not mention his birthday and all.
And so: a Very Happy 45th Birthday to Wesley Wales Anderson.

Admittedly, we’ve been entirely too Wes-centric around here lately, but we couldn’t not mention his birthday and all.

And so: a Very Happy 45th Birthday to Wesley Wales Anderson.

Comments
3 months ago
permalink

Excerpt from the new issue: Alexandra Tanner on violence, love, and emotion in the films of Wes Anderson and Paul Thomas Anderson:

It’s true that we can’t think of the Andersons as the Andersons in the way that we think of the Coens as the Coens or the Wachowskis as the Wachowskis. They are not related; they do not make films together. There isn’t even a single photograph of the two of them together—at least not one readily available on the internet. (Believe me, if there were, it would be the background wallpaper on every electronic device I own.) 

However. I think the Andersons are united not simply in name, but actually have between them some unnameable but indisputable communion: some on-the-down-low meeting of minds that manifests not necessarily as aesthetic homage or dialogic in-joke, but rather as a strange, stunning, and unmistakable set of patterns in the emotional landscape of both men’s films. Their work revolves singularly around a core of emotional violence—of weird, raw love—of caring for another person or place or thing or idea so deeply that it manifests as actual pain. For all of their seemingly disparate aesthetic interests, strengths, weaknesses, writing styles, directing styles, and lifestyles, both Andersons have an innate and profound understanding of all the different things that could (and often do) happen when humans are pushed to the edges of their emotional capacities.”

To read the rest of this essay, purchase an online copy of our brand new issue for just $1, or a monthly subscription for $2.

Comments
3 months ago
permalink
"To some, The Grand Budapest Hotel and its careful editing around the violent horrors of World War II is making light of the war’s atrocities. However, I would argue that, like the pastries that are used to disguise the tools Gustave uses to escape the prison, Anderson is disguising his real message in the shape of something light-hearted and beautiful. Although his movie is entertaining and funny, he is still making a very specific play on the nature of memory and storytelling. Like children’s cartoons that often disguise deep messages lost on adults, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a caper that masks a commentary on the insidious nature of fascism. It is seen in what is not seen, blurred by the black bars on either side of the screen. Memory makes it tolerable, even entertaining, because that is often the only way we are able to consume the horrors of the past.”

—Michelle Said on The Grand Budapest Hotel, Bright Wall/Dark Room, Issue #11, April 2014)

"To some, The Grand Budapest Hotel and its careful editing around the violent horrors of World War II is making light of the war’s atrocities. However, I would argue that, like the pastries that are used to disguise the tools Gustave uses to escape the prison, Anderson is disguising his real message in the shape of something light-hearted and beautiful. Although his movie is entertaining and funny, he is still making a very specific play on the nature of memory and storytelling. Like children’s cartoons that often disguise deep messages lost on adults, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a caper that masks a commentary on the insidious nature of fascism. It is seen in what is not seen, blurred by the black bars on either side of the screen. Memory makes it tolerable, even entertaining, because that is often the only way we are able to consume the horrors of the past.”


—Michelle Said on The Grand Budapest Hotel, Bright Wall/Dark Room, Issue #11, April 2014)

Comments
3 months ago
permalink
"…while a PG-rated stop-motion film based on a childrens’ story is definitely a departure for the filmmaker, Fantastic Mr. Fox is still completely and wholly a Wes Anderson film.  Like his other films, there is a color palette here: this one features mustard yellow, candy apple red, and hen brown—with textures of animal fur and gray tweed and corduroy. 
What is it in Wes Anderson’s heart that is so old ? Clint Eastwood is a 138-year-old man and he has made films that are more relevant to these times than Anderson. Can you imagine an Xbox Kinect in a Wes Anderson film? Maybe in the year 2050. Can you imagine if, in The Royal Tenenbaums, Richie Tenenbaum told Eli Cash that he’s in love with his own sister via text message? Or if Raleigh St. Clair updated his Facebook status to “You’ve made a cuckold of me”. What if Rushmore’s Harold Blume had made his fortune in bluetooth headsets? Even now, as I try to imagine the most technologically-advanced item in any Wes Anderson film, it may be the radio transmitter Steve Zissou has implanted in the diving helmets in The Life Aquatic, or possibly the laminator Francis’s bald assistant Brendan must own in The Darjeeling Limited.
I happened upon Rushmore airing abridged on the USA network during the summer vacation between 7th and 8th grade, a secretly strange adolescent who kept an outfit diary, practiced new handwriting styles for the forthcoming school year, and had an eleven step plan to achieving popularity, implemented with occasional success at the baker’s dozen or so schools that I attended. Would I have eventually seen Rushmore, some night in a freshman dormitory? Probably so. But instead I saw it precisely at an age of infinite impression, and it undoubtedly affected me. I started nearly-exclusively wearing men’s ties, polyester from yard sales, glitter eye shadow, and ancient coats that were either much too small or far too big for me. They smelled like damp, aged basements. I collected records for years, heaved them around from place to place in U.S. Postal Service mail bins, reinforced with heavy wire. I’d have nothing to play them on for five years. 
Wes Anderson’s movies just feel right to me, filled with the kind of detail for an archetype, a decade, a side table, or a shirt collar that fellow obsessives can surely appreciate.” 

—Bebe Ballroom, on Wes Anderson and Fantastic Mr. Fox ("I’m Trying to Tell You The Truth About Myself", Bright Wall/Dark Room, Issue #11)

"…while a PG-rated stop-motion film based on a childrens’ story is definitely a departure for the filmmaker, Fantastic Mr. Fox is still completely and wholly a Wes Anderson film.  Like his other films, there is a color palette here: this one features mustard yellow, candy apple red, and hen brown—with textures of animal fur and gray tweed and corduroy.

What is it in Wes Anderson’s heart that is so old ? Clint Eastwood is a 138-year-old man and he has made films that are more relevant to these times than Anderson. Can you imagine an Xbox Kinect in a Wes Anderson film? Maybe in the year 2050. Can you imagine if, in The Royal Tenenbaums, Richie Tenenbaum told Eli Cash that he’s in love with his own sister via text message? Or if Raleigh St. Clair updated his Facebook status to “You’ve made a cuckold of me”. What if Rushmore’s Harold Blume had made his fortune in bluetooth headsets? Even now, as I try to imagine the most technologically-advanced item in any Wes Anderson film, it may be the radio transmitter Steve Zissou has implanted in the diving helmets in The Life Aquatic, or possibly the laminator Francis’s bald assistant Brendan must own in The Darjeeling Limited.

I happened upon Rushmore airing abridged on the USA network during the summer vacation between 7th and 8th grade, a secretly strange adolescent who kept an outfit diary, practiced new handwriting styles for the forthcoming school year, and had an eleven step plan to achieving popularity, implemented with occasional success at the baker’s dozen or so schools that I attended. Would I have eventually seen Rushmore, some night in a freshman dormitory? Probably so. But instead I saw it precisely at an age of infinite impression, and it undoubtedly affected me. I started nearly-exclusively wearing men’s ties, polyester from yard sales, glitter eye shadow, and ancient coats that were either much too small or far too big for me. They smelled like damp, aged basements. I collected records for years, heaved them around from place to place in U.S. Postal Service mail bins, reinforced with heavy wire. I’d have nothing to play them on for five years.

Wes Anderson’s movies just feel right to me, filled with the kind of detail for an archetype, a decade, a side table, or a shirt collar that fellow obsessives can surely appreciate.”

—Bebe Ballroom, on Wes Anderson and Fantastic Mr. Fox ("I’m Trying to Tell You The Truth About Myself", Bright Wall/Dark Room, Issue #11)

Comments
permalink
Comments
3 months ago
permalink
Guess what?! 

Our fabulous art director and lead illustrator, Brianna Ashby, is now selling selected prints of her Bright Wall/Dark Room artwork from the past year—including this gorgeous Fantastic Mr. Fox watercolor portrait from our latest issue—for very reasonable prices.

There are currently 8 different prints available, and you’d be silly not to buy at least one as soon as humanly possible. To view and/or buy Brianna’s work, click here!

Guess what?!

Our fabulous art director and lead illustrator, Brianna Ashby, is now selling selected prints of her Bright Wall/Dark Room artwork from the past year—including this gorgeous Fantastic Mr. Fox watercolor portrait from our latest issue—for very reasonable prices.

There are currently 8 different prints available, and you’d be silly not to buy at least one as soon as humanly possible. To view and/or buy Brianna’s work, click here!

Comments
3 months ago
permalink
"Anderson describes The Royal Tenenbaums as a film about people who peaked early, whose best years are perhaps past.  In a way, the movie interrogates the implications: childhood and genius are two cherished states in Western art and culture.  Both seem to offer a less fractured sense of self; to allow one to conquer what might otherwise be unbearable; to be celebrated for achievements and indulged in unruly behaviors.
But the Tenenbaums’ genius is more coping mechanism than gift.  Royal is a pathological father – negligent toward Chas and his adopted daughter Margot, doting upon Richie only until his failure on the tennis court.  Royal possesses the same childish vendettas and selfish goals as Rushmore’s Max Fischer.  His wounded children seem to have been formed in reaction, elaborating their own intense interests and abilities to remedy his neglect.”
—Karina Wolf on The Royal Tenenbaums, "Les Enfants Terribles" (Bright Wall/Dark Room Magazine, Issue #11, April 2014)

"Anderson describes The Royal Tenenbaums as a film about people who peaked early, whose best years are perhaps past.  In a way, the movie interrogates the implications: childhood and genius are two cherished states in Western art and culture.  Both seem to offer a less fractured sense of self; to allow one to conquer what might otherwise be unbearable; to be celebrated for achievements and indulged in unruly behaviors.

But the Tenenbaums’ genius is more coping mechanism than gift.  Royal is a pathological father – negligent toward Chas and his adopted daughter Margot, doting upon Richie only until his failure on the tennis court.  Royal possesses the same childish vendettas and selfish goals as Rushmore’s Max Fischer.  His wounded children seem to have been formed in reaction, elaborating their own intense interests and abilities to remedy his neglect.”

—Karina Wolf on The Royal Tenenbaums, "Les Enfants Terribles" (Bright Wall/Dark Room Magazine, Issue #11, April 2014)

Comments
3 months ago
permalink
(illustration by Brianna Ashby)
"Bottle Rocket's great achievement, really the cornerstone of Anderson's whole career, is there even without any of the bold flourishes. It's in his un-ironic appreciation of genuine wonder, expressed in his characters' heartrending desire for love and understanding. It's there later when Zissou admits that twelve is his favourite age, when Royal embraces his inner child, when the Whitmans shuck off their heavy baggage, when Sam and Suzy declare their beach the Moonrise Kingdom. But it starts with Bottle Rocket.”
—Daniel Reynolds, "Growing Up with Bottle Rocket” (Bright Wall/Dark Room,Issue #11, April 2014)

(illustration by Brianna Ashby)

"Bottle Rocket's great achievement, really the cornerstone of Anderson's whole career, is there even without any of the bold flourishes. It's in his un-ironic appreciation of genuine wonder, expressed in his characters' heartrending desire for love and understanding. It's there later when Zissou admits that twelve is his favourite age, when Royal embraces his inner child, when the Whitmans shuck off their heavy baggage, when Sam and Suzy declare their beach the Moonrise Kingdom. But it starts with Bottle Rocket.”

—Daniel Reynolds"Growing Up with Bottle Rocket (Bright Wall/Dark Room,Issue #11, April 2014)

Comments
3 months ago
permalink

"Dignan appears from a life of quixotic schemes, a world where he is the hero of his own action movie, a leader of men. Owen’s energy is infectious. He was 26 when Bottle Rocket came out, with a crew cut and an incredibly broken nose, but he may just as well have been 13.”


—Daniel Reynolds, "Growing Up with Bottle Rocket (Bright Wall/Dark Room, Issue #11, April 2014)

Comments
permalink
“The Andersons know violence and vengeance and they know love and compassion, and they know how to render these strange, often scary states of being honestly and gorgeously in ways that consistently surprise and confound. Think about how a viewer, after watching Rushmore and Magnolia back-to-back, would likely be hard-pressed to say with any real confidence whether Max Fischer loves his teacher Rosemary Cross any more than Quiz Kid Donnie Smith loves Brad, the bartender with the braces on his teeth. These mad and needy and bonkers-in-love relationships, among countless others that appear throughout each Anderson’s oeuvre, are never weighed or measured—rather, they’re rendered patiently and honestly, with compassion and complete openness in equal measure.  
We connect deeply to the Andersons’ films because each envelops us in a world that has been built for us from the ground up—and as each film starts to make sense to us, it becomes a sort of touchstone that aligns aesthetic and emotion. The world of Boogie Nights looks and sounds like this; watching Fantastic Mr. Fox makes me feel like that. Together, their films begin to offer us comfort and structure and familiarity (doesn’t watching the opening sequence of The Royal Tenenbaums feel rather a lot like listening to a favorite bedtime story?). The deeper reason, however, that we respond to these films in the ways we do, is that they let us see a hidden sliver of ourselves and of those around us. They let us flirt with danger, speed-date the scarier parts of our personalities, and then emerge with a larger, fuller understanding of the real ranges of our emotional lives. They let us try on the skins of people who are murderous or meek or desperately in love (or just desperate) and see how we feel about it. See what fits us best.”

—Alexandra Tanner, "I Just Wanna Feel Everything" (Bright Wall/Dark Room magazine, April 2014)
 

The Andersons know violence and vengeance and they know love and compassion, and they know how to render these strange, often scary states of being honestly and gorgeously in ways that consistently surprise and confound. Think about how a viewer, after watching Rushmore and Magnolia back-to-back, would likely be hard-pressed to say with any real confidence whether Max Fischer loves his teacher Rosemary Cross any more than Quiz Kid Donnie Smith loves Brad, the bartender with the braces on his teeth. These mad and needy and bonkers-in-love relationships, among countless others that appear throughout each Anderson’s oeuvre, are never weighed or measured—rather, they’re rendered patiently and honestly, with compassion and complete openness in equal measure.  

We connect deeply to the Andersons’ films because each envelops us in a world that has been built for us from the ground up—and as each film starts to make sense to us, it becomes a sort of touchstone that aligns aesthetic and emotion. The world of Boogie Nights looks and sounds like this; watching Fantastic Mr. Fox makes me feel like that. Together, their films begin to offer us comfort and structure and familiarity (doesn’t watching the opening sequence of The Royal Tenenbaums feel rather a lot like listening to a favorite bedtime story?). The deeper reason, however, that we respond to these films in the ways we do, is that they let us see a hidden sliver of ourselves and of those around us. They let us flirt with danger, speed-date the scarier parts of our personalities, and then emerge with a larger, fuller understanding of the real ranges of our emotional lives. They let us try on the skins of people who are murderous or meek or desperately in love (or just desperate) and see how we feel about it. See what fits us best.”

—Alexandra Tanner, "I Just Wanna Feel Everything" (Bright Wall/Dark Room magazine, April 2014)

 

Comments
Powered by Tumblr Designed by:Doinwork