Wes Anderson & Masculinity ~ University Dissertation
Research Report:
LOST BOYS, FATHERHOOD AND NOSTALGIA: TO WHAT EXTENT DO THE FILMS OF WES ANDERSON EXPLORE AND SUBVERT TRADITIONAL AND MAINSTREAM REPRESENTATIONS OF MASCULINITY?
Samuel Papidas - 1702422
BA (Hons) Film and Moving Image Production
Norwich University of the Arts
November 2019
Extended Essay
Word Count: 5498
ABSTRACT
The discourse surrounding understandings and representations of masculinity in all of its multifaceted forms is important not only for the development of young men’s personal identities but to the overall health of our society. This essay seeks to explore the ways in which Director Wes Anderson, in his position as a studio-funded but distinctly independent filmmaker is able to present subversive and diversifying ideas about masculinity to his audience. It establishes and describes the historical and mainstream context that Anderson films exist in, to identify the extent to which he propagates or subverts mainstream western concepts of masculinity. Anderson’s films explore the recurring themes in mainstream cinema of men disenfranchised with their place in the world, their search for a male identity, and the issues surrounding a lack of strong father-figures that can help guide these men. His distinctive aesthetic that evokes nostalgia is a tool used to highlight the importance of balancing traits conventionally associated with older men and boys: this mutually beneficial relationship between father and son being shown as vital for the healthy development of both parties. However, while Anderson presents male characters and relationships in a way that subverts traditional representations, his male-dominated films and golden-age evocation of the past invite the risk of more ‘old-fashioned’, toxic masculine traits being normalised.
CONTENTS
Introduction page
Chapter 1 - Historical and Mainstream Context
Chapter 2 - Lost Boys and Quiet Women
Chapter 3 - Patriarchy and Bad Fathers
Chapter 4 - Nostalgia and Famous Faces
Conclusion
Bibliography
Introduction
This essay seeks to explore representations of masculine identity in Anderson’s films, and to what extent these align with, or subvert, traditional and mainstream representations of masculinity. Anderson’s status as a well-established yet distinctly independent director, belonging to the ‘Indiewood’ offshoot from traditional Hollywood, allows him to explore a more personal understanding and presentation of the men in his films. This personal, auteurial style allows his films to diversify representations and contemporary understandings of masculinity, as he crafts more distinctive and unique characters than the idealised and hegemonic male heroes that have dominated mainstream cinema for decades.
Furthermore, we can see other key thematic and character similarities emerge alongside Anderson’s distinctive aesthetic style. Self-understanding and relationships 'highlighting our society's troubling failures in the realm of fatherhood' (Susanka, 2010) are apparent across all of his films: the self-discovery and search for identity, for manhood, of a young boy and his relationship with an older male mentor, and a father figure’s attempt to maintain his patriarchal status; while perfunctory females find themselves within inevitable ‘love triangles’. While Susanka (2010) points out that ‘the artificiality of his settings and the peculiarity of his tone are often attributed to insincerity’, Anderson presents and explores genuine and realistic depictions of different stages of manhood.
Another crucial aspect of Anderson’s films and the masculinity within them is the concept of nostalgia ingrained in his work. As Zacharek (2014) remarks, 'His ascent in pop culture has coincided roughly with the renewed popularity of hand-knitting as a hobby.', suggesting a similar appeal in Anderson’s meticulously crafted aesthetic, and it is clear through his settings, production-design (making use of retro props, particularly 1970s clothes, and analogue rather than digital technology), and score, that his films offer a respite in the warmth of the past. However, this whimsical, reminiscent, borderline ‘golden-age-thinking’ approach results in some more harmful representations of masculine identities and characters being echoed through his films thereby inviting the risk of them being seen as idealistic to modern audiences.
Chapter 1- Historical and Mainstream Context
Masculinity as a concept and within film is complex and constantly evolving. When we look back we often categorise understandings of men by their violence, strength and repressed emotional depth. Though if we look back even further, we can find historical examples of masculine identity that are very different. For example, heterosexual European men in the renaissance would often openly discuss their love and affection for other men, in a way that was not regarded as taboo or even effeminate (Reeser, 2010, pg.2); this shows how the tides of attitudes surrounding masculinity ebb and flow with the years and socio-economic evolution. Reeser argues that 'there is no single creator of masculinity, [and] there is no ordinary form of it either', which relates to Butler’s (1990) theory that gender is performative, and constructed through a series of repeated acts.
What has been called the ‘old man’ (Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg 113) understanding of masculine identity, which defined the 1940s and 1950s (Edwards, 2003), is categorised by archetypal and hegemonic presentations of men as the dominant and assertive breadwinners, in particular in their relationship with, and opposition to, women. This is termed the ‘old’ man because of its outdated, simplistic and patriarchal presentation of men, (Mackinnon, 2003). This approach to masculine identity is contextualised by a time of social upheaval and men who feel undermined and lost in their society. ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ (1955), encapsulates the struggles of a young man, Jim (James Dean) and his resentment towards his submissive and largely absent father. In the film’s post-war setting, despite what is conventionally considered the standard, American nuclear family of housekeeping-wife and breadwinning-husband, the reality was that many men returned home to find women emerging from their conventional gender roles, to join a workforce depleted as men went to war. Jim’s father is seen as weaker and less dominant in his household than his wife, which appears to be a progressive concept, but the contemporary reaction to this is reflected in the line from Jim: 'If only Dad had the guts to knock Mom cold once'. This film, and other contemporary examples explored the idea of lost young men searching for their identity as men, and absent father figures and the need to replace them, something we see echoed in many of Anderson's films.
As society and cinema evolved, the type of masculinity portrayed on our screens changed. In the 1980s, the ‘new’ man emerged, though the ‘old’ man's characteristics, as well as patriarchal and clearly defined gender roles, still permeate not only film but the foundations of western society. John Beynon identified that within this ‘new’ type of masculinity, exist two strains of man: the new man as ‘nurturer’ and new man as ‘narcissist’ (Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg. 116). The ‘nurturer’ is identified as being non-sexist, believing in gender equality, educated, liberal and willing to engage in shared gender roles, seeing women as equals, caring about their pleasure sexually while also being able to have non-sexual female friends.
The ‘narcissistic’ man is 'fashion-conscious and health-conscious' and as these areas of interest (such as appearance, emotion and sexuality) are conventionally female, the 'new man seems to have “feminized” masculinity' (Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg. 116-117). The ‘nurturer’ is the least favoured of the two in film, often being confined to niche groups, such as hippies and charity workers, rather than heroic leading men. Roweana Chapman’s essay ‘The Great Pretender’ (1988) suggests this is due to the nurturer’s difficulty in being part of the 'consumerist ethos' (Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg. 116).
Hypermasculinity is 'a psychological term for the exaggeration of male stereotypical behaviours such as an emphasis on physical strength, aggression and sexuality while exhibiting emotional self-control as a sign of toughness' (Siddhanta, 2015). Arnold Schwarzenegger and his films are prime examples of Hollywood's presentation of, and importance given to 'visibility of the male body and specifically the spotlighting of muscles as “natural” signs of masculine power' (Kac-Vergne, 2012). Terminator (Cameron, 1984), and other iconic films from the American New Wave such as Taxi Driver (Scorcese, 1976), Rocky (Avildsen, 1976) along with the Bond franchise (1962-), which saw restrictions on 'language, adult content and sexuality, and violence [loosen] up' (Dirks, 2019), idolised men who use violence and their physique as a key part of their identity.
The 1990s, the contextual setting for Anderson’s early films, saw a few key developments and continuations in the portrayals of masculinity on screen and in society. Milestone and Meyer outline the emergence of the ‘metrosexual’, with similar characteristics to the ‘new’ man, aligning himself with gender equality and knowledgeable about fashion (2012, pg,117). As the 1990s continued we find a '(re)emergence' of another discourse of masculinity, referred to as the ‘new lad’ (Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg. 117). Imelda Whelehan characterises the ‘new lad’ as ‘part soccer-thug, part lager-lout, part arrant sexist’ (2000, pg. 58, cited in Milestone & Meyer, 2012, pg. 118). The ‘new lad’ can be seen as a response to the social change and feminism of previous decades, expressing a conservatism and objectification of women, presented through immature sexual banter, rejecting the liberalism of the ‘new man’, returning to many of the attitudes of the ‘old man’. This informed a new generation of hyper-violent films that showcased drinking, sex and violence, football hooligans and gangsters, such as ‘Snatch’ (Ritchie, 2000). Again, we find young men discontent with their position in society and the changing world around them, and this 'low esteem among many young men, an inability to form social bonds or to relate to society are seen as one of the causes of rising crime and a crisis in masculinity' (Bancroft, cited in Connor 1998).
This disenfranchisement is central to ‘Fight Club’ (Fincher, 1999), which sees men seek out violence as a means of reclaiming their identity. As the Narrator (Edward Norton) reveals, before Fight Club a man’s 'ass was a wad of cookie dough. [But] after a few weeks, he was carved out wood', presenting violence as a means of strengthening and improving men, returning to the traditional notion of a man who is physically and mentally strong. This is also a direct response to men feeling ignored and the patriarchal order of society, that benefited them, being attacked, Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) lamenting 'We’re a generation raised by women' and the 'middle children of history. No purpose or place... Our Great War’s a spiritual war… Our Great Depression is our lives.' (Fight Club, 1999). These views parallel the spiritual, rather than physical or violent, journeys Anderson’s characters navigate, and the prevalence of absent father figures. Ultimately, the discontent felt by men can be seen as a response to the growing presence of women in traditionally male domains, as Clare concludes: 'In this feminist revolution, male power is being overthrown. Men, like colonists seeing their empire crumble, don't like what is happening.' (2000)
Chapter 2 - Lost Boys and Quiet Women
Whether it be the all-male gang in 'Bottle Rocket', the all-boys school in 'Rushmore' (1998) or the crew of the Belafonte in 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' (2005), Anderson’s oeuvre reveals his infatuation with male characters over female ones. Burlingame (2005) comments that his films 'feature only two or three female characters who speak more than a couple [of] lines', and while they are often integral to the plot, it is in a much more perfunctory fashion, existing only to facilitate the interests and adventures of, or as rewards for, the male characters.
‘Rushmore’ is a coming of age tale of a teenage boy, 15-year-old Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman), navigating his way into manhood. Here we see the appearance of the persistent theme of men searching for a means to reclaim or identify their place in the world. We see Max act out and learn the reality of his own ideas of what it means to be a man. When he is introduced in the first scene, it is a daydreamed fantasy about solving an impossible maths problem, to the adulation of his classmates. Later he repeatedly lies about his father being a barber, preferring to say he is a neurosurgeon, highlighting his obsession with image and status. This is further seen in Max’s final play, which positions him as a wise-cracking, helicopter-abseiling, Vietnam war hero, something apparently based entirely on his naive glamorization of war, reflecting a film and TV education of masculinity.
Max also lives out his naive fantasies of adulthood and masculinity is in his inappropriate courting of a female teacher, Rosemary Cross (Olivia Williams). His own male journey is prioritized over her interests, highlighted when she asks 'Has it ever crossed your mind you're far too young for me?' to which Max dismissively replies 'it crossed my mind that you might consider that a possibility'. A key instance of Max’s objectives violating Ms Cross’ comfort is when he comes to see her at the childhood room of her deceased husband, entering through the window, signify how he doesn't belong there. As he lies in her dead husband’s bed, literally in his place, he remarks 'So this is where it all happens'. Burlingame (2005) identifies this as a 'pushy, naïve kid’s parroting of a cliché he’s heard —sort of like the plays he writes that rip off movies or someone else’s real-life story' but potentially more deeply Anderson is telling us that this is where men must prove their 'mettle'. Here we are seeing the influence of Max’s misguided understandings of masculinity, paralleling the immature attitudes of contemporary ‘lad’ culture, and he naively tries to live up to the concept that it is important for men to have sex and women are little more than things to have sex with. But Max’s sensitivity and aversion to the actual reality of living out his fantasy show him to be more aligned with the nurturing new man, which we have noted is rarely showcased in mainstream leading men, and his exhibiting more misogynistic behaviours is Anderson commenting on the dangers of boys understanding of masculinity coming from the media and social pressure. Max is forced to confront this element of his male identity and his naivety when he is asked by Ms Cross if he thinks they’re going to have sex, to which he tries to respond in his dismissive fashion, saying he thinks 'That’s a kinda cheap way to put it'. Her rebuttal of 'not if you’ve ever fucked before, it isn’t', is a direct attack on Max's constructed facade of being the type of cool, charismatic, Bond-esque man he has seen in the media. Owen Wilson (Anderson’s co-writer and long-time collaborator) confirms in the DVD commentary, this is designed to 'puncture Max’s make-believe world'.
Karpan (2017) posits that it is a 'world established around a heterosexual farce that he engages with only because it requires him to do nothing', and that Anderson is making not only his characters but the audience, confront the reality behind their ideologically filtered perception of the world. He is highlighting the bitter complacency of the ‘new lad’ and patriarchal entitlement of the ‘old man’, and the cathartic growth we see in many of his characters is to start to reject the toxic aspect or falsehoods of their identity and recognise the value of a more childlike perception of the world. The importance of childhood wonder and adventure is at the heart of all of Anderson's films, reinforced visually through the storybook construction of his films, ‘Rushmore’ itself using theatre curtain chapter breaks.
Ms Cross’ motivations are respected less than Max’s story; her treatment by Max is representative of how Anderson utilises his other female characters in his male-centric stories. We can start to identify Anderson’s repeated use of quiet, complacent or deceased women. Anderson’s women cannot exist independently of men and find themselves almost always in some kind of love triangle. In ‘The Royal Tenenbaums’ (2001) Etheline Tenenbaum, (Anjelica Houston) despite acknowledgement of her personal success as an author and archaeologist, mainly fulfils the role of trophy in her estranged husband and her new fiance’s battle for her affection. In 'The Life Aquatic' Houston’s character, once again the main character’s estranged wife, has an even more perfunctory role, seeming to exist for no reason greater than stressing the rivalry between Zissou (Bill Murray) and a more popular captain (Jeff Goldblum) (Karpan, 2017).
Dead or absent mothers are a recurring theme in Anderson’s work; Ned’s in ‘The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou', Sam’s in 'Moonrise Kingdom' (2012), Chas’s wife and mother of his children in 'The Royal Tenenbaums' (2001), the brother’s missing mother in 'Darjeeling Limited' (2007) and of course Max’s. Even when they are present they often serve only as love interests, and any agency of their own is more often than not to the benefit of the men associated with them. Though some of his films pass the Bechdel Test (his most recent live-action feature ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ (2014) fails [Bechdel Test, 2014]) they do so by the skin of their teeth. Margot Tenenbaum (Gwyneth Paltrow) is a notable exception to the boys-only world of Anderson films, as she is a much more present character, with her own agency, quirks and identity that are comparable to her brothers. Karpan, however, is quick to limit the impact of her presence arguing it would 'ruin Anderson’s aesthetic to emphasize a female character, in the same manner, he does his men' and as such she is an outsider, adopted into the family. She is also not allowed to exist in isolation, and has a ‘doppelganger in the character of Eli Cash [Owen Wilson]’, who is also a writer (having written an uber-masculine, Cormac-McCarthy-styled historical fiction about Custer [Karpan, 2017]) and shows the matriarch of the family, Etheline, his newspaper clippings in a bid for validation, in the same way Margot longs for her father’s.
Chapter 3 - Patriarchy and Bad Fathers
Anderson’s films focus on his male characters trying to explore and find their male identity but in a wider sense 'the dynamics of family life are central' (Stewart-Rose, 2017) to his work. Anderson often confines his maternal figures to 'boxed into stay-at-home mothering roles, often directly sacrificing their careers', or simply being absent entirely, and even when they do attempt to take on both the caring and providing roles for their family, this is often at the 'sacrifice of her marriage and eventual familial collapse' (Stewart-Rose, 2017). A few analyses of Anderson’s work have posited that his own personal experiences of his parents’ divorce when he was eight are the source of his recurring exploration of parenthood, in particular fatherhood and the fallout of men failing to accept that mantle. The dichotomy we find in his work is between sons who are searching for a father figure and fathers who are failing in their mentor role, yet are still trying to maintain their hegemonic and patriarchal control over their lives and family. We can see his presentation of these relationships as a critique and exploration of the imbalance between Jung’s concepts of the puer aeternus and senex, the ‘eternal boy’ and the ‘wise old man’ (Sharp, 1991). Both of these archetypes are regarded as bipolar in their form, with positive and negative aspects: The puer covets freedom and spontaneity`, but is afraid of commitment (in psychology this often refers to a man who has undeveloped adolescent emotions, but we can see it as representative as the of the benefits and pitfalls of youth). Its shadow, senex, is often seen in literature as the archetypal wise-old-man and is disciplined and responsible, but psychologically lacks the spontaneity to live a well-rounded life. This relationship is at the heart of almost all of Anderson’s films to some extent, as is the importance of finding a balance between the two extremes, which he seems to say can only come from healthy father-son relationships: fathers teaching boys how to become men, and sons reminding men of the importance of youthfulness.
We can see this mutually beneficial exchange in Rushmore, just as Max looked to Mr Blume (Bill Murray) as an aspirational father figure, Blume’s 'existence is brightened by traits he picks up from Max' (Burlingame, 2005) and looks to Max for guidance over what he feels like he has lost in a stagnant life, asking 'What’s the secret, Max?...You seem to have it pretty figured out'. The importance of balance is again reinforced at the lowest point of their relationship when their feud causes Ms Cross to call them 'both little children', signifying the need of older men to embrace the responsibility their father-figure-hood demands.
‘The Royal Tenenbaums’ is Anderson’s most overt film about dysfunctional family dynamics and the men of the Tenenbaum family are constructed in a way to illustrate the elements of this dynamic. Royal (Gene Hackman) embodies the absent father trope with a puer immaturity and rejection of his responsibility, while simultaneously exhibiting the entitled patriarchal control seen in the ‘old man’ archetype, as he tries to reinsert himself into his family’s life by manipulating them with a fabricated diagnosis of terminal cancer. The film’s prologue, shows Royal constantly distancing himself from his responsibility as a father: he steals money from his business-savvy son Chas (Ben Stiller); repeatedly introduces Margot as his 'adopted daughter' devaluing his paternal connection to her; and while explaining his separation from their mother admits to having to make 'certain sacrifices as a result of having children', illustrating his discontent with fatherhood. He personifies the complacent yet insidious entitlement of society’s threatened patriarchal system, signified in Royal’s age and (though a manipulation tactic) his terminal sickness; paralleling the idea of men as 'colonist seeing their empire crumble' (Clare, 2000). Just as historically, when the comfort afforded to men’s dominant position in society is threatened they are spurred to action, Royal is only motivated to reconnect with his family when he is forced out of the hotel he has been staying in for the last 22 years, and when his estranged wife is proposed to by another man. Till this point, Royal has been able to enjoy a remote authority over his family, his absence contributing to the post-success slump we find his children in during the main events of the film. Even the title, 'The Royal Tenenbaums' dehumanises his estranged family to an extension of his persona.
His sons Chas and Richie (Luke Wilson) further serve as characterisations of the imbalance between puer and senex archetypes, and the effects of a lack of clear paternal guidance. We encounter the adult Richie, literally out at sea following a nervous breakdown, connoting his search for his identity, paralleling the theme of male characters through cinema history seeking their place in the world; he is still wearing the tennis headband we first saw him wearing as a child, signifying his role as the epitome of puer aeternus, suggesting Royal’s absence has affected his ability to find his place as a man. Chas conversely serves as a parody of the archetypal control of the senex, an over-exaggerated example of the controlling father-figure found in literature and filmography. Even in his youth, Chas is encoded as a more responsible and disciplined person than his father, working constantly to grow his business and living an ascetic lifestyle, the epitome of the rationality and order of the senex as well as men as the providers of the family. These traits are further exacerbated following the death of his wife - we see him obsessively testing his sons on their fire escape drills (after which he scolds them: 'four minutes, forty-eight seconds. We’re all dead.')
The transformation these characters go through as they reconnect is reflective of the belief Burlingame (2005) identifies as integral in Anderson’s exploration of masculinity, that the 'symbiotic relationship between boyish and manly behaviour' is vital for the healthy development of not only men’s personal identity but society as a whole. The importance of Chas and Royal’s relationship is signified by Chas being the only Tenenbaum present for Royal’s death. Royal introduced the spontaneity and fun missing from Chas’s son’s lives, arguing, 'you can’t raise boys to be scared of life. You’ve got to brew some recklessness into them.'; during the following montage, he takes them on outings where they race go-karts, ride a garbage truck and shoplift chocolate milk; 'an upbeat paean to perennial boyishness and playful delinquency' (Dilley, 2017). Conversely, we can see Chas helping Royal finally step up to his paternal duty and care for his children, best illustrated by the difference in Royal’s treatment of Chas’ mental state, initially tactlessly accusing him of 'having a nervous breakdown' and not being over the death of his wife when Chas is upset by the activities Royal took his sons on. Contrast this with the finale of the film, where Chas lets go of his ‘old man’ stoicism and admits, 'I’ve had a tough year, Dad'; Royals growth is signified by his reply, 'I know you have, Chassie', comforting his son for the first time, at least in the film, but perhaps ever. Royal finally accepts his family for the individuals they are, symbolically lets go of his attempt to maintain his patriarchal position over them, and grants his wife divorce, earning his position as a father by action, not by entitlement.
This is one of many father-son relationships Anderson explores, and all show the importance of sharing traits to find a balanced and healthy male identity, men ultimately accepting the responsibility necessary in fatherhood, while retaining the fun-loving side of youth. Burlingame concludes that this is a universal message encoded in Anderson films, that:
Everyone can relate to the struggle to balance conflicting parts of themselves, especially the urge to play around with roles and rules as you choose and the urge to uphold them and reap their rewards―and, below the surface, this is what his films are about. (2005)
Chapter 4 - Nostalgia and Famous Faces
It is impossible to discuss Anderson’s filmmaking without recognising the sense of nostalgia his films evoke in his audiences. Palmer (2017) believes much of his marketable appeal as a director comes from the inviting and emotive way he portrays the past, a familiar but hazy depiction of times gone by, much like memories, he constructs his mise-en-scene around feelings rather than historical facts. The majority of his films, particularly his earlier work, are ostensibly set in present-day, yet his careful construction of each frame with objects and icons from the past create an ambiguous blend of modernity and vintage, with hand-drawn notes, typewriters, 'the phonograph and the dusty hard-bound library' becoming staples of his production design; their 'fetish value increas[ing] as they provide ever greater respite from the growing tyranny of the digital audio file and the computer tablet.' (Palmer, 2017). The Royal Tenenbaums, despite being set in New York, purposely never reveals iconic landmarks that would tie it too distinctly to any age or time, while Palmer (2017) notes 'the Tenenbaum household is forever enshrined in some indefinite past era, replete with cabinets of curiosity whose findings denote an array of decades of origin.'
'The Grand Budapest Hotel' is perhaps Andersons most overt exploration into the power and pain of nostalgia, Swanburg (2014) describing it thus:
It’s misty-eyed not merely for lost boyhood, as has often been the case in his work, but for an entire Old World way of life, an era of handmade macaron towers, restorative mineral baths, and highly personalized concierge service. It’s easy to dismiss the film as an elegantly calligraphed love letter to more civilized times.
When Anderson presents the past through such a rose-tinted lens it is hard not to yearn for a time we never knew, for experiences we never had. Ralph Fiennes, who stars as M. Gustave, the charismatic concierge of the titular hotel, says he believes Anderson 'feels there’s a world that happened before, which he might have been happy in' (as cited in Itzkoff, 2014). It is easy when we look back, particularly when this is framed through the narrow lens of a film, to remember the good over the bad, as is human nature (McGrath, 2014). A danger lies in forgiving, or even beginning to yearn for the more negative traits of the past, particularly when so much of the discourse around male identity today is concerned with the crisis of masculinity, leading to calls for the days when men were men. Furthermore, the nature of nostalgia as a 'longing for a sanitized impression of the past…. [with] negative emotions filtered out' (Hirsch as cited in Martin, 2014) means we may not even be aware that we are consuming the more harmful aspects of masculinity in characters positioned as aspirational.
M.Gustave enshrines civility and masculinity which even in his time was threatened. Zero Mustafa, once his lobby-boy and now inheritor of the Hotel, clarifies how the audience is meant to decode Gustave: 'There are still faint glimmers of civilisation left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity… he was one of them.' Despite this Gustave does exhibit what can been seen as more toxic masculine traits, as he is shown to womanise and even refer to the older women he sleeps with as 'cheap cuts' of meat, and it is ambiguous how much he cares for his partners, as the first interaction between Gustave and Zero sees him delegating a chore he promised to do for his female companion to Zero, the second she leaves. This sexual promiscuity is reminiscent of the ‘new lad’ objectification of women, which combined by his strict running of the hotel acts to further align him with the patriarchal dominance of the ‘old man’. However he is still not a conventional mainstream lead, while possessing the charismatic, bravery found in a typical leading man, he never turns to violence (in a few instances resulting in him being punched and not fighting back) and is a closer reflection of metrosexual traits, being 'liberally perfumed', constantly reciting poetry, and commenting on the makeup and fashion of those he encounters.
We can recognise a danger of more toxic masculine traits such as patriarchal control, womanising and male superiority over women concealed in the warm haziness of nostalgia. However, Anderson’s construction of unconventional leads suggests his use of nostalgia for a bygone age is less about identifying when things were really better, but rather that this sense of loss of standards is a constant issue in society. As Itzkoff (2014) identifies, Anderson 'portrays Gustave as a man seeking to preserve a time and place that is already lost — a description that could as easily apply to Anderson.' and as we learn at the end of the film that Zero believes the world Gustave upheld 'vanished long before he ever entered it', as Swansburg concludes: 'M. Gustave was guilty, of precisely the crime we like to pin on Anderson.'
It is not just Anderson settings or stories that are inspired by the past, but rather his entire approach to filmmaking is governed by 'old-fashioned filming techniques, many times deliberately borrowing his mise-en-scene from the French New Wave, Italian neorealism and other subcultures and niche film traditions, such as 1970s American police dramas' (Dilley, 2017). His use of music also imbues his films with nostalgia, for instance, ‘Rushmore’s’ score is heavily influenced by the British invasion movement of the mid-60s. Dilley further highlights his use of 'veteran actors' to parody and reference earlier film history. Anderson repeatedly works with a close ensemble of actors, Bill Murray having appeared in each of his films since ‘Rushmore’. Anderson often creates characters with particular actors in mind, another technique he uses to subvert audience expectations of masculinity. Fiennes flamboyant and caring concierge is in stark contrast to his portrayal of Amon Goth in ‘Schindler’s List’ (Spielberg, 1993), and it is ironic that Gustave meets his demise at the hands of an ominously familiar 'death squad'. Another example is Anderson’s collaboration with Edward Norton, well-known for violent and aggressive character portrayals in the ‘Fight Club’, ‘American History X’ and even ‘The Incredible Hulk’. In ‘The Grand Budapest’ he portrays an almost comically neutered and well-mannered police captain. Norton also portrays a well-meaning, albeit slightly useless, scout leader in ‘Moonrise Kingdom’, alongside Bruce Willis as a small island’s sole, and lonely, police presence. Willis’ tired cop’s tedious existence, his most exciting case concerns runaway children, is a far cry from the violence-wielding, oneliner-spewing hero of the ‘Die Hard’ franchise. This intertextuality of Anderson’s cast further reinforces to the viewer that his films create a heightened and multi-dimensional reflection of reality.
It is no accident that Anderson so regularly uses techniques 'that bombard the viewer with constant reminders that what is being shown is a fiction' (Dilley, 2017). The whimsical, storybook-esque construction of each of films means watching his films are like reading a children’s book. Burlingame supports this, citing Anderson ‘goal for Rushmore of ‘a fable or 'storybook' feel as influencing his use of a wide lens and his removal of references to contemporary pop culture, events, and the real cities in which he films’ (2005). The use of models, stop motion and in ‘The Grand Budapest’ in particular, matte-painted backgrounds is a 'signature technique epitomized by Anderson’s juxtaposition of the real and the artificial to create a sense of hyper-nostalgia' (Dilley, 2017).
Conclusion
Anderson’s unique status as a well-resourced but still independent filmmaker allows him to explore subversive and diversifying representations masculinity in his films. His cult following combined with his comparatively lower budgets allow him to be less concerned with constructing male protagonists that have to maximise their appeal and engagement, allowing him to explore more niche and often more genuine aspects of male identities.
All of his films tackle the thematic issues of young men, who are not only discontent with their position in society but, are searching for their identity as men, and without the guidance and support of a mentoring father figure, they turn to the guidance of media and cultural cues, leading them to live out unrealistic and often harmful fantasies of manhood. His repeated use of certain actors, combined with long-term music, writing and cinematography collaborators gives a sense of an acting troupe tackling the same story from different angles, each of his films honing-in on and pulling apart a different issue surrounding the importance of father and son’s mutually-beneficial relationship.
His detailed construction of ambiguous time periods and whimsical, strange-yet-familiar worlds is not only part of his appeal but deliberately uses mise-en-scene to evoke nostalgia in his audience. Making his audience yearn for and idolise these worlds invites a danger that the more toxic traits of his male-dominated world can not only be normalised but missed. However we can more optimistically see Anderson’s use of these techniques as an invitation to his audience to relive what it was like to be a child, a means to find balance within our adult identities, and not lose sight of the wonder that makes remembering our childhood memories so painful.
Bibliography
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