
Wes Anderson wants us to think he’s weird. He would probably be very happy to find himself staring out of the page under a dictionary definition of “weird”. His life and career are all about his own studied brand of peculiarity, and he’s not about to change that now.
Which is why, while the IoS interviews him, he is eating. Well, he is doing Wes Anderson’s performance of eating. Spinach soup; a separate plate of spinach; a plate of bread and a bowl of baby potatoes are brought at his request. He takes one arch forkful of each, chewing each morsel in slow motion, before pushing his tray aside and announcing he’s “quite full”.
It is an odd vignette in the series of strange moments that comprise an encounter with one of Hollywood’s oddest auteurs. He enters the room, swamped in a furry-hooded green parker, shuffling along with his eyes locked on the floor. “Oh hello, I’m Wes,” he says softly, one of America’s most celebrated film directors playing the role of a shy schoolboy.
The good manners and bashful demeanour lack sincerity. For a start, he doesn’t need to introduce himself: his acclaimed, off-beat films including The Royal Tenenbaums; Rushmore and The Life Aquatic have already brought him two Oscar nominations and a loyal following. Like his cinematic style – credited with inspiring a new generation of indie films such as Juno, Napoleon Dynamite and Garden State – his quirkiness seems a little mannered: this is Anderson playing Anderson.
While for us, the performance began when he came into the room, for him, it began before he even entered the central London hotel where we meet. He tells me he has just missed his lunch because he sat waiting on a hotel reception bench for 45 minutes.
“Apparently the guy who was here before me checked out but left all his possessions,” he explains, with a deadpan delivery that is instantly recognisable from his films. “I think it’s an unusual situation for a hotel to deal with. I kept thinking, it’s just going to be a moment.” One can only imagine the sort of explosion a similar situation would elicit from, say, Quentin Tarantino. So, no hissy fit then? “Well, I wasn’t wildly excited about it, but I could understand it was sort of an unexpected situation.”
Each of his answers is delivered like a line from one of his scripts, with calculated timing and with his face almost expressionless. In fact, his demeanour is of one who’s performing for a close-up. Even his posture has artifice, his bony hands motionlessly clasped over a crossed knee and his back bolt upright in an armchair that I am sure he has selected for its symmetry between two lamps.
His clothes look more like items raided from a costume cupboard than something an ordinary person has hanging in their wardrobe. In his bespoke orange-brown corduroy suit, neat yellow tie, pale blue shirt and evergreen sweater, he actually resembles his latest hero, Mr Fox, whose miniature outfit is almost identical. “Oh, I guess you’re right,” he says, letting out a small, almost girlish giggle of appreciation. There’s nothing accidental about the clothes he’s chosen. He commissioned the same tailor who made this suit to create a near-replica for Fantastic Mr Fox, which is out on DVD soon and is the reason he has consented to be interviewed. “I thought this would be a good colour for him,” he muses.
Clothes play a big part in Anderson films: whether it’s the matching adidas tracksuits of the neurotic Chas Tenenbaum and his twin sons, or the trademark red hats and powder-blue jumpsuits of team Zissou in The Life Aquatic, they set the ironic tone of his productions. “In animated movies or live action, the costumes often tell you a lot about the characters, and they’re another opportunity to invent something that might be entertaining to the audience or might give something to the movie,” he explains. “The costumes interest me as much as the sets, as much as the music; you spend 81 minutes watching a film and these clothes are a big part of what you see in the frame.”
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