For Dreamers

I thought I knew all the tricks in Wes Anderson's book. From explosions of classical music to the like-candy-from-when-you-were-a-child colors, from the placement of wacky props in just the right places that simultaneously feel like a private joke and manage to make each frame a miniature masterpiece, from the child geniuses that speak like no child you've ever met, from the inevitable slew of fragile creatures wearing pajama sets and immaculate bathrobes, uniforms, lots of uniforms, weathered fur coats, preppy plaid sweater vests and pointed collars, little stocking caps too small for their heads and custom-made suits from another time and place; Anderson's world is recognizable to all who love him, not to mention the fact that he can't seem to escape the thematic thread of familial abandonment (absent fathers, domineering mothers, infidelity, divorce, death), and his writing is so good that his signature dialogue is dry as a bone and makes you squirm and laugh and sometimes pee your pants a little.

But this new movie, this Moonrise Kingdom, has a surprising way of getting under your skin.

Here we have all of the signature pieces, including, as my husband noted, each and every frame of film somehow completely perfect and more beautiful than ever, and the product emerges as a more mature and evolved Anderson, unabashedly exploring the adventure that is first love. There is an innocence to his young protagonists that is so charming you sort of want to die, an endearing innocence different from the more worldly characters in his previous films, a concise meditation on youth, and there lies a universal truth at the heart of this film that, as a grownup, you just want to sit there and go back to when you were twelve and had a crush on the boy who lived down the road. Moonrise Kingdom is putty for us dreamers. And if you're willing to go there, you won't want to come back.