Returning to ‘Asteroid City’

I rewatched Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City last night. Not for any real reason other than Peacock told me it was leaving soon, which, in the age of crippling indecision brought on by near limitless choices, I find incredibly helpful to actually stop scrolling and just pick something.

I think I might have put the film on once before when it first came to the steamer, but I’m not even sure I finished it or was actually watching all that closely. For all intents and purposes, I essentially had not seen it since Courtney and I went to see it at Ragtag, the local arthouse theater here in Columbia.

Man, what a great movie. That’s what has gone overlooked. I rarely need reason to remember that I’m enamored by Anderson’s work, but during the week that my mom visited us in Columbia, we spent one night settled in watching my Criterion Collection edition of The Grand Budapest Hotel. We lingered a bit on the behind-the-scenes extras after it was over, and it was mesmerizing to see the images come together.

I found a similar short video, hosted on the awesome Kodak Youtube channel, of how Anderson and Co. made the fictional town of Asteroid City. I love everything about it, and the fact that it’s Kodak, celebrating work shot on film, makes it even better.

But in watching the film, one might resonate with one character’s cry: “I still don’t understand the play.”

It’s a layered meta textual film, and it definitely rewards repeat viewings. But I really enjoyed this Thomas Flight video essay about the meaning of the film. There are times when the explanation gets a bit convoluted (by his own admission), but I think he lands on a (if not necessarily the) fundamental truth of the film.

I love the contemplation of how the artist’s life experiences and emotions find new life through the characters they create and inhabit. It’s how we connect so deeply with well-crafted writing and performances: There is universality in the hyper specific, and if we want others to feel through our works, it pays off hugely to mine our lives for the realest parts of ourselves.