410 - The Darjeeling Limited, United States, 2007. Dir. Wes Anderson.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

410 - The Darjeeling Limited, United States, 2007.  Dir. Wes Anderson.

What does it take finally to rid yourself of your baggage?

Francis has corralled his brothers Peter and Jack to go on a journey to find out.  They are jumping a train to take through the Indian countryside.  They are not jumping the train as stowaways.  They have tickets.  They are just late.

Which seems fitting for the way they have lived their lives.

Francis has his head wrapped in bandages.  A year ago he was in a life-threatening motorcycle accident.  On purpose.

Peter is thinking of leaving his wife.  She is seven-month's pregnant.  He doubts his ability to be a husband and father.

Jack has left his girlfriend.  She came to him in a Paris hotel room.  In the accompanying short film.  "Hotel Chevalier."  He had been hiding from her.  For over a month.  When she found him, he revealed that he did not love her.  They had a painful tryst.

Now the brothers are on a journey of spiritual enlightenment.

And, unbeknownst to Peter and Jack, on a quest to find their missing mother.

Their father died a year ago.  Having been struck by a taxicab.  The brothers have not seen each other since then.

Their mother did not come to the funeral.  She has been gone for several years.

And Francis believes they will find her at a Catholic convent hidden away in the Himalayas.

After their whimsical adventures aboard the train--including a hook-up with the stewardess Rita, dubbed Sweet Lime--and after a deviation through the Indian wilderness where they attempt to rescue three boys who represent themselves (two survive and one dies)--they do.

On the one hand, mother Patricia seems to be doing good work.  The children sit in school and learn.  And sing.  Praise Him, Praise Him.  Praise him in the morning.  Praise him in the noontime.

But on the other hand, Patricia has abandoned her own three children to be the surrogate mother of this classroom.

When the brothers arrive, she speaks to them bluntly.  "Everyone here's an orphan, by the way.  You should feel right at home."

And again--

You should've been at Dad's funeral.
So that's why you came here.  To make me feel guilty.
We came here because we miss you.
I miss you too.
But why didn't you come to Dad's funeral?
Because I didn't want to.  He was dead. . . . What's wrong with us?  Why are we talking about this?  We should be celebrating!

And yet again--

The past happened, but it's over isn't it?
Not for us.

And that is the problem for Francis, Peter, and Jack.  The past is not over for them.  They are still carrying their baggage.

Including eleven oversized Marc-Jacobs-for-Louis-Vuitton suitcases stuffed with items from their father.

Because why not be burdened with all your childhood memorabilia as you traipse through the wilderness?

When they awaken, their mother is gone.

Again.

And they are left alone.

Jack has been writing short stories throughout their journey, and Francis and Peter have been calling him out on it.  That the stories are about him.  Despite the fact that he insists they are fictional characters.

But when he reads his latest story, on the way back to the train, he finally stops protesting.  "The characters are . . . " and he goes silent.  He is reading the exact dialogue from his experience with his girlfriend in "Hotel Chevalier."  The characters are not so fictional as he has wanted his brothers to believe.

And one cannot help but wonder if Wes Anderson, the middle of three boys whose parents divorced when he was eight, is speaking perhaps a little personally.

His films may have as precisely controlled a production design as any you will ever see.  Every square inch of every frame drawn out to exact specifications.  With as much taste as the Louis Vuitton luggage.

But while the brothers drop their suitcases and leave them in the dust in order to make the train, they never do forsake their baggage.  No one in a Wes Anderson film has yet.  No one has yet been cleansed or healed or even moved.  There is no catharsis.

There is beauty.  And symmetry.  And artistry.  And whimsy.  And drollery.  And cleverness.  And wit.  And fun.

And cold ironic detachment.

And an underlying melancholy.

Covering a dormant, hidden rage.

But not love.

These are difficult films to watch.  If you attempt to look below the surface.  Because they posit a life without grace.

It is as if you have stepped into a world of the most marvelous paintings.  Painted by a painter.  Who has yet to discover

The power of forgiveness.