Simon Shiel delights in this cluttered treasure trove of Wes Anderson information, yet wishes it had addressed the accusations of cultural appropriation and poor representation
The Wes Anderson Collection: Isle of Dogs book by Lauren Wilford and Ryan Stevenson is a beautifully presented deep-dive into the production of the film, featuring interviews with the director, screenwriters, actors, production designers, animators, director of photography and others who collaborated on the film. It is the fourth volume in the series, and it maintains the quality of design and depth of insight into the film which the other books achieved.
The film was a huge production, Wes Anderson’s largest, spanning years of work and teams collaborating across the globe. The book echoes that, taking in the views and experiences of a wide range of departments. It details the craft and immense skill of the collaborators, with in-depth profiles and accompanying art that highlight the size of the production and the evolution of the creative process. For those interested in the physical and visual evolution of Isle of Dogs, or animated films in general, the book is a delightful, cluttered treasure trove of information.
Dollywaggling
Oddly, the book comes with a foreword, an introduction and a separate preface before beginning proper. This itself feels like a touch from a Wes Anderson film, like the double framing narrative of The Grand Budapest Hotel. But it’s in keeping with the nature of the text, which jumps from interviews with cast and crew to analysis of Japanese filmmakers such as Hayao Miyazaki, and potted histories of animation and woodblock printing. There’s always a new subject to touch upon, a new avenue to explore.
One of the highlights is an analysis of how the animators work, and it’s fascinating how each animator is ‘cast’ for a particular scene and character depending on that individual’s personal style. Each tiny gesture, tweak or nudge of a puppet adds up to an overall performance and every one of those movements reflects that animator’s way of working. The chapter on animation within the book highlights just how much care and attention goes into a single second of a stop-motion film. It provides a detailed sense of how meditative, individualist and downright intense ‘dollywaggling’ is – as Jason Stalman, lead animator, calls the process of moving the puppets in their sets. It’s one rich detail within a book full of them.
And it really is a book for getting lost in, always shedding light on a new aspect of design or film. It positively hums with a passion for film and stop-motion animation and for the pure craft that went into its production; and craft is certainly the word. Isle of Dogs is one of the most visually stunning films of the last few years. Every shot positively glows with colour, detail, symmetry and elegant touches of artistry; and the book reflects that.
A Tradition of Cultural Reconfiguration?
It also includes two separate interviews with Wes Anderson. The first is a group conversation with the director alongside Roman Coppola and Jason Schwartzman, his credited co-writers on the film. The second is an interview which traces more directly the influence of Kurosawa upon Anderson as a filmmaker. The former is a more relaxed discussion of the development of the story and approach to structuring the film. It’s an enlightening window into just how organic that process feels and you get a sense from that conversation, amiable and wandering as it is, that the same spirit imbued itself into the main narrative of Atari and Chief.
Unfortunately, perhaps due to it being compiled during production, there is no conversation with the director about the controversy surrounding the film, what with the accusations of cultural appropriation and poor representation stemming from the film’s choice of setting, and the decision to code the main ‘dog’ characters as five white males trying to make sense of the ‘exotic otherness’ of Japan and Japanese characters. One of the few references, perhaps unintentional, to the controversy is in the foreword, where by Matt Zoller-Seitz (author of previous Wes Anderson Collections) writes:
“Here is an American translating and reconfiguring work by directors who were themselves strongly influenced by American directors, many of whom were, in turn, borrowing from the Germans, the French, and others who produced images that sparked their own imaginations. The Japan of Isle of Dogs, the Europe of The Grand Budapest Hotel, the Mediterranean of The Life Aquatic, the India of The Darjeeling Limited, and the New York of The Royal Tenenbaums are all ultimately Dallas as Paris, as dream-space and mindscapes. Wes is a citizen of the world now. His mind accepts no border.”
Zoller-Seitz seems to be arguing that because these dreamscapes are of a multi-cultural heritage, having been through a process of American, European and Japanese filtration, that by honouring the work of Kurosawa and Ojo and Miyzaki in his film, he is continuing a tradition of cultural reconfiguration that extends beyond the narrative of cultural colonialism of which he was accused. It’s a point passionately made by Zoller-Seitz, but does seem to disregard the power-dynamics of privileged white filmmakers using Japanese culture to tell the stories of primarily five white males on an adventure in an exotic land. It is a fascinating and fiercely contested debate and it is shame the book does not have the space to touch upon it with him.
Despite the controversy, The Wes Anderson Collection: Isle of Dogs remains a fascinating guide to the production of the film and an engrossing analysis of all areas of film production in general. It bristles with insight, detail and passion, and is a worthy addition to the series.
The Wes Anderson Collection: Isle of Dogs by Lauren Wilford and Ryan Stevenson is published by Abrams books.
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