The only other stop-motion animated film Wes Anderson has ever brought into the world was 2009’s adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1970 children’s book of the same name, Fantastic Mr. Fox. Of course, two stop-motion animated films for a single auteur generally more adept in live action is already quite a feat, as it isn’t exactly the most effortless medium to work with, neither in terms of budget or time concerns. So perhaps that’s why it’s taken Anderson an additional nine years to give it another go at the too often ignored animation standard (though Anderson announced his intentions for the film circa 2015).
To be sure, Anderson tackles head on the age-old debate between cat and dog lovers as the central focus of the narrative is a diabolical mayor named Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura, also one of the co-writers), a hardened man from a dynasty with a long-standing history of dog-hating and cat-defending. This is precisely why Isle of Dogs (which, yes, sounds like “I Love Dogs” when you pronounce it) begins with the origin story of the present day contempt for man’s former best friend in Megasaki. In the prologue, “Boy Samurai and Headless Ancestor,” we’re given a cliched representation of samurai-like Japanese warriors battling it out–but not with an opposing faction of humans. No, no, the Kobayashi dynasty has it in only for the formerly non-domesticated species that was the wild dog. It took one dissenting young boy of the Kobayashi clan turning against his own family by cutting off the head of the ruler to save the species before it was completely eradicated. Cut to Chapter One, no longer “before the age of the obedience,” somewhere twenty years into the future of what we call present day, at which time Megasaki is overrun with dogs plagued by Snout Fever, ultimately merely a government-manufactured disease disseminated by the “has its tentacles in everything” pharmaceutical company (yes, it sounds rather like V For Vendetta). With only one ally on the side of the dogs, Science Party candidate Professor Watanabe (Akira Ito) and his trustworthy assistant, Yoko-ono (voiced by Yoko Ono, which somehow seems offensive in and of itself–if, for nothing else, because Anderson couldn’t come up with an original name for her), things are looking very bleak for canines indeed. And though Professor Watanabe–on the verge of perfecting his cure for the disease–gives an impassioned opposing speech just before Kobayashi hands down the decree to exile all dogs to Trash Island, or what people sometimes call America, it is as Kobayashi says of the people behind closed doors: “brains have been washed and fear has been mongered.” One needn’t point out the obvious correlations to the 2016 election. For elections are the best time to employ just these two tactics. And since Kobayashi is determined to be re-elected by any means necessary, he’ll do whatever it takes to present the masses with a scapegoat. Or scapedog. And to prove his seriousness and commitment to the matter, he presents as the first offering to be exiled, the guard dog of his distant nephew and ward Atari (Koyu Rankin). Orphaned three years prior when his parents died in a grisly trainwreck, Atari’s only emotional solace after the accident was that guard dog, Spots (Liev Schreiber), now sentenced to what amounts to death on the horrendous conditions of Trash Island. Needless to say, he echoes the very same imploring sentiment as Professor Watanabe, whose question, translated by Interpreter Nelson (Frances McDormand), “What ever happened to man’s best friend?,” is on no one’s mind more than Atari’s. And maybe Tracy’s, who has also lost her show dog, Nutmeg (Scarlett Johansson, always down to be a detached voice and partake of a culturally appropriating vehicle), to the island as well. As one of the only well-groomed female prospects on the island, she quickly catches the attention of alpha stray dog, Chief (Bryan Cranston), the emotionally unavailable rogue who constantly cautions, “I bite.” To be sure, Chief’s bark is bigger than his bite, which is frequently the case with personalities that attempt to appear wizened and immune. This, in time, applies to Chief’s affection for and commitment to Atari, who risks life and limb to fly a small plane to the island and retrieve Spots, his only true family.
The common motif Anderson employs of the orphan or man-boy seeking a sense of belonging and family is at its most overt in this script, with past examples including Sam (Jared Gilman) in Moonrise Kingdom, Zero (Tony Revolori) in The Grand Budapest Hotel or any of the other man-boys merely seeking approval from their absent father figure (e.g. The Royal Tenenbaums and The Darjeeling Limited) in their adulthood. One such instance of this also includes Ash (Jason Schwartzman) in Fantastic Mr. Fox, who wants so badly for his father, Mr. Fox (George Clooney), to see him as “an athlete” and a worthy ascendant of his agile, wily blood that he goes to just about any lengths to be noticed. Even if they are all upstaged by his visiting cousin, Kristofferson (Eric Chase Anderson), more physically superior in every way. The parallels to Fantastic Mr. Fox and Isle of Dogs are also notable in one other very specific way: the misunderstood character of the dog. Quick to be maligned and written off as dumb enough to eat a poisoned blueberry (Anderson likes to incorporate poisoned foods into his work, as you’ll note with the wasabi in Isle of Dogs, which, undoubtedly, Paul Thomas Anderson approves of), Mr. Fox tries to play the empathetic proponent in order to get what he wants: passage. As Mr. Fox gently approaches the rabid dog guarding the Bean Annex, he cajoles, “I feel like there’s a tenderness in your eyes, isn’t there? Yes, I’m right. You’re a good boy, a little lonely, maybe, but terribly sweet. Is your name Spitz? That’s German, isn’t it?” Spitz, unmoved, eventually lashes out, attacking Mr. Fox to the point of running him out of the area. This rendering of a dog’s volatile behavior is how the likes of Kobayashi, who is Boggis, Bunce and Bean all rolled into one (though he’s not without his henchmen), views the “wretched,” “pathetic” species. But that which is deemed most “pathetic” in dogs is the same for those deemed “good people”: fiercely loyal, forgiving and dumbly affectionate while expecting little in return. So of course the government wants to rid its state of this “dangerous element.” It’s too difficult to be cruel to decent beings with them right in your proximity.
Though Anderson has stated that the inspiration for the aesthetic and style of Isle of Dogs came from a combination of watching Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu films and stop-motion Christmas specials released by Rankin/Bass Productions (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Cricket on the Hearth, Mouse on the Mayflower–that sort of thing), all one really sees is the self-referential nature of the feature. Anderson has become so accustomed to ticking off all the boxes on the “This is a Wes Anderson movie” checklist, that he’s actually seemed to de-humanize his latest film in more ways than one. Then, of course, there’s the rampant criticism of his none too subtle appropriation, stereotyping and, worst of all, white savior character in the form of foreign exchange student Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig). Apart from this being the most Caucasian name around, Tracy is further untenable because she’s “the only one” among her fellow high school journalism students who seems impassioned enough to do something about the government conspiracy afoot in Megasaki. Because she’s a white woman with a cause à la Eugenia Phelan a.k.a. Emma Stone in The Help.
And though the painstaking effort that went into creating every frame is evident in its lush presentation (despite being primarily set on a trash island), it is, as usual, the music in the film that brings it to life, for Anderson has the same gift as Sofia Coppola for curating original compositions and pop/rock gems that you would otherwise never think of yourself. In this case, it is Alexandre Desplat’s (who also worked on Fantastic Mr. Fox and Moonrise Kingdom) whimsical and dramatic harmonies that punctuate every combination of a climactic and farcical moment with just the right pitch.
Anderson’s knack for quirk in both plotlines and visuals remains intact, but somehow, in Isle of Dogs that other ingredient he has been adept at in the past is missing. That of appealing intrinsically to our animal instincts of needing to belong to something. For there is no stronger exemplar of a pack animal than a human. Thus, one would think Isle of Dogs would be the apex of Anderson’s ability to illustrate this. Yet one would be quicker to find evidence of the timeless theme in any of his other works. Because Isle of Dogs is working too hard at too many other things–specifically, as mentioned before, being “Wes Anderson enough” and being politically attuned to the sagas of the current landscape. That being said, this movie is fine. It strikes chords where necessary, offers the requisite political undertones that Orwell might appreciate and is a beacon of what stop-motion animation is capable of. However, Homeward Bound, All Dogs Go to Heaven and Milo & Otis this is not. The aforementioned have way more heart and genuineness when it comes to the genre of “animal movies.” And so does, for that matter, Fantastic Mr. Fox.
It is more adroit in getting across that message that goes hand in hand with being a pack animal: we are all simply trying to survive, and we often need the help of others to do that. Which is precisely why, in the final scene of Fantastic Mr. Fox, the eponymous hero toasts, “To our survival.” If Isle of Dogs had Chief make a toast, it would likely be, “To being in a Wes Anderson movie that no one can deny is a Wes Anderson movie.”
