The Definitive Guide to Living in the Capital , Cairo , Egypt

With his exceptionally
unique style and approach, Wes Anderson is often described as one of the quirkiest and unconventional filmmakers around. 
His carefully constructed worlds host some of the most peculiar
characters of contemporary film, all of who tend to spend their time coming to
terms with their own versions of the truth. The customary deadpan dialogue, the
exquisite set designs and the slightly tilted realities is what Anderson’s work
is all about. 

His latest feature –
the whimsical and sweet-natured Moonrise Kingdom – demonstrates that his methods, as some have
suggested, have not yet expired. 

The year is 1965, and New Penzance – a
fictional island off the coast of New England – is home to troubled pre-teens Sam Shakusky (Gilman) and Suzy Bishop
(Hayward). On one side of the island there is Sam; a troubled orphan and a skilful
‘Khaki Scout’ who is attending a summer camp led by Scout Master Ward
(Norton).  On the other side there is Suzy;
a sombre girl who is agitated and often misunderstood by her jaded parents, Laura
(McDormand) and Walter (Murray).  The two
meet at a local production of ‘Noye’s Fludde’ (Noah’s Ark) and quickly become
pen pals, eventually making a secret pact to meet the following summer and run
off together into the wild.  Finding
solace in each other’s sufferings – and driven by the mutual desire to leave their somewhat harsh realities
behind – the star-crossed
lovers do just that.

Their disappearance sets off an island-wide search, led by sympathetic
local sheriff, Captain Sharp (Willis) and the Scout Master Ward, who is followed
by the rest of the Boy Scouts. With a storm quickly approaching, time is of the
essence.  The hunt for the young runaways
proves tricky for the adults, leading them to call out on ‘Social Services’
(Swinton) to lend a helping hand. Meanwhile, Sam and Suzy, completely oblivious
to what is going on around them, set up camp by the shore and start fantasising
about their future together.

The story is simple, and over time turns into so much more.  Anderson’s attention to detail is, as always,
exquisite.  A brilliant opening sequence immediately
lets you know that you’re about to enter the world only Wes Anderson can
create.  The trademark locked-down framing,
the repressively tidy set design and the meticulous costumes are all in
attendance. However, it’s not all about the visuals and carefully selected
props this time around. The story is firmly planted in the hands of the children,
rather than the adults.  The audience gets
drawn into a world where the innocence of young love knows no boundaries and it
ultimately serves as an inspiration to the relatively flawed adults.

As for the score, Anderson turns to mid-twentieth century English
composer, Benjamin Britten.  The
composer’s grand orchestral arrangements are boosted by Alexandre Desplat’s
original score. A carefully created soundtrack, which demands the
acknowledgment of its presence at all times, never distracts the viewer from
the story; it only adds to the experience.

The casting of Moonrise Kingdom couldn’t
have been better.  Murray – a regular tenant
in Anderson’s pictures – is as affecting as always, while the role of a
passive-aggressive Laura, a wife whose carelessness eventually catches up with
her, is a perfect fit for McDormand.  Norton
and Willis show a rare vulnerable side and Swinton brings elegance to the
role of the cold and corporate ‘Social Services’. The narration, provided by a
scruffy-looking Bob Balaban, is an exceptional addition.

However, it’s the debuting kids that walk away with the highest praise.
Gilman’s unsmiling face speaks in loud tones and Hayward’s interpretation of a
young girl falling in love for the first time is nothing short of a marvel. 

The lightheartedness and affection devoted to the story is palpable
and the more refined and deepened approach makes Moonrise Kingdom one of
Anderson’s best works since the triumph of 1998’s Rushmore.