To: Hipsters and Anderson Enthusiasts

Concerning: The Darjeeling Limited and Anderson Land

I think you need to be honest with yourselves. This movie was just an excuse for our dear Wes to prance around Rajasthan, to play with his enormous Darjeeling-Dollhouse: the train that he cloaked as the (literal) vehicle for brotherly bonding and spiritual discovery.

If I wasn’t distracted by Anderson’s ability to get three of Hollywood's most fashionable noses together: Owen Wilson, Adrian Brody, and Jason Schwartzman; then I most certainly was going to be taken hostage by the dazzling optical riches set before me, in both the landscape and the sets. Oh, darn I think I may have gotten lost in the plot. Let's see if I missed anything: Are we still on the train? Yes, it appears that the color scheme is still an amalgam of blues and oranges. Check. Strange, irreverent wit? I think I remember something about sweet lime, savoury snacks, laminated itineraries, Futra font, Voltaire no. 6, pain killers, and cigarettes. Quirk, check. Hand made Marc Jacobs of Louis Vuitton suits (not unlike the ones Anderson dons himself) and $3,000 hand-painted loafers? This is new.

Now guys, I know. Your horn-rimmed glasses are fogging up from sheer frustration. Girls, a bit of advice: you get wrinkles from scowling, no mater how well it works with your American Apparel. But, we have to confront the fact that this film does not carry the gems of Rushmore, where the emotional distance of the lens forces the characters to to reveal themselves. His formal concerns and plot devices were still new, handled with more control and complexitiy, here they have become formulaic and the same distance comes off as immature. Here I suspect more interest in the set design, where in Rushmore it supported the characters. Darjeeling lets them float within it, which I if you were in a Fellini film wouldn't be a problem.

Anderson's latest left us searching for character development, for substance. Dear, sweet hipsters, I warn you: even with a second viewing, it doesn’t exist in this film. And the few places where we encounter it, it is deemphasized by the fact that the rest of the ninety minutes are hollow, albeit beautifully designed. The moment floats away.

Let’s put this in perspective in terms of progression, inferred by time and experience. Wes is 38, and this is his fifth major film. At this point he has a responsibility to his audience, and let’s hope himself, to produce something beyond fashionable quirkiness inside a fantastically colored stage inside a box, viewed through a thick lens. Never before have the characters in Anderson Land felt so flat, they have always been self-involved privileged beings dealing with depression, parental issues, and (the inevitable) funeral. This film is filled is essentially a familiar formula, complete with his signature evasive cool.

He has attempted a film that deals with deep emotional (Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton) baggage, but gets tangles in his own aesthetic. This was a call for help. But don’t worry Anderson, a new season of Bravo’s Top Design is underway. I’m sure they would be honored to have you on the panel.

Anderson: Stay away from the Coppola’s! namely Roman, who co-wrote the film. Instead, let Sophia’s Marie Antoinette be an example: don’t let success (in her case Lost in Translation) give you a free pass to make self-indulgent Mille-Feuille. It may be the treat of a thousand layers, but its pure puff pastry.

To Hipsters: keep the glasses polished and the spandex tight, let’s hope he has something else besides the Fantastic Mr. Fox in the future.

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