Isle of Dogs is unmistakably the work of idiosyncratic auteur Wes Anderson, gorgeous and smart and heartbreaking, each shot its own small work of Andersonian art. It also raises questions and presents themes not present in the rest of his catalog.
Anderson’s ninth feature as director — and his second stop-motion film — centers on Japan’s fictional Megasaki City in the near future. After outbreaks of “dog flu” and “snout fever,” all the city’s canines are deported to nearby Trash Island by draconian Mayor Kobayashi, beginning with Spots, the devoted protector of Kobayashi’s 12-year-old ward and orphaned nephew Atari.
As most of Anderson’s adolescent characters tend to be, the slingshot-packing Atari is uncommonly plucky and resourceful, flying a rickety old prop plane to Trash Island in search of Spots. There he meets a pack of alphas voiced by several of Anderson’s repertory players — Jeff Goldblum as gossipmonger Duke, Edward Norton as de facto pack leader Rex, Bill Murray as baseball-mascot Boss and Bob Balaban as former dog-food spokesdog King — along with first-time Anderson collaborator Bryan Cranston as Chief, a violent stray with a trajectory toward redemption. Along the way there’s a bevy of understated punch lines, like Atari’s haiku and the sneezes (a symptom of dog flu) that punctuate the canines’ dialogue.
Naturally, Isle of Dogs is beautifully composed, as careful with symmetry, delicate detail and color coordination as anything Anderson has made. While Anderson’s first foray into animation, 2009’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, was rich with autumnal colors and cleverly crafted miniature sets, Dogs is even more intricate, an absolute marvel of painstaking construction. Watching Fantastic Mr. Fox, you might chuckle at just how sharp and well-designed the characters are, but watching Dogs, you’ll feel delight as you frequently forget that these seamless scenes were shot in stop motion. How could Anderson and animation director Mark Waring create such a fluid feature via such a grueling process? An overhead-shot sushi-preparation sequence could stand on its own as an award-worthy short film. It is a wonder.
But since its debut at a couple of festivals and its limited-release opening last month, Isle of Dogs has caused some critics to raise questions of cultural appropriation and racial stereotyping. “Bluntly put, does this white American filmmaker’s highly selective, idiosyncratic rendering of an East Asian society constitute a sincere act of homage, or a clueless failure of sensitivity?” asked the Los Angeles Times’ Justin Chang. “In a movie where the leads are largely inhuman,” wrote Mashable’s Angie Han, “it’s the humans who end up feeling like the inscrutable foreigners.”
These are fair and relevant concerns. I have no doubt that most Wes Anderson fans will find Isle of Dogs immensely enjoyable, just as I did. But there’s a conversation here that’s worth having.
At its core, Isle of Dogs is a compassionate and loving tribute to both animals and Japanese culture, with an array of mostly complex characters. Alexandre Desplat’s score, which features taiko drums and other traditional Japanese instrumentation, is beautiful and subtle. The sumo wrestlers, the pagodas — it’s all richly done, and Anderson has acknowledged Akira Kurosawa as a significant influence on the film.
Like Anderson, I am a white man from the South. Like Anderson, I adore dogs — perhaps a bit too much, I’ve been told, though I’m not sure that’s possible — and respect and admire Japanese culture and film. And so it’s easy for me to say that Anderson’s depiction of Japanese culture is loving. It’s easy for me to say that his film is homage, not appropriation. But as someone who values the power of film and the importance of respectful and inclusive discourse, I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that there are problems with Isle of Dogs.
One character, a high school reporter and American exchange student voiced by Greta Gerwig, has drawn particular criticism for white-savior undertones. Aside from a translator played by Frances McDormand, the Gerwig-voiced Tracy Walker is the film’s sole white character. She comes along to save the day, exposing the treachery of several Japanese anti-dog conspirators, even at one point slapping a character named Yoko Ono (who is voiced by Yoko Ono). It’s not a great look.
Even so, and even with some close examination, there doesn’t appear to be anything dark or ugly lurking in the heart of Isle of Dogs. Many of the critics who’ve raised questions of stereotyping and appropriation admit that the film itself is an extraordinary feat. It’s a beautiful movie, even as death and decay are central to its plot — not always themes you find in Anderson’s balanced, pastel cinematic wonderlands. Perhaps there are some issues you’ll need to wrestle with and square away to fully enjoy it, perhaps not. Either way, Isle of Dogs is worth visiting.
