Moonrise Kingdom

A month ago Bruce Willis was asked about Moonrise Kingdom, and responded with what seemed to be the most obvious statement about a film since the plot for Snakes On A Plane was released. “Well,” said Willis, “this is a Wes Anderson film.” And the slow clap echoed around the world was deafening.
This is indeed a Wes Anderson film, with all the Wes Anderson trappings: The ‘60s. A gnome-clad Bob Balaban narrating. Dollhouse sets. Characters who wear costumes like uniforms. Grown men in knee-socks. Troubled, pretty young girls wearing too much eyeliner. A distinctive colour palette. Rigid camera framing and careful panning. Monotone dialogue. Characters that remain deadpan in the face of absurdity. Music that’s whimsical and melancholic in equal measure. Bill goddamn Murray.
Indeed this may be the most Wes Andersony film Wes Anderson has made.
Focusing on the star-crossed love affair between troubled scouts escapee Sam (Jared Gilman) and tantrum-prone sensitive bookworm Suzy (Kara Hayward), the central relationship may be the most intimate of an Anderson film. As the two run away together and enjoy romantic nights camping, seaside frolics and awkward silences, their union is a sweet exploration of Utopian ideals, burgeoning sexuality, and a sense of shared growth. Though quirky misfits, Suzy and Sam are also complex, and far wiser than Suzy’s self-important parents (Murray and Frances McDormand) or Sam’s clueless man-child scout leader (Edward Norton). As Suzy tells Sam he’s lucky to be an orphan, he simply looks at her and says, “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”