Wes Anderson returns
to the world of stop-motion animation for the first time since 2009’s
“Fantastic Mr. Fox” with the imaginative dystopian fantasy “Isle of Dogs.” But
while his follow-up demonstrates the same technical skill and storytelling
inventiveness that made his first foray such a success, some of its aesthetic
decisions end up undermining the message of empathy and understanding the story
wishes to impart.
Some 20 years in the future, the
fictional Japanese city of Megasaki has suffered an
epidemic of the fearsome sounding “snout fever” and “dog flu.” On the orders of
Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura, who also receives a
story credit on the film), all dogs have been deported from the city and
quarantined to Trash Island to cease further spread of disease.
The story picks up with a pack of
alpha dogs: Rex (Ed Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss
(Bill Murray), and Duke (Jeff Goldblum) who’ve gotten used to their new hard
knock lives in the abandoned wasteland, facing sickness and fighting other
packs for scraps of rotten food. But the dogs soon find a new purpose when the
12-year-old nephew of the mayor, Atari (Koyu Rankin)
crash-lands on the island.
The boy has embarked on a rescue
mission to find his beloved long lost dog, Spots (Liev
Schreiber), the first of his kind to be banished to Trash Island. The ragtag
group is reluctantly joined on their journey by a bitter former stray named
Chief (Bryan Cranston), and along the way they uncover a conspiracy and help to
restore the canine species to their rightful place as man’s best friend.
There’s much to recommend about
“Isle of Dogs”: its story is clever, funny, even touching. The characters speak
with Anderson’s droll, understated sense of humor, and the film boasts an
imaginative and gorgeous animation style — the dog puppets are impressively
furry and convey a loveable soulfulness. Still, something feels off from the
very first moments.
Early on, a title card informs us
that “All barks have been translated into English.” It’s meant to explain why
these Japanese dogs all speak with the voices of white Americans. The Japanese
human characters, however, receive no such translation. The most crucial bits
are given subtitles or translated by an onscreen interpreter voiced by Frances McDormand, but the majority is left untranslated.
The decision to have the dog
characters speak English while the humans speak untranslated Japanese is
clearly intended as a way to get us into the mind of the canine characters,
unable to understand the humans around them. But these artificial barriers are
erected to keep the intended Western audience from emotionally identifying in
any way with the Japanese characters. Not to mention it being a little odd that
in all their years, the dogs would never have picked up any of the language.
The film is saturated with
signifiers of classic Japanese culture: samurai, haiku, bento boxes, taiko drums, sumo wrestling, and the films of Akira
Kurosawa. Anderson clearly has a love for the country’s art and culture, but
ends up showing less of an appreciation for the people who created it.
What’s intended as affectionate
homage becomes something else entirely when filtered through the lens of an
objectifying Western gaze. There’s no particular reason this story has to be
set in Japan. Since the setting isn’t integral in any way, it lacks any meaning
behind it and comes across as what it is: an exotic set-dressing that Anderson
is able to swap into his meticulously composed dioramas.
There are ideas in the film that
speak to the Japanese experience. It is after all, the story of an unfairly
maligned population who face internment and deportation. But these ideas and
the message Anderson intends to send about them are half-formed at best.
More problematic is the character of
Tracy (voiced by Greta Gerwig), an American foreign
exchange student who becomes the voice of the resistance in Megasaki.
The Japanese population is too meek or easily manipulated to fight for their
beloved pets; they’re not stirred to action until forced by Tracy. She’s the
classic White Savior, and it’s frustrating to see this ugly trope rear its head
in a film so otherwise filled with storytelling wit and originality.
The precision of Anderson’s visual
aesthetic is a perfect match for the medium of stop-motion, and I enjoy it
immensely when a filmmaker who started working in live-action decides to
stretch themselves and delve into the world of animation. Too often it’s the
other way around, leading to the idea that animation is something that a
filmmaker graduates from.
There’s clearly no malicious intent
behind the film’s more misguided decisions and cultural blind spots. Obvious
craft and care were taken with the animation in “Isle of Dogs,” but without the
same thought given to its thematic ideas, the film is an entertaining adventure
story which also ends up unintentionally demonstrating the slim line between
appreciation and appropriation.
This article appears in Apr 11-17, 2018.
