Like 2011 with Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life and Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, 2012 has two great summer movies to call its own: Steven Soderbergh’s Magic Mike and Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom. Very different pictures thematically and aesthetically, both films underscore how distinctive Soderbergh and Anderson’s directorial voices are. While no one would accuse either director from departing from their comfort zone, both Magic Mike and Moonrise Kingdom display such an intrinsic understanding of craft. The skill on display is of the highest caliber, as both directors compose images of rich detail, moving from scene to scene with such an impressive understanding of the mechanics of film. With the recent Blu-ray releases of both films, I thought it appropriate to revisit both pictures and hopefully rekindle some conversation on films that might get lost in the shuffle as the awards season reaches its loudest.
Throw away any homoerotic fears associated with enjoying Magic Mike – it’s the most entertaining wide-release Hollywood picture to come out this year. What’s most interesting about the film is the traditional perspective it takes into probing its niche subject matter. Much like Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights, Soderbergh adapts Reid Carolin’s script with lighthearted reverence and great formal proficiency. The film adapts a familiar rise-and-fall arc with a slight hand. Tonally, however, Magic Mike balances its risqué material with sincerity, opting to bare its emotional complexities while maintaining a traditional plot-driven narrative.
Rewatching the film, I was caught by the tightness of its plotting – adopting a summertime narrative timeframe, the picture is paced and cut strategically. Soderbergh, who has been critiqued for making two types of films, that of the art house variety and clear-cut Hollywood efforts, arrives at a middle ground with Magic Mike. The deft skill and precision of his work calls to mind some of his more art house-minded pictures like The Girlfriend Experience whereas the narrative itself is one of a traditional Hollywood structure like Ocean’s Eleven. The two concepts merge into a picture of rigid formality while remaining boisterous and fun.
Brown-hued symmetry composes so much of the rich imagery in Moonrise Kingdom. Few directors possess such a distinctive visual style that prompts audiences to recall exactly who composed the image. But much like the iconic imagery that comes from directors with peculiar stylistic tendencies (such as Stanley Kubrick or even Tim Burton), Wes Anderson’s directorial presence is palpable through every frame. While Moonrise Kingdom is not quite my favorite of his works (Rushmore takes that honor) and as the picture did not hold up quite as well as I remembered, it’s a remarkable achievement of growth from a director who maintains such a distinctive visual sensibility.
The central relationship between on-the-run Khaki Scout Sam and a wayward girl named Suzy has this sort of urgent poignancy that’s rarely seen in contemporary films. Anderson captures a sense of anxiety in youth with melancholic reverence. This sense of anxiety is what his pictures tend to address, but to utilize such young proxies for his cinematic thesis gives the material surprising emotional heft.
Upon rewatching Moonrise Kingdom, I was taken aback by the pristine compositions, stellar production design, and immaculate dedication to craft. Perhaps that’s why some of the picture’s running themes of anxiety, loneliness, and abandonment don’t always register completely. Within the cutesy universe that Anderson constructs, its visual representation perhaps does not lend itself to such heavy emotional work. But this detraction is not meant to discredit just how incredibly touching and powerful Moonrise Kingdom can be. Moving through the picture, I found added reverence for Edward Norton’s work. His character exudes the melancholic contradictions that compose much of the picture. Dressed in his Khaki uniform, he does his due diligence to mold the future. Somewhere along the way, a sense of his identity gets lost. The subtle touches to his character, particularly toward the end, have an aura of optimistic profundity that caught me off guard on my rewatch.
Awards considerations for both films are somewhat limited. Unlike the aforementioned Tree of Life or Midnight in Paris, neither picture truly gripped the necessary critical acclaim to such an infectious degree. And one could argue that 2012 is a more competitive year to 2011. Magic Mike strongest play rests in Matthew McConaughey’s Best Supporting Actor bid. It’s an uphill climb that will require critics to pull it back in contention once year-end awards are announced, but it’s certainly not out of the questions, especially given his career revival following critical acclaim in both William Friedkin’s Killer Joe and Jeff Nichols’s Mud. Nominations for Steven Soderbergh’s direction and editing, Channing Tatum’s revelatory lead turn, or Reid Carolin’s script are unlikely nominations – even if I consider them to be the finest examples of their craft this year.
Moonrise Kingdom is in a somewhat loftier position. It’s not particularly hard to believe that the film could be nominated for Best Picture or for Wes Anderson to get a Best Director nod. And had it been released last year, I suspect it would have been in a stronger position. But it’s hardly a leading contender either. And with so many contenders yet to be unveiled, its insecure position could be further jeopardized. Most are content with recognizing Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola’s writing for the picture, as a Best Original Screenplay nomination is about the only thing that pundits are willing to suggest for the film’s awards prospects. But there’s a lot of detail to this film, from Robert Yeoman’s gorgeous cinematography to Adam Stockhausen and Kris Moran’s impressive production design – none of which should be ignored. As the fall festivals reach their end and the winter awards push begins, I can only hope that the conversation for both Magic Mike and Moonrise Kingdom continues.