The 45th edition of the New York Film Festival kicked off last night at Avery Fisher Hall with a packed screening of Wes Anderson's Darjeeling Limited. Many present might well have worried about the caliber of this year's selection based on the opener. They shouldn't. From what I've viewed so far, overall, this looks to be a lineup of brilliantly realized films, reflecting the fest's mandate to show the creme of what's out there. And given the wide spectrum, with each film you're transported to a distinctive and arresting world.

"Darjeeling," though arresting visually and musically, also plays like a cinematic expression of arrested development. Three bros (Owen Wilson, Jason Schartzman , Adrien Brody hit the rails in India to reaffirm filial ties, find mommy, and shed their Vuitton baggage. The NYFF seems almost to fetishize this director (in fact, by rightfully rescuing Rushmore from Disney limbo and placing it in the fest, it put Wes on the map). The filmmaker himself is into fetishes that make up his precious, sollipsistic universe. At its best, "Darjeeling" serves up amusingly weird tschotchkes (like the mom-and-pop shrine adorning Jason Schwartzman's room in Hotel Chevalier , the "curtain-raiser" to the film proper). The actual train, which looks hand-painted, is a cabinet of wonders; scenes are meticulously composed; Anderson's musical choices are delicious, and so is Jason Schwartzman's hair.

That said, the dialogue dribbles out with stunning inanity and the schticks are mostly unfunny. I found more offensive than amusing Schwartzman's quickie with the Indian train hostess. You could say it flirted uncomfortably with images of the Ugly American and sex tourism, if it weren't, well, so preppy-abroad. Having viewed the film twice, in an effort to jack up my enthusiasm, I knew the third time round at the premiere to skip out to the Ladies during the brothers' attempt to rescue the Indian child who drowns. Yeah, I know, it's supposed to be clever, or revelatory, or something to switch tones on a dime, but I found the mix of quirky and tragic distasteful. At bottom, "Darjeeling" is about the world of rich white boys, a throwback to those 19th century aristos who owed themselves a trot around the globe. I say all this with trepidation because it's totally uncool not to "get" Anderson and this film -- hey, I liked The Royal Tennenbaums just fine!

After the premiere, what seemed like all of Avery Fisher spilled onto Broadway and surged like some invasion of the Mongols toward the opening night party at Tavern on the Green. It's an exclusive party, they can't all be going, I said to my friend the kultur maven, very distinguay in his tux. But they were. We had to battle a battalion of hotties with cleavage and ironed hair to get to the hooch.. Do events rent eye candy for the evening? The clever guests had gotten a leg up by skipping the movie altogether to dine early amidst the Tavern's Turkish whorehouse decor with faux Tiffany windows. You couldn't get near the Talent. Black and blue tuna congealed on plates on the VIP section tables reserved for them. Finally Bill Murray arrived, full of fun and quite drunk. Has anyone noticed how much Adrien Brody and Noah Baumbach resemble each other? Same artiste type we used to fall for at Vassar and Sarah Lawrence. Major egos, great in the sack, guaranteed to drive you up the wall ... I was hoping to see Asia Argento and her co-artist canine, but had to make do with Michael Musto and Sylvia Miles (looking and sounding identical to her role in Abel Ferrara's sleazy fun fest Go Go Tales). My fave guest: a mysterious lone woman wearing a hat with gigantic egret feather.

Weaving over the cobblestones at 1:30 A.M. in search of an elusive cab, we saw a middle-aged woman furiously power-walking. An example of New York's famous energy -- or maybe quiet desperation.

# posted by Erica Abeel @ 9/29/2007 03:59:00 PM

Comments (1)

 
Erica, this was great!
I have never understood the appeal of Wes Anderson's films. I actually found the Royal Tannenbaums absolutely inane. The set-up was ripe
for some real class critique, but it never went there.
I am amazed that these boy buddy films still get produced and have 'indie' cred. They usually make me feel alienated and depressed afterwards because so many do find them enjoyable. (And it's not like I don't want to have a good experience watching any film that I bother to sit though.)
# posted by  Anonymous @ 9/30/2007 12:20 AM  

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