Tilda Swinton’s Fake Teeth
A post about the new Wes Anderson film, The French Dispatch
Stop the presses! The French Dispatch is here! This post, we will talk about my favorite parts of the movie, the film’s inspiration in the New Yorker magazine, and why a film celebrating magazine journalism tugs at my heartstrings in all the right ways.
First, some housekeeping. If you’re a subscriber, paid or otherwise, I dearly appreciate you! And if you are a paid subscriber, I’ll be shipping you literally the key to my heart. Okay, not literally, but I do adore you.
If you like this newsletter and think someone else might enjoy it, feel free to share! The more the merrier.
Seeing the French Dispatch [of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun] at the Loft (a small independent movie theater in my hometown) was the best choice. I got to have a glass of wine and enjoy the film with one of my best friends, all while we had the entire theater to ourselves (with the exception of this old man at the veeery front who at one point coughed hard enough that I was scared a literal lung was going to get dislodged.
The movie is really a lot of vignettes, four short stories all kind of bound together in the pages of this magazine. A tour through the town where the magazine is located, a story of an incarcerated artist, a piece about a revolution led by french youths, and the recollection of a food writer of the magazine recalling when he visited the police station for a meal, and was witness to a kidnapping and rescue instead.
Me: i know having a relationship where i’m at once hated and adored is so unhealthy, but Léa Seydoux makes me want her to look at me like that, you know?
My therapist: yeah, that is DEFINITELY the end of our time.
I remember reading one review of the film; “The French Dispatch is one of Wes Anderson’s greatest movies, but it’s not sure what to say.”
The beauty of it is that it doesn't have to say anything. When you read a magazine, you’re not expecting a cohesive story from cover to cover. A magazine is a weekly, sometimes monthly, collection of articles. They all exist in their own world, but they’re still a part of that magazine.
Which brings me to the inspiration for the French Dispatch, The New Yorker. The magazine, created 1925, to this day features articles on art, politics, food, entertainment, and numerous stories from around the world. You might read an article about the pioneering of medical care in Costa Rica, or maybe about the upcoming deployment of the James Webb space telescope. Meanwhile, art and jokes abound through each issue of the magazine.
The magazine has had contributions throughout the years from such writers as James Baldwin, E.B. White, Alice Munro, J.D. Salinger, and David Sedaris, to name a few. These writers were encouraged to bring their discourse, their fiction, and their points of view to a magazine that carved out a place for them and the valuable work they could bring.
I think that’s part of what the movie is saying. I think it’s looking at what a magazine like the French Dispatch, as well as probably print media in general, can do; its ability to inform, to entertain, and to spin the wildest stories of our banal world through an artistic lens.
There’s no photos that capture it, yet, but the best part of the movie is the fake teeth that Tilda Swinton wears for her character. The chompers are so friggin’ big that you can see them flash as she speaks to a filled auditorium. These things are so amazing, especially because they were so unnecessary. She already had the accent. You can still see that it’s Tilda. Why did she need them? I must know.
Me: I just … I just wish someone could also look at me the way that french moped girl looked at Timmy Shall or May, at once despising me and everything I stand for, while also barely concealing a deep sexual longing, you know?
My therapist: I think we need to refer you to a different doctor.
Let’s all appreciate Jeffrey Wright for a minute.
For anyone who has seen a Wes Anderson film before, you basically know the acting formula. Everything is dry, but the punchy rhythm of the lines creates the humor itself.
For Jeffrey Wright’s first foray into the world of Wes Anderson, he is a perfect fit. His part of the movie was my favorite. Although, I could watch Jeffrey play anything. I love him as an actor, as a narrator. If he would like to play a dude who asks me to go to a baseball game with him, that would be cool too.