If you know Wes Anderson, you know his style. The heavy stylization of his movies is perhaps the most well-known thing about him. And while aspects of it have been present in all of his movies, the mature signature really began with “The Royal Tenenbaums” (2001): the story of three children, their parents, and their neighbor. It is one of the strangest movies I have ever seen.
“The Royal Tenenbaums” begins as though it is a children’s book and then shifts into almost a sitcom. The family is introduced — three extraordinary children, an eccentric mother and a rather aimless and neglectful father — along with their across-the-street neighbor, who is essentially another family member. Their childhoods are described in detail, including various escapades, awards and familial incidents. There is then a time jump to twenty-two years later, introducing the characters once again, similar to a classic sitcom intro by way of Wes Anderson, of course. What happens in the following ninety minutes, however, is nothing like a typical family sitcom.
The Tenenbaums are one of the most famously dysfunctional families in cinema — and for good reason. The eldest, Chas, has been in constant paranoia since his wife died in a plane crash. His children effectively work for him and are put through incessant timed emergency drills. The youngest, Richie, has been living on a boat for a year, having blown up his tennis career and is in love with his (adopted) sister, the middle child, Margot. All three children were once extraordinary. And all three children have since become hollow shells of the people they were as children.
“The Royal Tenenbaums” could be a sitcom. It has all the factors: strange parenting situation, remarkable children, neighbor who might as well live there and heavy stylization that makes the viewer wish they lived in that house, too. The point of a sitcom is both to make it seem like your own family might not be so bad and to give you something to wish your family was.
In the beginning of the movie, everyone wishes they were a Tenenbaum. The children are so prodigiously gifted their mother writes a book about them. The eldest has run a financial firm since he was a child. The middle is an award-winning playwright. The youngest has won the U.S. National three times in a row. They live in a beautiful house. Who, really, wouldn’t want to be a Tenenbaum? The answer to that question, it turns out, is the Tenenbaums themselves.
While they are exceptional, the Tenenbaum children are not allowed to be human. Despite never having been child actors, they are child stars: prodigies, playwrights, pop culture sensations. They have been under nothing but scrutiny their whole lives, like the animals on a safari. They lost themselves when they left home, because their family was all they were. On their own, the Tenenbaum siblings aren’t really anything anymore, unless they’re attached to their family name, or reliving accomplishments from their childhoods. So is it really any wonder that, despite hating him, they all rush home when they learn that their father is dying? If not for him, then for the chance to be Tenenbaums again, living with each other, building on each other, tearing each other apart?
And tear each other apart they do, to the absolute extreme. Because in their attempt to go back to being a family, however briefly, they all seem to forget that they were never really good at it — not in the normal sense. As enthusiastic as Etheline Tenenbaum is to have all of her children under the same roof, we never see her actually spending that much time with them as they are. The Tenenbaums that grew up in that house are gone. The people in their place are bitter, scared and numb, grasping at the straws of who they used to be, because they don’t know how to be anything else.
Chas wears a red tracksuit to earn his father’s favor, despite never having been the athlete that Richie was. Richie “Baumer” Tenenbaum still wears the headband and wristbands from his tennis days, despite the fact that he hasn’t played in at least a year. And Margot…Margot wears the same fur coat she’s had since childhood, trapped within herself just like how the animal that coat is made out of must have been trapped before it died. The impending death of their father brings the Tenenbaum children under one roof, but it doesn’t bring them together. All it does is prove that an extraordinary childhood can mess a person up severely — even more so if it was colored by an ordinary man who wanted nothing more than to be like his children.
Royal Tenenbaum, while not the worst dad in film history (a concession must be made to Leland Palmer), is pretty high up there. Faking his own cancer diagnosis just to manipulate his children into loving him — and maybe giving him some of their shine in the process — is scummy, to say the least. Royal does not love all his children equally and he never will. Margot will always be adopted, Chas will never be the fun-loving athlete that Richie is, and Richie…well, Richie may not be perfect in Royal’s eyes, but he is most certainly the child he loves most.
Royal Tenenbaum is as much a spectator in his children’s lives as any of the gawking journalists on their book tour. And that is his choice. He couldn’t handle being less than his own children, so he left them to be extraordinary all on their own, while he went to live in a hotel for 22 years. And then, when he came back, he had the audacity to be shocked by the fact that they were different people from the ones he’d left two decades previously. The Tenenbaum children lived a sitcom that their father watched and Wes Anderson filmed the aftermath.
No one really wants to be a Tenenbaum, least of all the Tenenbaums themselves. But as you stare at that screen, at that beautiful Technicolor house with its beautiful people and beautiful clothes, you can’t help but wish that your life was maybe a little bit like that. Because what would it be like to have someone — your brother nonetheless — be hopelessly in love with you for just about your whole life? What if you did have a sitcom neighbor who grew up to be a snobby, fake-western, cocaine-addicted, literary celebrity? Because while the Tenenbaums’ lives are messy, tragic, and scrutinized, they sure are something. And doesn’t everybody want to be something?
“The Royal Tenenbaums” will screen at the Fargo Theatre on September 22 at 7 p.m. as part of the Centennial Film Series. Tickets are seven dollars and can be purchased online or at the door.
