A Gentleman’s Gentleman & Other Characters of In-betweenness Problematized Binary Oppositions in Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Royal Tenenbaums & Fantastic Mr. Fox

Tess Kamphorst (10994297) | MA Thesis Comparative Cultural Analysis | 15 June 2016 UvA | Supervisor: prof. dr. M.D. Rosello | Second reader: dr. N. Martin

Kamphorst 2

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements 3

Introduction 4

1. The Grand Budapest Hotel 10

1.1 Introducing the film & M. Gustave 10

1.2 In between classes 12

1.3 In between the Subaltern and the powerful 18

2. The Royal Tenenbaums 22

2.1 Introducing the film & Margot Tenenbaum 22

2.2 In between visibility and invisibility 23

2.3 In between family and outsider 29

3. Fantastic Mr. Fox 35

3.1 Introducing the film & Mr. Fox 35

3.2 In between human and animal 37

3.3 In between locations: underground and aboveground 43

Conclusion 49

Works Cited 54

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Acknowledgements

Hereby, I would like to use the opportunity to express my gratitude to my supervisor Mireille

Rosello, who provided me with very useful comments and surprising new insights that really encouraged me to take my research to a higher level after every feedback session. Also, I am highly grateful to Marilyn for proof-reading this thesis. Evertjan, thank you so much for all your moral support and the indispensable reminder that you should never change your object.

Maaike, thank you for all our days of studying together and the much needed accompanying coffee breaks – even when your own thesis was already finished. Lieke, thank you for a wonderful (study) time in Boston and the willingness to ride the New York subway for an hour to see the Tenenbaum house in real life. A special thanks to my roommates in Utrecht who have introduced me to the wonderful world of Wes Anderson. Anne and Caroline, thank you for your always present support, either from here or the other side of the world. And last but not least, many thanks to my father, Ed, who has been an amazing help and who should earn a degree in

Comparative Cultural Analysis too.

Tess Kamphorst, June 2016

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“It is in culture that we can seek out the range of meanings and ideas conveyed

by the phrases belonging to or in a place, being at home in a place.”

– Edward W. Said

Introduction

One of the first things I do when I return home from a travel, is update my scratch map. With a coin, I scratch off the country I have visited, carefully within the lines of its borders. Once the scratch layer has been removed, the country appears in a colour; each continent has its own.

The countries within a continent are separated from each other by drawn border lines. This kind of separation, as well as the process of scratching within these border lines, make vividly clear how our world is divided politically and geographically. Indeed, “It is almost second nature these days to map the world as a collective of different nations, each separated from the other by a border” (McLeod 81). It is, however, not only geographical borders that divide us. We are also separated by the thresholds we create through our own binary thinking, e.g. concerning ethnicity, class, gender and other categories of identity and belonging. This thesis focuses on three distinct characters in three films of Wes Anderson, who can all be characterised as having a certain in-between status through which they problematize specific binary oppositions. Their ambiguous states invite us to think about what R. Radhakrishnan has formulated as: “how many worlds are there? [and] in what sense are “we” one and of the same world, and in what sense are we different and of different worlds?” (463) and show how we might answer these questions without repeating the same binary thinking with which we created these different worlds in the first place.

According to Leezenberg and de Vries, critique on binary oppositions is key to deconstructivism in which is argued that binary oppositions are hierarchical, problematic and eventually untenable, yet at the same time inevitable to our linguistic thinking (249). This way Kamphorst 5 of thinking was a source of inspiration for emancipation movements and feminist authors and was famously expressed by Simone de Beauvoir’s well-known question: “What is a woman?”

De Beauvoir argued that the concept of ‘woman’ is always defined by its opposite, ‘man’, the latter representing the neutral and positive element, the first the negative and passive element

(De Beauvoir 11). Such binary thought can be characterized as a battlefield, Toril Moi argues, since “For one of the terms to acquire meaning, it must destroy the other” (125). Binary oppositions have been key to the field of postcolonial, gender and women’s studies, as both the studies’ tool and that what it wishes to deconstruct (Van der Tuin 22). It is mainly these fields of studies that the theoretical framework of this thesis is situated in, for analysing the particular and potentially insightful ways in which Anderson lets his characters move within binaries, through which he lets them negotiate their sense of identity and belonging.

Introducing a more inclusive mode of thinking that transcends binary oppositions is of particular relevance at the moment, given the rise of disquieting sentiments of exclusion that are part of the current debate surrounding the large number of refugees coming to Europe from countries such as Syria and Afghanistan. Many arguments heard against the coming of refugees resemble the following selection of responses in an audience research from the Dutch broadcaster NOS in which a similar ‘us’ and ‘them’ discourse is used: “The Islam, the sharia and all political expressions of the Islam directly affect our freedom and safety”; “They have to work instead of begging for money. And adjust to our culture!” and “Those are profiteers” (Van der Parre and de Vries, my translation). It is in response to such polarising arguments in the refugee debate and other current socio-political discussions that a group of Dutch students has launched the campaign Dare to be Grey in March this year. Instead of strong arguments, both con and pro, that attempt to enforce an opinion on other people, they plea to go “beyond the black and white fallacy”. According to the campaign, the grey middle with its great diversity Kamphorst 6 of opinions, nuances and identities needs to be made visible again (“Dare to be Grey”). It is, indeed, an invitation to being in-between.

Since the Schengen Agreement of 1985 – which guaranteed free movement for citizens within most EU states – the Schengen Area of Europe has been characterised as an “area without internal borders”. The abolishment of internal borders, however, has caused the reinforcement of the external borders of the area (“Schengen, Borders & Visas”). What has been called “the back door to Europe” is now further ‘secured’ with fences and border controls to stop migrants and refugees from coming in. Moreover, even within the Schengen Area there are now extended border controls, e.g. at the German-Austrian border (Almukhtar, Keller and Watkins). It is, however, not only the geographical borders through which refugees are stopped from entering a country; imaginative borders also shape a nation and have the ability to in- or exclude citizens

(McLeod 244). It is precisely these imaginative borders that are at the basis of the binary division between ‘us’ and ‘them’ that is so central in the rhetoric of refugee opponents. If refugees manage to cross the physical borders of Europe, it thus still remains to be seen if they can cross its imaginative ones. Indeed, migration has “come to signify all possible processes of identification and dis-identification relating to the trespassing of borders and “off limits” territories – both material and symbolic” (Merolla and Ponzanesi 3). The question remains, however, whether migrants can fully integrate into the new homeland; if “their sense of identity and belonging may be eternally split across two or more locations” (McLeod 245), or that they come to inhabit a wholly new space in which one does not inhabit either this or that location, but precisely both at the same time. According to Edward Soja, such a Thirdspace opens up new possibilities and alternatives in which the original binary opposition is creatively restructured (5). In this sense, migrants thus come to inhabit a new space in which both the elements of the ‘old’ and ‘new’ homeland shape their sense of identity and belonging. Kamphorst 7

Although the analysis that follows below does not necessarily concentrate on spatiality, the spatial metaphors of borders, migration and Thirdspace offer useful insights to it. Moreover, although fictional and not always (directly) related to migration and border issues, the three films used for analysis can offer new ways of dealing with binaries that are useful to the refugee debate, in its exploration of similar issues of inclusion, exclusion, identity and belonging. The here highlighted characters precisely resemble the figure of the migrant in the exploration of their sense of identity and belonging, that is neither here nor there. It is particularly interesting to explore these themes through works of fiction, since it offers a different view on reality than for example journalist representations. While, “In real life, you’re usually at some distance and things are prepared, polished”, in films, just as with literature, “you can see the whole messy collection of things that happen inside our heads” (Leddy). Indeed, as famously posed by Albert

Camus, “Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”

The U.S. American film writer and director Wes Anderson (1969) (co-)wrote and directed a total of eight films. The three films that are used for analysis here are The Grand

Budapest Hotel (2014), The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) and Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009). I have chosen these particular films of Wes Anderson because of its characters who all explore who they are and where they belong, albeit each in their own specific way. These issues of identity and belonging are further explored through the depth Anderson gives to all of his characters, i.e.: “the extent to which everyone in Anderson’s films has an inner life, and a comprehensive back-story. Effectively what we see on screen of each character is the tip of the iceberg:

Anderson has thought through their traits, obsessions, favourite music and/or books in astonishing detail” (Gritten). Interestingly though, Anderson is often accused of being shallow and staying at the surface of his films. Film critic Nina Polak brings both views beautifully together by arguing that almost nobody dives as deep into the surface he creates as Anderson Kamphorst 8 does. Indeed, she argues, his specialty is “the endlessly layered outside of things” (Polak, my translation).

It is exactly Anderson’s ‘in-depth shallowness’ that make his films interesting objects for cultural analysis, in which films are perceived as visual texts whose “lines, motifs, colours, and surfaces, like words, contribute to the production of meaning” (Bal 26). Given the emphasis on visual information in Anderson’s films, the films can truly be the speakers in the analysis.

In so far as cultural analysis can be ascribed a ‘method’, this is precisely how this thesis is shaped: it is the object that is the central speaker, not the artist, author, or in this particular case the film maker. Moreover, the films are “analysed in view of their existence in culture.” This means that the films – just as any other cultural object – can offer useful insights into political and cultural debates, since “they are not seen as isolated jewels, but as things always-already engaged, as interlocutors, within the larger culture from which they have emerged” (Bal 9).

Although not directly related, in its depiction of issues of inclusion, exclusion, identity and belonging, Anderson’s films and characters can thus also offer us insights into debates such as the one surrounding the refugee crisis. In this way objects “become a living creature, embedded in all the questions and considerations that the mud of your travel spattered onto it, and that surround it like a ‘field’” (Bal 4).

This thesis is divided into three parts. The first part consists of an analysis of The Grand

Budapest Hotel and its character Monsieur Gustave and asks the question: How does Monsieur

Gustave, as a character of in-betweenness, problematize static notions of identity and belonging? The specific binary pairs analysed here are ‘upper and lower classes’ and ‘Subaltern and the powerful’. The second part consists of an analysis of The Royal Tenenbaums and its character Margot Tenenbaum. The central question asked is: In what ways does Margot

Tenenbaum, as a character of in-betweenness, sabotage the seemingly binary categories of union and separation that characterise the Tenenbaum family? To answer this question, I will Kamphorst 9 focus on how Margot problematizes the specific binary pairs of ‘visibility and invisibility’ and

‘family and outsider’. The third part consists of an analysis of Fantastic Mr. Fox and its main character Mr. Fox. Here, I will ask the question: How does Mr. Fox, as a character of in- betweenness, destabilise the binary opposition between metaphorically being underground and aboveground? The specific binary pairs analysed here are ‘human and animal’ and

‘underground and aboveground’. In the conclusion, I will bring the threefold analysis together and argue how these specific characters function as characters of in-betweenness who problematize seemingly fixed binary oppositions, and what possible insights they can provide for transcending conventional ways of thinking about issues of identity and belonging.

Kamphorst 10

1. The Grand Budapest Hotel

§1.1 Introducing the film & M. Gustave

“Every so often in our culture, an artist arrives with a body of work so dense and allusive it encourages his followers to scour and dissect it for clues, insights and meanings”, says David

Gritten from The Telegraph, while naming the films of Quentin Tarantino and the lyrics of Bob

Dylan as examples. Wes Anderson’s name has to be added to this list too, Gritten argues, mainly because of his peculiar scripts and style of filming. Indeed, Anderson’s films have a certain cult status and often do not appeal to a very broad public. The Grand Budapest Hotel on the other hand – Anderson’s most recent film – was generally well received. It won among others a

Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture and Oscars for Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best

Achievement in Costume Design, Makeup and Hairstyling, Production Design and Music

Written for Motion Picture (“Awards”).

The Grand Budapest Hotel is build up as a frame story, starting with an encounter between a young writer (Jude Law) and the old Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), who used to be a lobby boy and is now the owner of the Grand Budapest Hotel. Zero tells him the story of his younger self as a lobby boy (Tony Revolori) and the original concierge of the film,

Monsieur Gustave (Ralph Fiennes). Their story contains the main body of the film, starting with the murder of Madame D., a wealthy hotel guest with whom M. Gustave had an intimate relationship (as with many other of his older, female hotel guests). At the reading of her will, it appears that M. Gustave has inherited the famous and valuable painting Boy with Apple, much to the dismay of Madame D.’s son Dmitri. He tries to frame M. Gustave for the murder of

Madame D. and eventually M. Gustave is imprisoned. With the help of Zero and Agatha –

Zero’s girlfriend who works at the Mendl’s bakery – he manages to escape. In the meantime, war has broken out and a series of events follow, among which the reading of an amendment of the will which says M. Gustave will inherit all the belongings of Madame D., including the Kamphorst 11

Grand Budapest Hotel of which she appeared to have been the owner. When M. Gustave is eventually shot in the war, Zero Moustafa inherits the Grand Budapest Hotel.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is inspired by the stories of Stefan Zweig (1881-1942). As a writer who is born in Austria but traveling and living abroad for the most part of his life, he found his inspiration all over Europe. Because of the two World Wars and especially since

Zweig was of Jewish origin, free travel was eventually no longer an option for him. According to his biographer George Prochnik, “it was absolutely devastating for him – that loss of geographical freedom, the ability to just cross borders without thinking about it.” Wes Anderson was very much fascinated by this. In a conversation with Prochnik, he states: “There were so many descriptions of parts of life, which (…) we didn’t really know about from his time, before reading Zweig’s memoir. In particular I don’t think I ever thought about the moment when it became necessary to have a passport, which is hugely meaningful when you see it through his eyes” (“I stole from Stefan Zweig”). These shifting notions of identity and belonging due to war and geopolitical changes are reflected in The Grand Budapest Hotel too. Not only is this apparent through literal references to war and border politics, but also through the film’s characters who problematize static notions of identity and belonging.

A character who especially merits analysis is Monsieur Gustave. As the hotel’s concierge he takes up an interesting in-between position. After all, the common term “a gentleman’s gentleman” suggests how a butler neither belongs to the working class or the proletariat as a simple servant (after all, he is a gentleman), nor to the higher or upper class of the gentleman he is serving (Scherzinger 3). Moreover, while the servant, butler or concierge

“fill[s] the margins of texts devoted to their superiors” (literally in novels, as well as metaphorically in real life), he or she is also an active agent in doing all the work (Robbins 4-

5). Primarily through his role as the concierge of the Grand Budapest, M. Gustave problematizes this sharp distinction between upper and lower class, as well as the opposition Kamphorst 12 between the Subaltern and the powerful. In this chapter, I will focus on both to answer the question: How does Monsieur Gustave, as a character of in-betweenness, problematize static notions of identity and belonging?

§1.2 In between classes

The first part of The Grand Budapest Hotel (titled M. Gustave) begins with a shot of M. Gustave in a hotel room. It immediately becomes apparent in image that the Grand Budapest is a high class hotel and M. Gustave himself a first rate concierge. He is dressed in white tie, his hair combed to one side and he has a neatly trimmed moustache. The walls of the hotel room are covered with pink wall paper with a golden touch, a chandelier is hanging from the ceiling, paintings are hanging on the wall and a deep red, elegantly patterned carpet covers the floor.

The hotel room is obviously meant for guests from the upper class, which becomes even clearer when we are introduced to Madame D., who is staying at the hotel: an old lady with grey hair in a beehive, wearing red lipstick, a pearl necklace and other expensive looking jewellery.

While, on the one hand, we know that the character of M. Gustave is part of the staff of the

Grand Budapest, we are also led to believe that he is on the same level as Madame D., which is shown in image as he sits opposite her at a table in the hotel room, while the lobby boy is standing in the corner of the room. He is joining her for breakfast, as we see two cups of coffee on the table. The setting suggests that they are equals, as hotel staff would usually never join the guests for breakfast. It is only through M. Gustave’s purple uniform that we still recognise him as being a member of the Grand Budapest’s staff, thus not fully belonging to Madame D.’s class.

M. Gustave’s ambivalent position in between classes is also made highly visible through his use of language. During the breakfast scene, both M. Gustave and Madame D. are speaking in an impeccable and mannered English. However, when Madame D. tells about her Kamphorst 13 inexplicable fear of leaving the hotel and says: “Come with me”, M. Gustave answers, “To fucking Lutz?” (The Grand Budapest Hotel). Shortly after this vulgar outburst, he recites a poem to comfort her, again in the most educated, civilised manner: “While questing once in a noble wood of grey, medieval pine, I came upon a tomb, rain-slick’d, rubbed-cool, ethereal; its inscription long-vanished, yet still within its melancholy fissures” (The Grand Budapest Hotel).

This switching of registers is an inherent part of the character of M. Gustave, through which

Anderson situates him ambivalently within classes. Educated language and recitations of poems in archaic English are interchanged with swear words, as also becomes apparent when M.

Gustave has said goodbye to Madame D. and then says to Zero: “It’s quite a thing winning the loyalty of a woman like that for nineteen consecutive seasons”, to which Zero responds, “Uh.

Yes, sir.” They continue: “She’s very fond of me you know.” “Yes, sir.” “I’ve never seen her like that before.” “No, sir.” M. Gustave then says, albeit with the same impeccable English accent: “She was shaking like a shitting dog”, to which Zero hesitantly answers, “Truly” (The

Grand Budapest Hotel).

It is not only in the use of language that the sharp distinction between upper and lower class is blurred through the character of M. Gustave. We learn that every night he delivers a sermon prior to dinner with the staff. We see him standing behind a lectern, preaching and again reciting a poem: “The painter’s brush touched the inchoate face by ends of nimble bristles”

(The Grand Budapest Hotel). M. Gustave’s sermon and his position behind the wooden lectern with its logo of the Grand Budapest stand in sharp contrast to his surroundings. As the camera zooms out, the viewer sees bare walls that are slightly damaged, a simple tile floor, brooms, some white cloths, a fuse box hanging on the wall and a pin-up board with notes on it. The simple looking staff chamber and the official sermon from behind the lectern symbolise the opposition between the lower working class and the educated upper class. It is precisely through the character of M. Gustave that Anderson problematizes this distinction by portraying him as Kamphorst 14 belonging to both classes at the same time. This is also picturesquely shown in a following scene, in which the viewer is shown M. Gustave eating his dinner in his own room. While his belonging to the working class is emphasised through a simple staff chamber with bare walls and little furniture, and M. Gustave eating a bowl of cereal while wearing basic white underwear, hints of his high class life as a neat and well educated man are given through a small row of books and a collection of bottles of his signature perfume, l’air de panache.

As I have previously argued above, the figure of the concierge takes up an interesting in-between position in both belonging and not belonging to the people he has to serve. In the film, this in-betweenness is pushed to extremes through the fact that the character Monsieur

Gustave is not only the hotel’s concierge, but also its gigolo or escort – providing the female hotel guests with more than the usual services. This is revealed through the character of Zero, who says: “I began to realise that many of the hotel’s most valued and distinguished guests came for him. It seemed to be an essential part of his duties, but I believe it was also his pleasure” (The Grand Budapest Hotel). The sex worker takes up a similar in-between position to the concierge: someone from the lower class provides his services to someone from the upper class, while he also functions as a “gentleman’s gentleman”, although in this case for women – somewhat placing both the servant and the served on an equal level. This is pushed to extremes in the case of a sex worker, since in the act of sex, two bodies temporarily merge and become one. Moreover, as a sex worker, one transfers his or her class disadvantage into erotic capital

(Roth 1), which further problematizes the sharp distinction between M. Gustave’s lower class and the higher class of the woman who is paying for the capital. The character of M. Gustave is thus being attributed further ambivalence in playing the role of the sex worker.

As Zero’s voice-over says: “The requirements were always the same. They had to be rich, old, insecure, vain, superficial, blond, needy” (The Grand Budapest Hotel), we see several shots of M. Gustave interacting with the ladies he is providing his services to. Here, it becomes Kamphorst 15 apparent in image how escorts are really about the suggestion of class. While we see M. Gustave during private moments (in bed with a naked woman who is putting on her make-up, being bathed by one old lady and receiving oral sex from another), we also see him in public areas of the hotel interacting with these women. The viewer is shown images of M. Gustave dancing with a lady in the ballroom and then having a drink on the hotel balcony while standing between expensively dressed ladies. Here, he is joining them in their high class social activities, blending in as if he is of their class. Interestingly, the character eventually really does come to belong to the upper class, as Zero tells us at the end of the film: “He was the same as his disciples.

Insecure, vain, superficial, blond, needy. In the end, he was even rich” (The Grand Budapest

Hotel). Before this, however, he is consistently attributed a status in between lower and upper classes, which is suggested in image through the recurrent appearance of keys in the film. The first time we learn about M. Gustave being the hotel’s escort, we see him entering the Prince

Heinrich Suite by using a set of keys. The keys function as a symbol to access here, since we can hear that there is already a woman in the room who could have opened the door for him from the inside. Moreover, very often in the film, M. Gustave is portrayed behind his concierge desk, in front of a board with all the hotel room keys hanging on it. Not only does it suggest that the hotel concierge is a key figure, the figure of the concierge also generally relates interestingly to keys. After all, he is trusted by the upper class to safeguard their keys and therefore their private rooms – but he is usually not allowed to use them, which places him in- between.

The painting Boy with Apple also takes up an important position in Monsieur Gustave’s embodied threshold between upper and lower classes. Indeed, this threshold is situated within the painting itself too. On the one hand, the painting functions as the paragon of high class in this film, as M. Gustave tells us: “This is Van Hoytl’s exquisite portrayal of a beautiful boy on the cusp of manhood. Blond, smooth a skin as white as that milk. Of impeccable provenance, Kamphorst 16 one of the last in private hands and unquestionably the best. It’s a masterpiece. The rest of this shit is worthless junk” (The Grand Budapest Hotel). The latter remark is emphasised too in the scene of the reading of the will. While Madame D.’s son Dmitri has inherited almost all of her belongings, Boy with Apple seems to be the most valuable possession. This is stressed when, after naming what Dmitri has inherited, the executor of the will announces the inheritance of

Boy with Apple with a meaningful “however…”, as well as in the shocked reaction of all people present when they hear M. Gustave has inherited the painting. Paradoxically, this painting that seems to be the embodiment of the educated upper class, since it is such a fine work of art, is precisely the reason why M. Gustave becomes a thief, a suspected murderer, a prisoner and a fence. This is demonstrated by the character himself. After having stolen the painting, he says to Zero: “I’ll never part with it. It reminded her of me. It will remind me of her. Always. I’ll die with this picture above my bed.” After a short pause, he makes up his mind and says: “Actually, we should sell it (…) We’ll contact the black market and liquidate Boy with Apple by the end of the week” (The Grand Budapest Hotel).

Besides metaphorical references, Anderson also literally refers to M. Gustave’s ambivalent position in between classes. This happens in the scene of the reading of the will too.

Although M. Gustave has inherited the exquisite painting, his low class origin is stressed by

Dmitri. When someone asks: “Who is Gustave H.?” and M. Gustave answers, “I’m afraid that’s me, darling”, Dmitri says, “That fucking faggot!”, adding with a contemptuous tone, “He’s a concierge”. He thus stresses the fact that M. Gustave certainly does not belong to the people in the room and therefore should not be a rightful inheritor. When shortly after that we are shown that the characters of Zero and M. Gustave are stealing the painting, this in-betweenness is also seen in image. When M. Gustave takes the painting from the mantelshelf, a discoloured stain in the size of the painting is revealed to the viewer. To cover the spot, Zero hangs a painting he finds in the corner of the room which appears to be an image of two naked women masturbating. Kamphorst 17

It symbolises how the impeccable provenance of Boy with Apple and the sexuality and vulgarity of the other painting are interchangeable, similar to M. Gustave’s own embodied in-between position.

Talking about the nostalgia that characterises Monsieur Gustave so much, the old Zero

Moustafa tells the young writer at the end of the film: “To be frank, I think his world had vanished long before he ever entered it. But, I will say, he certainly sustained the illusion with a marvellous grace” (The Grand Budapest Hotel). Sustaining the illusion is indeed central to the character of M. Gustave regarding his ambivalent position in between classes. This reaches a climax when Anderson lets him end up in prison after being framed for Madame D.’s murder.

When Zero meets him in prison, we are shown M. Gustave wearing a dirty prison uniform, with a black eye and clenched hands. While in image, nothing is left of his charm and grace as the concierge of the Grand Budapest Hotel, it is through his actions that the illusion is still sustained. This in-betweenness is demonstrated in a scene where M. Gustave reads a letter he has written to the staff of the Grand Budapest. The setting in this scene is similar to one the viewer has been shown before, in which he speaks to the staff in the hotel. Here, too, we see

M. Gustave standing behind a lectern, but this time in prison. Interestingly, the lectern does have the logo of the Grand Budapest on it – indeed, as a sort of imaginative border-crossing of space. The viewer sees him standing in the middle of the room; on his left the guards, on his right the prisoners. By talking about the impeccable reputation of the Grand Budapest as the concierge of the hotel while actually being a prisoner, as well as by literally standing in between the guards and the prisoners, Anderson challenges “clearly defined, static notions of being ‘in place’” (McLeod 248) through the character of M. Gustave. This is again beautifully stressed when some of his rough looking prisoner friends say to Monsieur Gustave: “You are one of us now”, to which he answers, “What a lovely thing to say” – immediately proving to the viewer, Kamphorst 18 through his use of language and attitude, that he certainly is not one of them, which places him in-between once again.

§1.3 In between the Subaltern and the powerful

“Run to the cathedral of Santa Maria Christiana in Brucknerplatz. Buy one of the plain, half- length candles and take back four Klubecks in change. Light it in the sacristy, say a brief rosary, then go to Mendl’s and get me a Courtesan au chocolat”, says Monsieur Gustave to Zero. While the viewer sees them looking each other in the eyes, M. Gustave holds a coin right in front of

Zero’s face. When Zero says: “Right away, sir” and turns around, M. Gustave says, “Hold it.

Who are you?” The conversation continues: “Zero, sir. The new lobby boy.” “Zero, you say?”

“Yes, sir.” M. Gustave then says to him: “Well, I’ve never heard of you. Never laid eyes on you. Who hired you?” (The Grand Budapest Hotel) Through both M. Gustave’s words and the change in looks, we are shown how this particular interaction between M. Gustave and Zero is characterised by inequality. While Zero looked M. Gustave in the eye in the first part of the conversation, he now looks down when introducing himself. M. Gustave, at his turn, looks down on Zero. Moreover, we know that it is not true that M. Gustave has never laid eyes on

Zero, since we have just seen them looking each other in the eyes. Both in image and in words, it is through the character Monsieur Gustave that Zero is literally being attributed the status of a zero – indeed, as someone you never hear about or never lay eyes on.

The metaphor of the zero is further expanded in a scene in which the character of

Monsieur Gustave starts interviewing Zero. When he asks, “Experience?” and Zero says, “Hotel

Kinski, Kitchen Boy, six months. Hotel Berlitz, Mop and Broom Boy, three months. Before that I was a Skillet Scrubber in the banquet hall at…”, M. Gustave concludes, “Experience: zero”. When he continues asking: “Education?” and Zero says, “I studied reading and spelling.

I completed my primary school certificate. I almost started…”, he again concludes, “Education: Kamphorst 19 zero”. When M. Gustave finally asks: “Family?”, Zero himself concludes, “Zero”. Here, it is once again shown that it is through the character of Monsieur Gustave that Zero is being attributed this status of the Subaltern, both by calling him a zero and by speaking for him. It places the character of M. Gustave in the position of the powerful – reaffirming the image of the Subaltern who cannot represent himself, but must always be represented (Spivak 71). This is also emphasised in image. During the interview, we are shown the two of them walking through the lobby of the Grand Budapest. M. Gustave interacts with both hotel guests and staff while passing by. The viewer sees him correcting a member of the staff on his choice for a flower bouquet, being thanked by one hotel guest, flirting with another and commanding the lift boy. Through this image, we are led to believe that he really is the man in charge and thus an active agent, in contrast to Zero who walks passively behind him.

Wes Anderson often plays with Orientalist stereotypes in his films and The Grand

Budapest Hotel is no exception to this. It is no coincidence that the character of Zero is played by an actor with a Middle Eastern appearance. Anderson constructs this Orientalist stereotype in a scene in which M. Gustave has just escaped from prison. When it appears that Zero has failed to bring disguises and M. Gustave’s signature perfume, we see the latter starting a tirade:

“Well, that’s just marvellous, isn’t it? (…) I suppose this is to be expected back in Aq Salim al-

Jabat where one’s prized possessions are a stack of filthy carpets and a starving goat, and one sleeps behind a tent-flap and survives on wild dates and scarabs. But it’s not how I trained you.

What on God’s earth possessed you to leave the homeland where you very obviously belong

(…) to become a penniless immigrant in a refined, highly cultivated society that, quite frankly, could have gotten along very well without you?” (The Grand Budapest Hotel) We are here led to believe that M. Gustave represents this “refined, highly cultivated society”, whereas the character of Zero is supposed to be his exact opposite. It is precisely through these stereotypical cultural assumptions of M. Gustave that Zero is made the Orientalist Other, whereby Anderson Kamphorst 20 poses M. Gustave as Zero’s “contrasting image, idea, personality, experience” (Said,

“Orientalism” 10).

While Anderson uses these Orientalist stereotypes, he at the same time turns them around too – thereby problematizing the sharp opposition he created himself. Although it is precisely through the character of M. Gustave that he creates this asymmetrical dichotomy between the Subaltern and the powerful, it is also exactly this character through which he makes the binary opposition unstable. First of all, the viewer is not fully led to believe the dichotomy he creates through his Orientalist outburst since during this scene, we see that the characters of

M. Gustave and Zero are wearing the exact same dirty farm clothes, which in appearance make them both seem very distant from this “refined, highly cultivated society” which M. Gustave is talking about. Moreover, the concept of Orientalism in itself shows us how the sharp distinction between the Subaltern and the powerful is problematized within the character of M. Gustave.

According to Said, “European culture gained in strength and identity by setting itself off against the Orient as a sort of surrogate and even underground self” (“Orientalism” 11). In multiple scenes, we are shown how Anderson indeed wants the character of Zero to function as M.

Gustave’s underground self. After all, Anderson also shows us how M. Gustave was once and might still be a Zero/zero himself. E.g., only the perfume bottles and the small rows of books in the earlier described staff chamber still hint at the graceful concierge M. Gustave is, while the decoration of the room and his simple white underwear show that beneath his purple costume this “underground self” is revealed. Moreover, Anderson hints at the idea of M.

Gustave once being a lobby boy too, although at first he does not want to admit it. When Zero asks: “Were you ever a lobby boy, sir?”, he answers, slightly agitated, “What do you think?”

When Zero says: “Well, I suppose you had to start somewhere”, M. Gustave brushes him off, saying, “Oh go light the goddamn candle” (The Grand Budapest Hotel). Indeed, it is through this, that Anderson suggests that Zero relates to M. Gustave as his “Self’s shadow” (Spivak 75). Kamphorst 21

The above written shows how in The Grand Budapest Hotel, Anderson is constantly playing with seemingly fixed notions of identity and belonging precisely by placing the character of M. Gustave in-between. He does this through an interesting interplay of filiation and affiliation. In many instances, we are led to believe that the character of M. Gustave has a filial relationship to the upper class, i.e. that this is where he naturally belongs to as opposed to the character of Zero who functions as its Orientalised Other. However, Anderson simultaneously shows us how the character of M. Gustave is all about sustaining this illusion, through which he reproduces the filiation into an affiliative structure that defines his sense of identity and belonging (Said, “The World” 22). The Grand Budapest Hotel can thus be seen as a hymn to affiliation in which its characters transform the failed possibility of filiation to the high class world of the Grand Budapest Hotel into new forms of relationships to it, through which they define who they are and where they belong to (Said, “The World” 19).

Kamphorst 22

2. The Royal Tenenbaums

§2.1 Introducing the film & Margot Tenenbaum

The Royal Tenenbaums is Wes Anderson’s third film. Just as he did for his first two films, he co-wrote The Royal Tenenbaums with Owen Wilson, who also plays a role in the film. The film is typically Anderson-esque, with its distinct symmetrical filming style and its meticulously well thought out mise-en-scène. In every shot, attention has been paid to the smallest details, such as personalised pencils or a wall marked with children’s heights (Epstein). It gives the impression that “Anderson’s characters construct dollhouse environments on which they can impose order”. In the case of The Royal Tenenbaums, for example, these are full of “semi- autobiographical plays, terrariums filled with painted mice, walls of portraits dedicated to a single subject [and] rooms filled with board games” (Phipps). All characters are very recognizable through their own distinct props and costumes: both the younger and the older version of Margot Tenenbaum e.g. always wear the same heavy eye make-up and signature fur coat. Margot is part of the Tenenbaum family, consisting of her father Royal Tenenbaum (Gene

Hackman), her mother Etheline Tenenbaum (Anjelica Huston) and her brothers Chas

Tenenbaum (Ben Stiller) and Richie Tenenbaum (Luke Wilson). Together, they are a family of geniuses. The adopted Margot wrote award-winning plays and won a grant of 50.000 dollars in the ninth grade; Chas went into business in the sixth grade, investing in real estate and breeding

Dalmatian mice, while Richie had been a champion tennis player since third grade, turning pro at the age of seventeen and winning the U.S. Nationals three years in a row (The Royal

Tenenbaums).

The viewer is being introduced to the Tenenbaum family in one of the first shots in the film, where the camera moves from the top of the Tenenbaum house downwards, slowly making visible the three story high bay window at the corner of the house. Behind the windows, we see Margot on the third floor, Chas on the second and Richie on the first – portrayed as Kamphorst 23 living under one roof, yet separately. We see Royal Tenenbaum walking up the outside stairs to the front door, while the narrator says: “Royal Tenenbaum bought the house on Archer

Avenue in the winter of his thirty-fifth year. Over the next decade, he and his wife had three children and then they separated” (The Royal Tenenbaums). It is through narration as well as image, that categories of closeness and distance, union and separation immediately become blurred here. The family appears not to be separated or united, but precisely both at the same time. These seemingly binary categories are central to the plot of the film, which is about the attempted reparation of a separated family when all three children temporarily move back into their parental home after their father pretends he has cancer and only six more weeks to live.

This chapter focuses on the character of Margot Tenenbaum, who functions as a character of in-betweenness and through whom it is demonstrated that the story of the

Tenenbaums was never really about reunification after separation, but that the family was always in between these categories throughout. I will show this through a close-reading of her character, while focusing on her ambivalent position in between visibility and invisibility, and her position in between family and outsider, to answer the following question: In what ways does Margot Tenenbaum, as a character of in-betweenness, sabotage the seemingly binary categories of union and separation that characterise the Tenenbaum family?

§2.2 In between visibility and invisibility

In the beginning of the film, all three Tenenbaum children are being introduced to the viewer inside their bedrooms, starting with a shot of their bedroom doors. When Margot is introduced, we see a closed door (as opposed to the open bedroom doors of Chas and Richie) with a peephole, secured with at least four different locks, and hung with an African mask that is showing its teeth. There are signs saying “keep door closed”, “do not enter”, and “do not disturb”. The door points to an excess of security measures to keep unwanted people out. Kamphorst 24

Surprisingly, it concerns her bedroom door; thus a self-contained fortress is created through inside borders within the family house. The “unwanted” people seem to be Margot’s family members from whom she apparently hides behind her door. In the following shot we see that, behind the closed door, Margot is sitting on her bed listening to a record through her headphones

– again emphasising this extreme privacy that characterises her and at times makes her invisible to (and unheard by) to the rest of her family.

In the next shot, the viewer is introduced to Margot’s hobbies and talents. We see

Margot in her bedroom behind a typewriter writing a play, reading a play by Eugene O’Neill, turning on the light of one of her model sets, doing ballet and developing photos in her bathroom, which she has turned into a darkroom. The darkroom functions as an interesting reference to Margot’s ambivalent position in between invisibility and visibility. After all, the darkroom holds an interesting in-between position too. By making the room completely dark and thus everything in it almost invisible, you allow light sensitive photographic material to appear and become visible. Positioning Margot in the darkroom thus emphasises how she is in between visibility and invisibility, resembling the figure of the spectre and its “present absence: despite being ephemeral, something is there that matters and has to be taken into account”

(Peeren 10). Indeed, photography in itself can be characterised as spectral, in the sense that it

“produces Death while trying to preserve life” (Barthes 92). According to Barthes, a photograph produces death because a photograph will inevitably fade as a consequence of light or humidity over time, but also because the one who is being photographed experiences that he is becoming an object, thereby experiencing a “micro-version of death” and metaphorically becoming a spectre (14).

In the introduction of her brother Richie, the spectrality that characterises Margot is emphasised through one of Richie’s hobbies: painting. We see Richie with a brush and a palette, about to paint something on one of his bedroom walls. The narrator tells us: “He kept a studio Kamphorst 25 in the corner of the ballroom”, continuing, “but had failed to develop as a painter” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). The image jumps to a zoom-out shot of a wall hung with sixteen almost identical paintings of Margot, en face, while reading a book – resembling how the viewer was shown the character of Margot ‘in real life’ earlier on in the film. According to Barthes, photography reduces the paradigm of life and death “to a simple click, the one separating the initial pose from the final print” (92). Paintings can be perceived in a similar way too, as “a kind of primitive theatre, a kind of Tableau vivant, a figuration of motionless and made-up face beneath which we see the dead” (Barthes 31-32). Richie’s paintings indeed become representations of Margot that are not only lifeless, but also fixed and reduced to one particular pose. They sabotage the binary opposition between life and death and visibility and invisibility precisely through this representation, through which the character of Margot is in a sense present in the film, albeit not fully alive but as a static object.

In more scenes in the film the character of Margot is represented in a similar way to those described above. Multiple times throughout the film, we see a grown-up Richie reading the book Three Plays by Margot Tenenbaum. Not only is the book a representation of Margot, substituting her real life presence for Richie; Anderson also makes Richie himself represent

Margot by letting him take the exact same position (en face towards the camera, reading a book) as the one in which Richie has painted Margot so often when he was young. Moreover, the book again emphasises Margot’s status in between life and death and visibility and invisibility for the viewer. After all, we are looking at the cover of the book, stating “Margot Tenenbaum”; we are thus looking at Margot, albeit a lifeless representation of her. Hence, her character is again not fully visible, nor fully invisible to us, but indeed in-between.

Anderson often portrays Margot’s ambivalent and in-between relationship to visibility and invisibility through literal disappearances and reappearances. At the beginning of the film, the narrator tells us about Margot: “She and her brother Richie ran away from home one winter Kamphorst 26 and camped out in the African Wing of the Public Archives” (The Royal Tenenbaums), while the viewer sees Richie smiling towards the screen. In the background, we see children getting off a yellow school bus. We hear the clicking sound of a camera and we see Margot taking a picture of Richie, while standing in the middle of the steps of the Public Archives. When Eli

Cash, their friend, who lives across the street, walks by and says to Margot: “You said I could run away too”, she says, “No, I didn’t. And don’t tell anyone you saw us” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). Through Margot’s remark, emphasis is laid on the secrecy surrounding their running away, but it also alludes to the many children who get off the school bus and who must have seen Margot and Richie, too. This ambivalent relationship between visibility and invisibility is also portrayed through their hiding place in the museum, shown in the next shot.

Under a very small bench below a mounted zebra, they have to lie close together and “shared a sleeping bag and survived on crackers and root beer” (The Royal Tenenbaums). This intimacy with Richie relates to the ambivalence of Margot’s running away, in which she physically distances herself from the rest of her family, while her disappearance paradoxically brings her closer on this occasion to one of her family members.

Hiding and disappearing are recurrent themes for the character of Margot Tenenbaum.

The bathroom of the house where she lives with her husband Raleigh functions as a kind of fortress, just like her old bedroom in the Tenenbaum house. Behind the locked door, the viewer is shown the life that is invisible to her husband. She is calling Eli (with whom she is cheating on Raleigh, as becomes clear later in the film) and smoking cigarettes that she hides in a box of cotton buds, the smell of which she masks with a fan and perfume when she opens up the door for Raleigh. Later, we see Margot’s mother Etheline visiting her when she is again soaking in the bathtub. When Margot asks from behind the door: “Who is it?” and Etheline answers, “It’s me, sweetie”, Margot pushes a key under the door. In a previous scene, we have seen that

Margot opens up the bathroom door from the inside with a twist lock. Similar to The Grand Kamphorst 27

Budapest Hotel, the key thus does not have a practical but a symbolic function here, granting her mother access to her fortress. The bathroom seems to serve as a permanent hiding place when Etheline says to Margot while sitting next to the bathtub: “Raleigh says you’ve been spending six hours a day locked in here watching television and soaking in the tub” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). This permanency of the hiding place is also shown in image through Etheline’s coat that is hung inside the bathroom next to the bathroom door – in contrast to the common practice of hanging coats in the hallway of a house. It suggests that the house is Raleigh’s, while only the bathroom functions as Margot’s house. The bathroom thus functions as a house within a house, through which Anderson is again constructing a self-contained fortress created by internal borders, similar to Margot’s old bedroom.

Often portrayed as literally invisible to the people in her environment through her hiding places, the character of Margot also keeps a great part of her personal life hidden from them, as we hear in the voice-over: “She was known for her extreme secrecy. For example, none of the

Tenenbaums knew she was a smoker, which she had been since the age of twelve. Nor were they aware of her first marriage and divorce to a recording artist in Jamaica. She kept a private studio in Mockingbird Heights under the name Helen Scott” (The Royal Tenenbaums). Later on, more of her private life is shown in what is called the “Tenenbaum, M. Background file”, composed by a private detective at the request of Raleigh and Richie. There is an interesting paradox between visibility and invisibility going on in the shown images, since we learn that her ‘invisible’ life is characterised by a lot of (bodily) visibility. The narration about her first marriage is accompanied by an image of the cover of an album of the Jamaican artist to whom she has been married, on which we see Margot in a bikini standing in a doorway among several fully dressed men. In her private studio we see posters of plays by Margot with titles such as

Erotic Transference and Nakedness Tonight, the latter accompanied by an image of a naked female body. In the background file, we see Margot kissing and touching a half naked woman Kamphorst 28 in the open window of an apartment in Paris. We see Margot dressed in the same bikini kissing a traditionally dressed man in Papua New Guinea and we see her kissing several other men in a taxi, on a bus, a ferry and the subway. While sexuality and the (almost) naked body traditionally belong to the private sphere, it is here made public through the character of Margot with the use of album covers, posters, open windows and public transport. It is precisely through the paradoxical nature of this visibility within her ‘invisible’ life, as the background file of the private detective suggests, through which Anderson makes Margot a true character of in- betweenness.

Considering the secret and invisible life of Margot that is shown in the film, we can wonder: where does this leave the viewer? Often, we appear to know more about Margot than most characters in the film. This can be cinematographically explained through the concept of dramatic irony that results “from a strong contrast, unperceived by a character in a story, between the surface meaning of his words or deeds and something else happening in the same story” (Dempster 251). We can understand the concept of dramatic irony simply as a phenomenon ascribed to situations in which the characters in the film and the viewers of the film have different amounts of information available (Salmon 95). Margot’s ambivalent position in between visibility and invisibility is often portrayed in the film through such instances of dramatic irony. Halfway through the film, Royal moves back into the Tenenbaum house, pretending he is terminally ill and lying on a bed surrounded by borrowed hospital equipment. When Chas says to him: “Get out”, he pretends to have a seizure. Hereafter, we see a ‘doctor’ (who is actually the elevator operator from the hotel where Royal was staying before) standing in the hallway, opposite to Richie, Chas, Etheline and Henry (Etheline’s accountant and future husband). He tells them: “His condition is stable. The attack was just a side-effect. I recommend that you push fluids and continue the stomach cancer medication” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). During this discourse, Anderson alternates the frontal shot of the doctor with a Kamphorst 29 frontal shot of Richie, Chas, Etheline and Henry. In the latter, we see Margot standing in the far right corner of the hallway, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. While the viewer notices her, none of the characters in the film seem to. This happens again later on in the film, when Etheline, Chas, Ari and Uzi (Chas’ sons), Raleigh and Dudley (the young psychiatric patient that Raleigh uses as his guinea pig) are standing around Richie’s hospital bed after he has tried to commit suicide. Again, the frontal shot of the group and the shot of Richie in the hospital bed are alternated. Behind the group, we see Margot standing by the doors of the emergency room, with her face against the wall. Here, too, no one seems to notice Margot, including Richie, who is in love with her. Even at the wedding of Etheline and Henry, we see

Margot standing in the doorway, a couple of steps behind the group that surrounds the small ceremony. In these scenes, the character of Margot is clearly made invisible to the other characters by distancing herself, if only by a few steps, from the main location or event, while she is highly visible to the viewer because of her position in the filmed space that is noticeably different from that of the others. This ambivalent positioning in between visibility for the viewers of the film and invisibility for the characters in the film again demonstrates how Margot is a true character of in-betweenness.

§2.3 In between family and outsider

The visualization of Margot’s, often literally different, position in the filmed spaces does not only provoke in-betweenness regarding visibility and invisibility, but also problematizes the seemingly binary opposition of being a member of the family or not. As a character of in- betweenness, Margot shows that it is possible to perceive the opposition between family and outsider not “as an either/or choice but in the limitless expansion of the both/and also” (Soja

126). Indeed, Margot can be seen as an outsider within this ‘family of geniuses’. In the beginning of the film, we see the three Tenenbaum children at a press conference about the Kamphorst 30 eponymous book, written by their mother Etheline. We see many people who raise their hand to ask a question, surprisingly only shouting the names of Chas and Richie. Although Margot is excluded here, or at least seemingly of less interest than her brothers, she remains a part of this family of geniuses by attending the conference and by being on the cover of the book that is shown in the film. Anderson in this sense thus situates her character both within and without.

In the scene before the press conference, we see Etheline surrounded by her children, calling to reschedule Richie’s Italian lesson. Richie sits on her lap and looks into an atlas, Chas stands next to her and gives his mother a cheque to sign for him and Margot sits on Etheline’s other side, reading a book. When Chas says: “I need 187 dollars”, we see Margot rolling her eyes, looking away from her family members and thereafter continuing to read her book, again without any interaction with the other people in the room. None of them seem to notice her reaction, nor do they really seem to notice Margot at all. Margot hereby functions as the outsider

– both by not being recognised and by placing herself as an outsider through this striking position beyond the frame – albeit within a typical family setting.

The character of Margot is the only child in the Tenenbaum family to be adopted. Being adopted to a certain extent already implies an ambivalent position in between both the biological and the adoption family. This in-betweenness is pushed to extremes in The Royal

Tenenbaums and portrayed through simultaneous mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion concerning Margot. In the introduction of her character, the narrator tells us: “Margot

Tenenbaum was adopted at the age of two. Her father had always noted this when introducing her” (The Royal Tenenbaums). The image jumps to a shot of a cocktail party, where we see

Margot standing in the middle of the frame looking at the viewer. On her left side is her father, on her right side two other men. Royal says: “This is my adopted daughter Margot Tenenbaum”, whereafter Margot shifts her gaze from us to the two men, while nodding politely. By looking at us, Margot makes the viewer an accomplice in her ambivalent position of being Royal’s Kamphorst 31 daughter, yet an adopted one. This is stressed by the character herself as well and pushed even further. When she hears that Royal is dying, she calls Eli who says: “Well, I’m very sorry

Margot”, to which she answers, “That’s ok. We aren’t actually related anyway” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). Moreover, when the family discovers that Royal does not have cancer and

Margot and Henry stand in the doorway to let Royal out of the house, Royal says to her, while referring to Henry: “He’s not your father.” She answers: “Neither are you” (The Royal

Tenenbaums). While Margot stresses the fact that she is not related to her father, it is Royal who, despite excluding her, simultaneously includes Margot too – which positions her in between family and outsider.

“I’ve missed the hell out of you, my darlings. You know that, don’t you?” is what Royal says to his children when he is back at the Tenenbaum house, having not spoken to them in three years. We then see the portrait of a young nurse (who appears to be Royal’s mother) hanging above the fire place. When the camera moves downwards, we see Royal sitting in front of the fire place. The shot jumps to Richie and Margot, who are sitting opposite him on the couch. When Royal tells them he has only six more weeks to live, Margot asks: “What do you propose to do?” to which Royal answers, “Well, I can’t really say. Make up for lost time, I suppose. But the first thing I’d like to do is take you to see your grandmother at some point”, pointing towards the painting behind him. When Richie says: “I haven’t been out there since I was six”, Margot responds, “I haven’t been there at all. I was never invited”, to which Royal answers, “Well, she wasn’t your real grandmother, so I didn’t know you’d be interested, sweetie. Anyway, you’re invited now” (The Royal Tenenbaums). The adopted Margot is thus evidently excluded from attending previous family matters, but she is at the same time included by being “invited now”. Interestingly though, Anderson contrasts the exclusion that is focused on Margot not being biological family in image with Margot’s physical position in this frame.

We see her and her brother Richie sitting in front of their father, who is sitting in front of their Kamphorst 32 grandmother – in a very literal sense constituting a family line of three generations.

Grandmother plays a similar role in another scene, in which Margot and Royal are at an ice cream shop, where all tables are occupied with other father-daughter couples. When Royal says:

“Can’t someone be a shit their whole life and want to repair the damage?”, Margot avoids answering the question and says, “You probably don’t even know my middle name.” When

Royal answers: “It’s a trick question. You don’t have one”, Margot says, “Helen”, to which

Royal answers, surprised, “That was my mother’s name” (The Royal Tenenbaums) – indicating that Margot is more a part of Royal than he thought she was. In the earlier introductory sentence

“Over the next decade, he and his wife had three children and then they separated”, Anderson even makes a reference to a biological family bond between Margot and the rest of the family, although we know there actually is not one. It functions as an illustration that there is something that unites these people who all seem so distant from each other – placing Margot not within the family, nor without, but in-between.

Margot’s ambivalent position between family and non-family opens up a space of creativity and possibility since it blurs binary categories. Although written in the context of migration, we can apply John McLeod’s ideas of being situated on a threshold to the character of Margot, perceiving her in-between position as “a place of possibility and agency for new concepts, new narratives [and] new ideas” (252). Indeed, this “tense space of the ‘in-between’ has become rethought as a place of immense creativity and possibility”, since it transcends conventional ways of thinking in fixed categories of identity and belonging (McLeod 248-249).

An important element in the storyline of The Royal Tenenbaums is the fact that Richie is in love with Margot. When Eli finds out about this, he says to Richie: “She’s married, you know (…)

And she’s your sister”, to which Richie answers, “Adopted”. Later on in the film, Richie has a similar conversation with Royal when he tells him he is in love with Margot. When Royal says:

“Margot Tenenbaum? (…) It’s probably illegal”, Richie answers, “I don’t think so, we’re not Kamphorst 33 related by blood” (The Royal Tenenbaums). Through Margot’s ambivalent position in between family and non-family Anderson thus opens up the possibility for a love to emerge within the story line that most likely cannot exist when holding on to these categories as binary. Both the closeness of the family and the distance of the adoption are preconditions for this love. While the fact that they are not blood-related is Richie’s only way of making this unconventional love work, it is also precisely the growing up together that has made them so close. After all, Richie has loved Margot “since always”, as he declares to Royal in the film and which is already announced picturesquely in the beginning of the film through the earlier mentioned shared sleeping bag, when the young Richie and Margot ran away to the Public Archives.

The sleeping bag returns later in the film, in a scene where the ‘love story’ between

Margot and Richie reaches a climax. Richie has just run away from the hospital following his suicide attempt. After he has returned home, we see him find Margot in his yellow tent that is installed in the middle of the ballroom of the Tenenbaum house. From within the tent, she says:

“Who’s there?” Interestingly, instead of answering or directly going into the tent, we first see

Richie picking up an unfinished painting of Margot from the easel – suggesting that his story with Margot is still not completely finished. After entering the tent and both having declared their love to each other, they lay down on the bed in the tent. Margot says: “This is the sleeping bag we took to the museum, isn’t it?” (The Royal Tenenbaums) By lying down, the caption on

Richie’s hospital clothes becomes fully visible, stating “recovery area” – transposing the recovery area of the hospital to Richie. Not only does it indicate that he is in a state of recovery himself, but also that he functions as a recovery area for Margot, who is lying next to him and holding him tightly. Although the story seems to have come full circle through the recovery and the return of the sleeping bag, it is shown, again through the character of Margot, that this is not a true unification after separation, since when she walks out of the tent, Margot says: “I think we’re just going to have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that, Richie” Kamphorst 34

(The Royal Tenenbaums). In fact, this is what Margot as a character of in-betweenness has shown throughout the whole film for the whole family: union and separation are not stable binary categories for the Tenenbaums, as they are always somewhere in-between. Indeed,

Margot shows through her own ambivalent in-between position within the family that, throughout, there has been an ambivalent relationship between Royal, Etheline, Chas, Richie and Margot Tenenbaum on the one hand, and “The Royal Tenenbaums” on the other.

Kamphorst 35

3. Fantastic Mr. Fox

§3.1 Introducing the film & Mr. Fox

The story of Fantastic Mr. Fox is, as the title of the film suggests, about crucial adventures in the life of Mr. Fox (George Clooney). The character of Mr. Fox is situated ambivalently in between the human and the animal, literally in appearance as well as in behaviour. As a character of in-betweenness, he not only blurs the boundaries between human and animal, but also between human rationality and animal instinct. Mr. Fox problematizes these sharp distinctions through his spatial movements underground and aboveground, which is a leading motif in the film. These binary pairs can be seen as examples of the more general opposition between rational human life aboveground and instinctive animal life underground. As I will show below, this is literally and metaphorically portrayed in the film. In this chapter, I will close-read the character of Mr. Fox, asking the following question: How does Mr. Fox, as a character of in-betweenness, destabilise the binary opposition between metaphorically being underground and aboveground?

Fantastic Mr. Fox begins with an introduction to Mr. Fox’s former ‘profession’ of stealing birds, which is an important element in the film for his spatial movements underground and aboveground. We learn that stealing birds is a dangerous profession for foxes. When his wife (Meryl Streep) tells him she is pregnant, she makes him promise to find another line of work. “Twelve fox-years later”, the main story of the film begins. They now have a teenage son, Ash (Jason Schwartzman), and Mr. Fox is working as a columnist for a newspaper. He is, however, unhappy with his job and his living situation in a hole underground. He decides to buy a house in a tree and secretly starts to steal from the human farmers nearby, Boggis, Bunce and Bean. When these angry men find out it is the fox who steals their chicken, ducks, geese, turkeys and apple cider, they start excavating Mr. Fox’s tree home. His family, and eventually the whole animal community, has to dig holes and starts living underground to hide from the Kamphorst 36 farmers. Out of necessity and with the help of Mr. Fox, they start digging holes that end in the stock barns of Boggis, Bunce and Bean and eventually even in a supermarket, which provides them with enough food to continue their lives in a sewer underground.

In 1970, Roald Dahl’s book Fantastic Mr. Fox came out in England. Wes Anderson first read the book when he was about nine years old. Anderson already knew he wanted to make a film out of the book about ten years before his film release. It resulted in a stop-motion film which he co-wrote with his friend, film writer and director Noah Baumbach. The film seemed to be quite different from the other films in Anderson’s repertoire, resulting in many film critics asking the question: “why on earth was this idiosyncratic indie auteur making what was, by any measure, a kids’ movie?” (Bailey) However, although seemingly deviant at first sight, Fantastic

Mr. Fox is again unmistakably Anderson-esque in its décor, costumes, soundtrack, recurrent actors and obsessive attention to details (Rose). A critic from Flavorwire even argues that

Fantastic Mr. Fox might be Anderson’s most quintessential film, since “Anderson had the rare opportunity to build [the world of Dahl’s book] from the ground up (…) thus the design elements that had become such a cornerstone of Anderson’s cinematic profile were, this time, entirely under his control” (Bailey).

Stop-motion films relate interestingly and ambivalently to the oppositions between lifelessness and motion, and the real and the unreal, by using static puppets to create a moving image that, in its turn, creates the illusion of real and alive characters. This is particularly true for Fantastic Mr. Fox, in which Wes Anderson has played with the in-betweenness by using 12 frames per second instead of the usual 24 frames, making the film look less fluid and smooth and thus in a sense less ‘real’ (Bailey). However, while all characters are in fact hand-made puppets – among other things made out of steel armatures and plastiline clay – a lot of effort was put into the ‘realness’ of these characters too. This is especially apparent in the animal puppets, that all have a skull of polyester resin, allowing the animators to meticulously Kamphorst 37 articulate the faces, in contrast to the silicone faces of the human puppets, who have “an almost surreal translucence” (Sancton). It makes the animal puppets have a more human appearance than the human puppets. This is also emphasised by the fact that, besides a stuffed fox,

Anderson wanted the character of Mr. Fox to resemble several real life persons, such as Roald

Dahl, the actors Rex Harrison and George Clooney and possibly even himself (Sancton).1 By making the animal puppets more human than the human puppets, Anderson underlines in appearance what is also an important thematic motif in the film: blurring the strong opposition between human and animal.

§3.2 In between human and animal

In the very first scene of the film, we see a young Mr. Fox standing on a small hill, stretching himself and leaning against a tree. We immediately see how his character is constructed as an anthropomorphic animal. Most of the animal characteristics of his body are preserved, since he has a typical fox head, pointy ears, brown coloured fur and a tail. The human characteristics that are being introduced to his character allow him to ‘function’ as a human. He can talk, he is standing on two legs instead of four, and he is wearing clothes (a suit to be precise, with instead of a pocket square, two straws of wheat in his breast pocket – giving a ‘natural’ twist to the human clothes). He also carries a transistor radio from which The Ballad of Davy Crockett is playing. The song is about a frontiersman who is on the threshold between the animal and the human after being “Raised in the woods so’s he knew ev’ry tree” and as a “king of the wild frontier”, underlining the human and animal characteristics that are part of Mr. Fox too.2 While anthropomorphism is a well-known genre for film, the character of Mr. Fox shows us new and interesting hybrid moments that transcend anthropomorphist clichés, as I will argue below.

1 The corduroy suit that Mr. Fox is wearing, is very similar to the one in which Anderson himself often appears. 2 It is worth noting that the character of Davy Crockett in the original Disney series (1954) is wearing a fur hat, made out of the fur and tail of a fox. Thereby, Davy Crockett is appropriating his animal side in appearance too, in a way making him, similar to Mr. Fox, both animal and human. Kamphorst 38

Anthropomorphising can be understood as “what we, as humans, wish to ascribe onto the animal to suit our own cultural and symbolic requirements” (Ratelle 1). However, the character of Mr. Fox is more about mocking human cultural and symbolic requirements, than suiting them, which becomes apparent in what follows after the opening scene. The viewer is introduced to the house of Mr. Fox that is, besides its setting in a hole, very human. There is a small chimney on top, a TV antenna and the interior consists of things that are all made by and meant for humans. We see a fully equipped kitchen, light bulbs working on electricity, paintings on the wall, a radio, jam in a jar, a plate with cutlery, and even a used napkin. Through this, we are led to believe that the character of Mr. Fox indeed suits human cultural and symbolic requirements, until the moment we see him doing something which is natural to both man and animal: eating. While cutlery is lying in front of him and Mrs. Fox serves him French toast on a plate, he snarls and is gorging on the toast, while pieces of toast are flying all around him.

When he is finished, he takes a last sip of his coffee and Mrs. Fox properly takes his plate and cup back to the kitchen. A similar thing happens in the introductory scene, when Mr. Fox picks an apple from the tree. While he first rubs the apple against his suit like a human would, he then devours it like an animal. Precisely because we are to believe through his surroundings that Mr.

Fox is almost human, and Anderson creates such a strong opposition between cleaning and devouring, the human is being mocked here. It provokes the question: are human cultural and symbolic requirements just the coating of our animal like instincts that come to the fore with such basic needs as food?

Mr. Fox’s ambivalent position in between human rationality and animal instinct is pictured in a similar way during a scene in which we are shown a young Mr. and Mrs. Fox stealing from a squab farm. Here, Anderson has constructed an interesting interplay of rationality and instinct. First, we see a shot outside the barn, guided by snarling sounds from within. When they come out of the barn, both Mr. and Mrs. Fox have a pigeon in their jaws, Kamphorst 39 displaying their hunting instinct. Afterwards, however, we see the end of a chain hanging above the entrance of the barn, which Mr. Fox immediately starts to analyse in a rational manner, saying: “What’s that? I think it’s a fox trap. Look at this. Is it spring-loaded? Yeah. Yeah, I guess if you come from over there and you’re standing at this door to the squab shack, this little gadget probably triggers the…”, now demonstrating the human analytical ability this animal character has. While Mrs. Fox tries to stop him from pulling the chain, he says: “Move out of the way, darling. That’s right where it’s going to land” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). When she is standing next to him, he pulls the chain. A big cage, a sign on it saying “Butler & Son. Wild animal destruction”, drops down and captures them both. We are here thus shown the ‘wild animal’ that had just rationally analysed what he already knew was a fox trap, still instinctively pulling the chain and thereby falling into the human trap. Interestingly, it is his instinct that has not only placed him in this situation, but which appears to be the solution too: by digging, a natural activity for foxes, they manage to escape from the cage. In this scene, Anderson confronts us with an interplay of instinct and reason, while not preferring the one over the other, since both instinct and reason bring the character of Mr. Fox advantages and disadvantages.

Through the character of Mr. Fox, Anderson shows us how a hybrid identity is more than just an in-between position. It is an “invitation to continuous deconstruction and reconstruction”, as a “constant effort to move beyond the established limits of our understanding of the world” (Soja 126). A parallel can be drawn with Donna Haraway’s notion of the cyborg too. Although the cyborg is a hybrid of organism and machine, its imagery is in place here, as “a way out of the maze of dualisms in which we have explained our bodies and our tools to ourselves” (Haraway, “A Cyborg Manifesto” 316). This is also shown in the first attempt of Boggis, Bunce and Bean to kill Mr. Fox. In this scene, we see them shooting at Mr.

Fox from the bushes. Later, it appears that they have shot off his tail and that Bean is wearing it as a necktie. The necktie has an interesting function here. Mr. Fox himself wears a necktie Kamphorst 40 too, which can be seen as a symbol of conforming to the human. However, when Bean is wearing Mr. Fox’s tail as a necktie, this human symbol becomes animalised. Moreover, losing his tail makes Mr. Fox more human. Anderson provokes questions on what happens if we see the human in the animal and the animal in the human, without necessarily providing us with the answers. He shows us how Fantastic Mr. Fox, in this sense, is more than just an anthropomorphic cliché in which human characteristics are often only attributed to animals to make them function in ways humans can relate too, since the hybridity of his characters – and especially that of Mr. Fox – is an inherent part of the film’s thematic too. The anthropomorphism here provokes questions of identity and belonging that transcend the dualism between animal and human, albeit wrapped in the seemingly simple form of a stop motion film about talking animals.

The character of Mr. Fox indeed invites us to think about identity and belonging regarding the animal and the human, which Anderson also demonstrates in Mr. Fox’s interaction with other animals. While most of the characters in the film are anthropomorphised animals, there are also some animals that are attributed no human characteristics. Exemplary for this are the beagles on Boggis’ farm. In the scene where he is discussing his master plan to steal from the farm with his friend Kylie, Mr. Fox says to him: “Now a word about beagles: never look a beagle directly in the eye (…) I picked some blueberries, butterflied them with a scalpel and laced each one with ten milligrams of high-potency sleeping powder. Enough to tranquilise a charging gorilla.” When Kylie asks: “How do we make them eat it?”, Mr. Fox answers, “Beagles love blueberries” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). The emphasis on the inherent characteristics and instinct of the animal, which will make him eat the blueberries containing sleeping powder, stands in sharp contrast to the human rationality that is portrayed in image.

From above, the viewer sees a detailed drawn map of the farms of Boggis, Bunce and Bean on it and Mr. Fox drawing circles around the first farm and its crucial security points. We are then Kamphorst 41 shown another shot from above, now of an archive map which appears to be secret information on Boggis’ beagles, containing, among other things, a form of the constabulary, a National

Health Service medical card for dogs and a page with information about the canis familiaris3.

When the master plan is carried out, this distinction between instinct and rationality is further expanded as Mr. Fox blows a blueberry through a tube towards the beagle, while the music plays ominously with lots of drums. When the beagle – who, in contrast to Kylie and Mr. Fox wears no clothes and cannot speak – is huffing, wagging his tail and walking towards the blueberry to eat it, the drums in the music are replaced by finger snapping and whistling, emphasising the playfulness and naiveté of the dog.

Through the distinction between instinct and rationality that is played out on screen, we are to believe that Mr. Fox represents human rationality. In this sense, he represents what Donna

Haraway points out in her discussion of Derrida’s lecture “And Say the Animal Responded?” in which she describes an encounter between Derrida and his cat in the bathroom, after which he wonders about its presence and what it would mean to ‘respond’, for the cat as well as for other living beings (“Where Species Meet” 19-20). Haraway’s main critique on Derrida concerns the fact that by not acting upon his curiosity about what the cat might feel or think, he

“missed a possible invitation, a possible introduction to other-worlding” (“Where Species

Meet” 20), maintaining the stereotypical view of the pet figure and dismissing or ignoring the probability of its own inner world. The character of Mr. Fox shows these dynamics in relation to the beagles too. Whereas, on the one hand, we are to believe this sharp distinction between the animal instinct of the beagle and the rationality of Mr. Fox, Anderson on the other hand also plays with this. The viewer is, after all, also made conscious of the fact that we are looking at an animal that is repeating the stereotypical view of the pet figure. This is also stressed in image, as we see a shot of the barn while hearing Mr. Fox making snarling sounds and seeing chicken

3 The Latin name for dog. Kamphorst 42 feathers whirling down. When the image moves upwards, we see he has already killed two chickens, while Kylie is still trying to kill his first by chewing on its neck. As with the beagles, we are shown that the chickens, too, are the exception to the anthropomorphic animals in the film; without clothes or the ability to speak and apparently meant to be eaten. When Mr. Fox takes over, Kylie says: “That’s so grizzly. There’s blood and everything” (Fantastic Mr. Fox), emphasising Mr. Fox’s own instinctive side. Anderson thus shows how Mr. Fox is in between human rationality and animal instinct. He also again connects this problematized human-animal duality to the human characters in the film. When, at the end of the scene, the alarm goes off and Boggis appears with a gun in his hand, he finds a blueberry on the ground, eats it and immediately becomes tranquilised, similarly to the beagle – emphasising Boggis’ instinct too.

We are thus led to believe that we can speak of a human instinct and an animal rationality and anything in-between.

As I have argued above, the anthropomorphism of Fantastic Mr. Fox transcends the clichés of the genre by integrating it into its thematic instead of only using it as a vehicle to allow its characters to function as humans. This becomes apparent through several scenes in which Mr. Fox is reflecting on his life, negotiating his sense of identity and belonging – which is here inherently connected to the human-animal dualism. In the beginning of the film, we see

Mr. Fox reading an advertisement for Tree Living in the newspaper. He says: “I don’t want to live in a hole anymore. It makes me feel poor (…) the views are better above the ground.” Mrs.

Fox responds: “You know, foxes live in holes for a reason”, to which Mr. Fox says, “Hm. Yes and no” (Fantastic Mr. Fox), illustrating his inner debate between nature and nurture. While on the one hand, his nature tells him to live in a hole, like all foxes naturally do, his nurture and rationality tell him that “the views are better above the ground”. This duality is further expanded later in the film, when Mr. and Mrs. Fox have moved into the house in the tree. We see Mr. Fox standing on his roof terrace on top of the tree, saying to Kylie: “Who am I, Kylie? (…) Why a Kamphorst 43 fox? Why not a horse, a beetle, or a bald eagle? I’m saying this more as like, existentialism, you know. Who am I, and how can a fox ever be happy without a, you’ll forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?” (Fantastic Mr. Fox) Interestingly, it is literally on a human level – standing on his roof terrace and having this better view above the ground – that he is questioning his human identity by stressing the apparently inevitable importance of instinct (having “a chicken in its teeth”) to a fox. We learn through this questioning of his sense of identity and belonging that he is both “‘of, and not of’ each place” – that is, underground in a fox hole and aboveground on a human level – “feeling neither here nor there, unable to indulge in sentiments of belonging to either location” (McLeod 247). There is an important spatial aspect to this, since

Mr. Fox explores his sense of identity and belonging by moving underground and aboveground.

We can compare this to the concept of migration that is always inherently characterised by both moving around and attachments to places (Christensen and Jensen 147). Indeed, it is through the literal movements in between underground and aboveground of the character of Mr. Fox, that Anderson is challenging “the certainty of roots with the contingency of routes” (McLeod

250).

§3.3 In between locations: underground and aboveground

Through the character of Mr. Fox, we are invited to challenge conventional and static notions belonging to the locations of underground and aboveground, blurring the opposition between rational, human life aboveground and instinctive, animal life underground. I will argue that it is precisely through the trespassing of the border between these locations that eventually a reconfiguration of the concepts of underground and aboveground takes place.

In the beginning of the film, we are to believe that the character of Mr. Fox is situated in between underground and aboveground as a utopian leap or impasse. Indeed, Mr. Fox’s wish to live above the ground can be seen as “the subtle blend of the ideal and the actual” that is Kamphorst 44 utopia (Goodey 17). This is stressed by the earlier mentioned conversation between Mr. and

Mrs. Fox in which she tells him that “foxes live in holes for a reason”, emphasising the actual after he told her his ideal of living aboveground. Also, Mr. Fox’s statement “I don’t want to live in a hole anymore. It makes me feel poor”, reminds us of Jameson’s The Politics of Utopia in which he argues that “The utopian (…) imagines his effort as one of rising above all immediate determinations in some all-embracing resolution of every imaginable evil and misery of our own fallen society and reality” (47). That this is, however, an impasse is suggested in image through an interchange of size and perspective. In scenes in which no human characters appear, the viewer is invited to perceive Mr. Fox as being very tall, e.g. as tall as the lower part of the tree trunk which he is leaning against in the introductory scene. In relation to the tree, it is suggested that either he is the size of a human, or that we as viewers are invited to look at him from a lower, animal perspective. However, when Mr. Fox enters the human world, this perspective changes. This is especially apparent in a scene in which Mr. and Mrs. Fox go to the squab farm. First, we are looking at the farm slightly from above; subsequently, the camera is lowered to the level of Mr. and Mrs. Fox, making us look from their perspective.

However, when they enter the barnyard, the camera standpoint switches again and they appear to be far smaller than before; now being approximately the size of a real fox in relation to everything around them. The human perspective from which we are now seeing them, emphasises the fact that they are animals in an aboveground environment that is not necessarily theirs.

A similar change of perspective happens again later in the film, when the character of

Mr. Fox is trying to steal cider from Bean’s farm. When the animals are interacting with each other, Mr. Fox is shown as being as tall as two-and-a-half shelves filled with cider bottles.

However, when Bean’s wife walks into the cellar, Mr. Fox hides behind the cider bottles and is now suddenly portrayed as being as tall as only one cider bottle. Again, we are invited to look Kamphorst 45 at the character from our own human perspective. There is an interesting dynamic in this change of perspective. On the one hand, Anderson invites the viewer to look at the animal from a low perspective – making Mr. Fox either equal to us, or we equal to him. On the other hand, the change to a human perspective shows both how the other perspective fools us and how this animal very obviously does not belong in the human world. This is also underlined in words by the rat in the cellar, who appears to be Bean’s security officer and says to Mr. Fox and its companions: “Y’all are trespassing now. Illegally” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). It shows how moving aboveground is a form of cruel optimism to Mr. Fox, as a desire that actually appears to be an obstacle to his development (Berlant 1). After all, his utopian aim brings his family and his whole community trouble, which is stressed by Mrs. Fox who says: “In the end, we all die – unless you change” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). Mr. Fox seems to be stuck in this utopian leap between underground and aboveground that appears as a cul-de-sac, in which “one keeps moving, but one moves paradoxically, in the same space” (Berlant 199). This could on the one hand be seen as an impasse, which is at a certain point stressed by Mr. Fox when he says to Mrs. Fox: “These farmers aren’t going to quit until they catch me (…) Maybe if I hand myself over and let them kill me, stuff me and hang me over their mantel piece” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). Indeed, for a moment, there seems no way out except death. On the other hand, this constantly moving in- between can also be characterised as a site of new possibilities.

Such new possibilities are provoked when Boggis, Bunce and Bean start excavating Mr.

Fox’s tree house. Static notions of being underground and aboveground start shifting here: while the animal characters have to dig deeper underground than is natural to them, the human characters literally start lowering themselves to the level of the animals by digging. To survive, the animal characters start digging upwards again, which gives them access to the farms and stocks of Boggis, Bunce and Bean from below. Through these spatial movements, the sharp distinction between the underground environment of the animals and the aboveground Kamphorst 46 environment of the humans is blurred. After all, the animals can now provide themselves with the food from above the ground, while living underground. This results in an interesting hybrid location underground, as becomes clear in image in the following scene. A horizontal moving shot shows a space underground, where a mole can be seen playing jazz on the piano, bunk beds, candle light, decoration, a long set table, a kitchen with fresh food, roast chicken, and provisions. The animal characters are celebrating their new living environment – that is neither fully human by being underground, nor fully animal since they have built a small human civilization, using ‘human’ things such as the furniture and music instruments – with a festive meal. In a speech, Mr. Fox says: “We beat them. We beat those farmers and now we’re triumphantly eating their roasted chicken, their sizzling duck, their succulent turkey, their foie gras” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). While new possibilities have been brought about, Anderson once again problematizes this by cinematographically portraying how this civilization underground is in a sense utopian too: after the speech, their whole constructed civilization is flushed away by Bean’s cider that is pumped through the fox holes. The cider here emphasises the utopia they have lived in, as a symbol of being tipsy, dazed or being in an illusory state.

Anderson plays with these new hybrid locations again at the end of the film, when the cider has flushed the animal characters into a sewer. Since the character of Mr. Fox has found an entrance into the Boggis, Bunce and Bean supermarket, they are provided with sufficient food to continue their lives there. The sewer functions as an interesting hybrid location since it is underground, emphasising the natural animal environment, while at the same time being inherently human since sewers are human-made and serve human purposes. It is through this new location that is literally and metaphorically both underground and aboveground, that

Anderson allows the character of Mr. Fox to elaborate “new strategies of selfhood (…) that initiate new signs of identity” (McLeod 252). Such renegotiation of identity is also provoked by the final scene of Fantastic Mr. Fox, when Mr. Fox is symbolically standing on a soap box Kamphorst 47 in the supermarket and giving a last speech: “They say all foxes are slightly allergic to linoleum, but it’s cool to the paw. Try it. They say my tail needs to be dry-cleaned twice a month, but now it’s fully detachable. See? They say our tree may never grow back, but one day, something will. Yes, these Crackles are made out of synthetic goose and these Giblets come from artificial squab and even these apples look fake – but at least they’ve got stars on them. My point is, we’ll eat tonight and we’ll eat together. And even in this not particularly flattering light, you are without a doubt the (…) most wonderful wild animals I’ve ever met in my life. So let’s raise our boxes. To our – survival” (Fantastic Mr. Fox). It shows how these ‘wild animals’ who are standing with their furry paws on a linoleum floor, devouring slightly artificial food and drinking apple juice with a straw in a supermarket, are truly in-between. It is through the character of Mr. Fox that Anderson replaces the static notion of roots with the contingency of routes which has brought them to this place – inhabiting a true Thirdspace in which “the original binary choice is not dismissed entirely but is subjected to a creative process of restructuring that draws selectively and strategically from the two opposing categories to open new alternatives” (Soja 5).

This restructuring of the original binary choice demonstrates how all things are subject to fluidity. It is often difficult to distinguish where someone or something does or does not belong. In the process of categorising, we can indeed wonder: “When does a hill become a mountain?” (Negnevitsky 87). It is this metaphorical question that Anderson’s Fantastic Mr.

Fox provokes too. Towards the end of the film, Anderson increasingly anthropomorphises the character of Mr. Fox, to the extent that he is almost more human than animal and he is even being astonished by the animal nature of other animals. This is beautifully portrayed in one of the final scenes in which Mr. Fox escapes from the human characters on a motorbike, together with Kylie, Ash and his nephew Kristofferson. He suddenly stops the motorbike when he sees a wolf from afar. He shouts at him: “Where’d you come from? What are you doing here?” Then, Kamphorst 48 he first points to the wolf, saying: “Canis lupus”, afterwards pointing to himself, and saying,

“Vulpus vulpus” – emphasising the fact that they are both animals. However, Anderson shows how the human has taken up a larger part of Mr. Fox, who is amazed by the wild wolf, expressing his astonishment and emphasising how the wolf is different from him by saying:

“What a beautiful creature. Wish him luck, boys.” We hear Kylie, Ash and Kristofferson say:

“Good luck out there” – “there” suggesting the wilderness the wolf will soon return to. With this scene, Anderson invites us to think about the extent to which we can still perceive Mr. Fox as an animal. He leads us back to the very essential question of what exactly makes a human

‘human’. Indeed, through the character of Mr. Fox, he provokes the idea that the answer might be found in the profoundly discussed over centuries, yet still very well-known and used

Aristotelian view of equating the human being to a rational animal (Boyle 1).

Kamphorst 49

Conclusion

In this thesis, I have studied three films of Wes Anderson, The Grand Budapest Hotel, The

Royal Tenenbaums and Fantastic Mr. Fox, and focused on their respective characters Monsieur

Gustave, Margot Tenenbaum and Mr. Fox. I have argued that all three characters, each in their own way, embody a certain in-between position through which they problematize specific binary oppositions. Through their characters, the viewer is invited to think about issues of identity and belonging in ways that transcend these binary pairs.

The first part of the analysis was focused on The Grand Budapest Hotel and asked the question: How does Monsieur Gustave, as a character of in-betweenness, problematize static notions of identity and belonging? I have argued that the most eminent way Monsieur Gustave functions as a character of in-betweenness is through his role as the concierge of the Grand

Budapest Hotel, since the figure of the “gentleman’s gentleman” embodies an inherently ambivalent position in between classes. Throughout the film, Anderson plays with this ambiguous sense of identity and belonging by letting the character neither fully belong to the upper class or the category of the powerful, nor to the lower class or the category of the

Subaltern. I have argued that through an interplay of filiation and affiliation Anderson, on the one hand, leads us to believe that M. Gustave functions as the powerful and Zero as his

Orientalist Other, while on the other hand he also demonstrates that the relationship between the two is not static. This is poetically expressed by the character of Agatha, who recites:

“Whence came these radiant celestial brothers, united for an instant, as they crossed the stratosphere of our starry window?” (The Grand Budapest Hotel) Through M. Gustave’s work as an escort, Anderson also makes this metaphor of “uniting for an instant” a bodily and a class issue. Indeed, M. Gustave’s ambivalent position in between classes is shown through his intimate contact with rich and old female hotel guests, as well as through his interactions with the hotel staff. Moreover, I have argued that the switching of registers in his use of language Kamphorst 50 contributes to this as well. Finally, as a lead motif in the film, the painting Boy with Apple functions as an overarching metaphorical reference to the embodied positions in between classes and between the Subaltern and the powerful that characterises Monsieur Gustave.

The Royal Tenenbaums was central to the second part of the analysis. Here, the main question posed was: In what ways does Margot Tenenbaum, as a character of in-betweenness, sabotage the seemingly binary categories of union and separation that characterise the

Tenenbaum family? I have argued that Margot is a character of in-betweenness because of her ambivalent positions in between visibility and invisibility, as well as between family and outsider. Anderson constructs this in-betweenness by making Margot a present absence, thereby equating her to the figure of the spectre. This is metaphorically shown through the darkroom in which she is portrayed; a location that encompasses a similar ambivalence. Moreover, I have shown that instead of being fully present, Anderson lets other characters represent Margot, e.g. via books, paintings or background files. A similar way in which Anderson presents Margot’s ambivalent and in-between relation to visibility and invisibility is through literal disappearances and reappearances. Often, this duality is emphasised even more through instances of dramatic irony, in which the viewer becomes complicit in Margot’s inclusion and exclusion. I have argued that by being adopted, Margot is already situated ambivalently between this in- and exclusion regarding the Tenenbaum family. This is also repeatedly emphasised in the film by the other members of the family. However, while on the one hand, we are led to believe that

Margot is an outsider, Anderson also depicts several moments in which it is suggested that

Margot is a (biological) member of the family – thereby demonstrating how union and separation are not stable binary opposites for the Tenenbaums, but that they are truly in-between throughout.

The third and last part of the analysis was concentrated on Fantastic Mr. Fox, while asking the question: How does Mr. Fox, as a character of in-betweenness, destabilise the binary Kamphorst 51 opposition between metaphorically being underground and aboveground? In the analysis, I have shown how Mr. Fox is situated in between the human and the animal by being anthropomorphised, while at the same time also transcending the clichés of the anthropomorphic genre. I have argued how Anderson demonstrates this by creating strong and original oppositions, e.g. by letting Mr. Fox clean and then devour an apple. Moreover, he creates both a hybrid identity for Mr. Fox and a hybrid location between underground and aboveground by making the anthropomorphic an essential part of the film’s thematic. I have argued how the film challenges the certainty of roots with the contingency of routes and that issues of identity and belonging are strongly connected with the human-animal dualism for its characters. I have shown that through an interplay of the human, the animal, the rational and the instinctive, the binary opposition between metaphorically being underground and aboveground is destabilised. Through this hybridity, the film provokes the question of what exactly it means to be human.

In the threefold analysis, I have thus shown how the characters of Monsieur Gustave,

Margot Tenenbaum and Mr. Fox, each in their own way, function as characters of in- betweenness. Although within three different films, Anderson constructs their hybrid moments in similar ways. He simultaneously leads us to believe one thing, while also immediately deconstructing it again and showing us the opposite. He creates visual and content related contradictions within one character or situation, without necessarily preferring the one opposition over the other. Through this, he both creates and destabilises binary oppositions. He demonstrates how it is only human to encompass a wide palette of characteristics and that it is always a question of moving on a grey scale in between the two extremes. In this sense,

Anderson also transcends the traditional dualism of American films “in which good is positioned against evil and which, in the final duel, features the victory of the good and the punishment of evil” (Rushton and Bettinson 118). Instead of holding on to this dualism, what Kamphorst 52 he seems to show through the characters of Monsieur Gustave, Margot Tenenbaum and Mr.

Fox is: Dare to be Grey. He thereby invites us to think about their and our sense of identity and belonging by transcending binary oppositions. Indeed, “Mainstream Hollywood tends to produce finales where the hero saves the day and the guy gets the girl. Anderson deals with characters who slowly learn to make peace with the fact that they didn’t. He doesn’t provide standard happy endings, but rather a more realistic brand of satisfaction” (Ingber). The realism hides in the fact that identities are never fixed and stable, but always in transition. Anderson precisely demonstrates how binary thinking does not necessarily have to be a battlefield, but instead, a valley of peace where contradictions can eventually co-exist.

The metaphor of the migrant is in place here, as a figure who “comes to treasure a partial, plural view of the world.” Precisely as “the conventional ways we use to think about ideas such as ‘belonging’ can no longer work in a diasporic context” (McLeod 248), the in- between characters of Wes Anderson show us that we can transcend binary thinking in a hybrid context. Hereby, the characters provide a meaningful insight for a way of thinking in socio- political and cultural debates that is more inclusive and goes beyond the “black and white fallacy” of strongly opposed arguments. Anderson not only makes a plea for the grey middle, he also demonstrates that there are not always proper solutions available to the problems one faces in life. By depicting issues of identity and belonging, but not providing solutions or standard happy endings, Anderson leaves the viewer with questions that are also relevant to ask in the context of socio-cultural debates such as the one surrounding the refugee debate. For example, how can we still distinguish cause and effect in complicated issues? Who is to blame for our problems and is it necessary to blame someone at all? How do we know where to start with fixing our problems? And are we not all partly complicit? It is by provoking these questions that Anderson demonstrates how one might not need to choose between either this or that, but that a solution is found in the grey middle in-between. Kamphorst 53

There is, however, also a limitation to what insights Anderson’s characters provide. This limitation is found when Andersons ‘in-depth shallowness’ truly reaches the bottom. While issues of identity and belonging are certainly important in The Grand Budapest Hotel, The

Royal Tenenbaums and Mr. Fox, they only hint towards its deeper thematic in favour of visuality. For further research, it thus might be interesting to analyse characters of in- betweenness in films in which similar themes are explored on a more profound level.

Nevertheless, the beautifully visualised ambivalent positions of Monsieur Gustave, Margot

Tenenbaum and Mr. Fox show us how we can still function or survive without necessarily knowing the answers to the existential questions that afflict us. They demonstrate how we can revalue the diversity and contradictions within ourselves and others, and demonstrate that “The world is one precisely because, and on the basis of, its irreducible plurality and heterogeneity”

(Radhakrishnan 455).

Kamphorst 54

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