Wes Anderson is something of a polarizing figure among cinephiles. For every one who believes he’s a gifted filmmaker with an irresistible comic sensibility, there’s another who finds his work too self-satisfied. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground, and Anderson seems to be fine with this, as his style has become quirkier and more eccentric with each film he makes. For years I’ve been in the pro-Anderson camp, and I’ve often found myself defending movies like The Royal Tenenbaums and The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou against those who found them insufferable. But when I first saw The Darjeeling Limited, I had to admit that the naysayers had a point.
Still, at the time I was reluctant to write off Darjeeling as a failed effort on Anderson’s part. Yes, I didn’t respond very well to it, I wondered if my reaction was based on my disappointment at the film being somewhat less than totally awesome. I decided to give the film a little distance and revisit it after it was released on DVD, so that I might be able to approach it with some perspective. And so I watched it again this past weekend, and this second viewing mostly confirmed my initial misgivings. The Darjeeling Limited isn’t a total botch, but it’s definitely the least of Anderson’s films, and the one in which the limitations of his style really come through most clearly.
One of the most common objections that’s raised to Anderson’s work has to do with his visual style, in which he situates his characters in storybook-style tableaux. In Anderson’s films, there’s always some curious knick knack or peripheral detail at the corner of the frame. But while in previous films, all of these sly little jokes added up to create convincing and original environments for the characters- remember the underwear painting in Eli Cash’s house?- here they just become oppressive. Anderson and production designer Mark Friedberg let their imaginations run wild in creating a colorful version of India, but the small bits of design business don’t really add up to anything, so instead of creating a delightful world for the film, the style instead becomes oppressive, like it’s been art-directed to death.
Of course, some of this problem might have been alleviated had the world created by Anderson been populated by vivid characters, but sadly, it’s not. Darjeeling focuses
on the travels of the Whitman brothers- played by Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, and Jason Schwartzman- as they venture across India in an attempt to reconnect with each other and have a shared spiritual experience. However, none of the characters is drawn with very much depth, with each being defined primarily by his quirks. Faring worst is Schwartzman as little brother Jack. Jack is meant to be a sensitive writer who is still reeling from the disillusion of a longstanding relationship (part of which we see in the film’s companion piece Hotel Chevalier), but I never felt a thing for the guy. Part of the problem is Schwartzman’s performance- perfect as he was for Rushmore, he’s not a very expressive actor, certainly not soulful enough to pull off a character who should by rights be an emotional linchpin for the film.
All of Anderson’s recent films are in some way or other about family, whether the bond is one of blood or, more commonly, a surrogate family arrangement. The Darjeeling Limited is no exception, but what it lacks is a character who stands outside the family unit, grounding the more whimsical and dysfunctional aspects of the family unit. Frankly, Darjeeling needs a character like this, because without it the story becomes a parade of quirkiness. Even Adrien Brody’s Peter, who appears most likely to become the pragmatist of the group, ends up getting caught on the wavelength of the other characters.
But perhaps most annoying is how on-the-nose certain elements of the film are. Anderson has always had a tendency to use symbolism in his work- like the shark that 
represents death in The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou- but never have the symbols clanged so loudly as they do in The Darjeeling Limited. For example, as if Owen Wilson’s bandaged head doesn’t make it clear enough that he’s been psychologically scarred, Anderson includes a scene in which Wilson removes his bandages in front of his brothers, looks at his scars, and says, “I guess I’ve still got some healing to do.” The train itself is pretty clearly meant to symbolize life, which Anderson makes explicit in an admittedly pretty neat scene in which various supporting characters are shown living their own lives in individual train cars. But the most egregious use of symbolism gone haywire is the use of the Whitmans’ dead father’s custom-made monogrammed baggage, which they carry along with them. The film’s climactic scene finds the boys chasing down a departing train and finally having to leave behind their baggage in order to catch it. Needless to say, the thundering obviousness of the scene is sort of insulting.
All of this is not to say that The Darjeeling Limited is without any merit whatsoever. Anderson is too talented a director to make a worthless, uninteresting film, and Darjeeling contains its share of delights. For one thing, its opening scene is brilliant, so much so that the rest of the film is all the more disappointing in comparison. In addition, the film has another of Anderson’s characteristically wonderful soundtracks, this one packed full of music from films directed by James Ivory and Satyajit Ray.
However, these delights are modest compared to the film’s many faults. Hell, I haven’t even gotten around to mentioning the parallel scenes in which Wilson is taken to task for ordering dinner for his brothers, and the one where the boys’ long-lost mother (Anjelica Huston) does exactly the same thing. Hardly subtle, and sadly, all too typical of Anderson’s approach here.
Most filmmakers have a comfort zone as far as style and material are concerned, and many of the films I’ve written about so far in this series have failed because their directors have stepped too far out of this comfort zone. But The Darjeeling Limited is exactly the opposite- everything about the film resides so squarely in Anderson’s wheelhouse that it practically feels like an inside joke. I still believe Anderson is a gifted filmmaker, but if he wants to grow as an artist he needs to find new wrinkles for his style, because if The Darjeeling Limited is any indication, diminishing returns have begun to set in, which if you’re an artist is the last thing you want to happen.