Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom
Moonrise Kingdom is a coming-of-age story between two teenagers — Suzy Bishop and Sam Shakusky — on a desolate island. The kind of island where everyone knows each other. Both are misfits in their own social groups. They run away together amid a storm that threatens all inhabitants of the region.
It was a story that left me with impressions on the forgotten maturity of children, what keeps people living every day, and trying to understand a piece of cliche advice. Though this isn’t a movie review there will be spoilers and I recommend you watch it before reading further.
Forgotten Maturity of Children
The first thought that smacked me in the face was how aware children are of the world. Laura Bishop cheats on her husband, Walt, with Captain Sharp. This is something she tries to hide from Walt. But her preoccupation with hiding it from Walt completely ignores the watchful eyes of Suzy.
In the picture above, Suzy is literally observing everything. It’s what children do. It’s what we all did as children. Something we seem to forget we did when we become adults.
It’s as if we forget how observant we were as children. How we were aware of everything adults wanted to hide from us. I’m 29 but I remember my childhood quite fondly. I imagine those much older still retain memories of their childhood as well.
I once saw my best friend at the time pull out a knife to stab his older brother. He failed. His mother came home not too long after the attempt. She whipped him with a belt. We were eight. I don’t think I ever told my parents. But it’s a memory that will live with me and I knew back then something wasn’t right.
Violence enters the life of children early, contrary to what adults think. We become quite aware of it. Such was the case when Suzy stabbed one of the scouts pursuing them with left-handed scissors. It might seem primitive but it also creates respect among one another. Imagine how differently some adults would behave if they had to worry about getting punched in the face for being an asshole.
Upon a successful escape from adults, Suzy and Sam make camp. There, they start a romantic relationship. But not one with the mind games of modern courtship. It’s one of honesty and curiosity. They learn to kiss and touch each other. It was blunt and matter of fact that I forgot how funny sex really is. It’s really, friction if we think about it.
Sexuality was something most of us were aware of at a young age. I think I saw my first batch of porn at nine or ten. It was the era of Yahoo! and Windows 96. I used to think I was alone in these behaviours. But as I get older, I realize I’m not. It’s just I was told I should think it’s weird.
Rather, the opposite seems true. Children learn at a young age. They quietly observe the world built by adults. They form conclusions after chasing their own curiosities — in sexuality and social hierarchy. What’s funny is how adults attempt to hold back these curiosities.
It’s an act of utter hypocrisy considering what we knew when we were children. I can hear cries from adults saying it’s all to “protect” the children. Protect them from what? The shame the adults faced in their own adolescence?
Shame they didn’t know they should feel until they came in contact with the adult world. A world they were told was reality but was in fact, an illusion. One where what you were, how you spoke, and unsaid rules formed the prison they willingly entered.
I don’t know if this is what Anderson intended with the plot around Suzy and Sam. But I couldn’t help appreciate the comical dichotomy of seeing their teenage relationship being the mature, adult and honest form whilst the one the adults had being one of childish, dishonesty parents tell children not to do.
What Keeps Us Living Every Day
Second, after the portrayal of Suzy and Sam’s wonderful relationship, is a scene with Suzy’s parents —Walt and Laura. The couple sleeps on separate beds. Neither bed without any leeway for a ’squeeze-in cuddle session’. There is absolutely no wiggle room in the death of their relationship.
As the storm blows over the island, Laura apologizes to Walt. I imagine it’s for cheating on him.
Here’s the full dialogue:
Walt knows Laura is cheating on him. To which, he responds by saying: “I hope the roof flies off and I get sucked into space. You’ll be better off without me.”
Here I wondered if he so wishes to disappear from existence, why doesn’t he? He established he was not enough for the children. Which, I think is a fine admission. An honest one at that. So what keeps him living?
Walt is rather pessimistic and he might appear to be even suicidal. Therein lies the question, what keeps people living?
It’s what Viktor Frankl wrote about in Man’s Search for Meaning. The thing that gives people purpose to live on through the hells of the WWII concentration camps. Frankl showed a world where survival was a day-to-day objective. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. It was about surviving for one day.
In the end, that is the reality is it not? Every day, we decide to live another day. Whether a person is wealthy or homeless, they both choose to live for another day.
I used to think this must mean people are inherently optimistic. Because even for the homeless man who has much less than the wealthy man, he is choosing to live for another day. Isn’t it fair to say he believes tomorrow will be better so it’s worth living to see it?
But the dialogue between Laura and Walt gave me pause. It might not be optimism. It might be something simpler: curiosity.
The curiosity a child has when she looks at an outlet socket. Even if the child is a smart one and knows she shouldn’t put her finger in it. She is curious.
"Even smart kids stick their fingers in electrical sockets sometimes” - Captain Sharp, played by Bruce Willis.
What keeps people living, whether they purposely decide to or not, appears to be a belief that life is an odd adventure. One where all plans are proven wrong. One where nothing is certain until it has happened in reality.
Despite knowing how our biology decays with age, and that people we love will die, we choose to live on. I can’t help but think it’s because we are curious. We just want to see what tomorrow holds. Even if we think it’ll be awful.
What does it mean to "feel sorry for the self"?
A line from the same dialogue above between Walt and Laura is the line: “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” A cliche I hear too often, particularly in books and movies. Usually, the main character is struggling and some wise, usually older, figure delivers the line.
I often took it at face value. I nodded along and let the advice fly over my head. But what does it actually mean? I feel silly focused on this. Yet, I couldn't shake it from my mind.
How do you feel sorry for yourself? Would I need to look in the mirror and say “I pity you. You are a sad one”? I recall this bit of advice usually coming at a time when a character is questioning their existence. When they are choosing to do something for the sake of another —becoming the unwilling white knight.
Does that mean superheroes feel sorry for themselves? Most superhero movies seem to have protagonists who are prisoners to some directive from the heavens telling them to protect and serve strangers.
Another way to think about it might be: “get your head out of your ass.” It’s for the who take the self too seriously. The “I am the protagonist” mistake I so often make and forget I’ve got my head in my ass. I wouldn’t think I was so important if I didn’t.
The mistake would be to take myself seriously. When I do, that’s when I seem to start ‘feeling sorry’ for myself. Oh how silly that sounds. But it’s true. It means I’ve forgotten what Kurt Vonnegut said so eloquently about living:
“We are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you any different.”
If I truly accepted that I was here to fart around, then I wouldn’t such a harsh critic. What would I have to feel so sorry for? I’m just here to fart around. I never thought it would take work to accept that. But it seems like it does.