The start of every school year provides a
great excuse to revisit one of the most enduring films about high school: 1998’s Rushmore. [I like your nurse’s uniform, guy.] [These are OR scrubs.] [Oh, are they?] Now one of the most recognizable living filmmakers,
Wes Anderson rose to prominence after the success of his sophomore feature. The film stands apart as the most realistic-feeling
and autobiographical of his work, while revealing the seeds of the filmmaker Anderson would
become. Rushmore has a rawness to it that isn’t
as present in his later meticulously crafted, fully formed filmography. So the film can be read as a coming-of-age
tale both for Max, and for Wes. [I saved Latin. What did you ever do?] More than his debut feature, Bottle Rocket,
Rushmore showcases Wes Anderson’s stylistic and thematic interests in their infancy. Now known for his ornate, intricate mise en
scene and his balanced, wide center framing, Anderson’s symmetrical aesthetic already
exists in Rushmore but doesn’t overpower the story. The film's smaller budget compared to later Anderson films meant that it was shot on location, so in Rushmore we see his charming, balanced compositions applied to a somewhat more realistic, familiar setting. Rushmore is divided up into months, and Anderson
would replicate this chapter-like structure in nearly all of his other films,
most notably in The Royal Tenenbaums where the story is literally divided up into chapters. Visually Anderson also achieves a storybook
aesthetic through his intricate, controlled and fanciful shots that often feature bright
pastels. And his films since Rushmore have pushed
this storybook feel to extremes. Rushmore’s eclectic soundtrack features
deep cuts from The Who, The Kinks, and John Lennon, demonstrating Anderson's ability to bring
slightly more obscure classics of the past back into the public eye. He also uses two songs by Cat Stevens, who
did the entire soundtrack for the classic coming-of-age film, Harold and Maude, a strong
influence on Rushmore. Like Harold and Maude, Rushmore uses music to create a whimsical, melancholy mood, foreshadowing the way Anderson would use music to establish
a memorable tone throughout his films. Also, Anderson’s fondness for montage is
already apparent, and these sequences work because of the interplay between music and
image. Anderson’s visual flair often leads to accusations
of style over substance, and many underrate the deeper substance in his visual storytelling. Martin Scorsese has said that he doesn’t
see too many new films because “the images don’t mean anything.” But Anderson is a rare exception to that complaint
--he uses precise visuals to express emotional beats and externalize his characters’ inner
feelings. Take, for example, this scene in Rushmore
of Max and Rosemary feeding fish in her classroom. As the two characters walk and connect, the camera follows them dollying left, and frames them in the same window. But when Rosemary mentions her husband, Max is
crushed, and as the camera dollies this time, the two are framed in adjacent windows,
visualizing the divide Max imagines between them. When Max learns that her husband has died, the camera track this time places them back in the same frame, as he now believes he still has a chance
to be with Rosemary. Rushmore is the most autobiographical of Anderson’s films, so it gives us a window into the director's early life. Anderson co-wrote the screenplay with
his friend and frequent collaborator, Owen Wilson, and Max Fischer’s story parallels
Anderson’s early education at St. John’s school in Texas. The elite private school inspired
Rushmore Academy so much that he decided to shoot the film there. Like Max, Anderson was an academic underachiever who slacked off in school, and he has stated that he too fell in love with an older woman at that age. Max and Wes share similar artistic pursuits,
as Max spends much of Rushmore honing his skills as a playwright and theatre director. [Oh my God! I wrote a hit play!] echoing, of course, Anderson’s development as a film director. In Rushmore, Anderson compares the mentality
of an artist to that of an angsty teen. The film opens with a fantasy sequence of
Max solving an impossible math problem before getting cheered on and exalted by his fellow
classmates. Max dreams of being recognized by his peers,
just as Anderson dreamed about finding an audience for his films. [I feel like I was never more confident in my life than when we made that film, and never less confident than when we screened it.] Max’s narcissism comes out of his need to
please, [I should probably try harder to score chicks. That's the only thing anybody really cares about.] Likewise, a director must have a certain hubris to make films at all - and this hubris
comes out of a need to please and be recognized by others, not unlike the way a high schooler aches
to “fit in”. Meanwhile, Max’s obsessive attention to
detail in this scene almost certainly reflects Anderson’s similar compulsiveness. [What happened to the cannoli line? You're supposed to say forget about it Sanchez The old man likes his cannolis] [Look I made a mistake, alright. It didn't make any difference, anyway.] [Hey. I'm letting it go, but don't say it doesn't matter. Every line matters.] This interest in the life of the artist continues
to fascinate Anderson, who frequently features artist characters in his films, often to examine
the impulses that drive people to create. In The Royal Tenenbaums, Margot Tenenbaum
isn’t writing plays to impress her peers, like Max, but to seek the validation of her
critical father. [What'd you think Dad?] [Hmm. It didn't seem believable to me.] In The Life Aquatic, Steve Zissou, as an oceanographer
who makes documentary films, embodies the whimsical adventure of making art, but also
shows how art can be used as a coping mechanism, as Steve chases the jaguar shark who killed
his best friend. Anderson uses these characters to represent
the range of creative output, as he reveals his view of art and the artist: endearingly
playful and bravely adventurous, yet also often dissatisfied or insecure, yearning for
recognition, driven by an earnest and sometimes dark sense of purpose. Making art, or doing what they love, offers these characters a way out of their pain. Anderson’s attention to detail not only
applies to his visuals, but also to his character work. Viewers could miss these characterizations the
first time they watch Rushmore, because characters often fail to say what they’re
really feeling. Take Herman Blume, who is facing an existential
crisis; he’s worth north of 10 million dollars, but he hates his life. His sons don’t respect him and his wife
isn’t interested in him. But rather than using clunky exposition, Anderson
expresses all this beautifully in the scene at the twins’ birthday party, when he cuts
to a portrait of the Blume family - his wife and sons have orange hair, while Herman is
the outlier with grey hair. Herman becomes fond of Max, and vice versa,
because they see each other as successful. Max is drawn to Herman's self-made fortune, while Herman is drawn to Max's confident ambition, Rosemary’s characterization is the most
subtle. She seems to be presented as a voice of reason
- calling out Max and Herman’s childish actions and desires. But in reality, she’s quite similar to both
male leads. The viewer learns more and more about how
she was married to Edward Appleby, how he died, how she now teaches at Rushmore because
it was his alma mater, and how she is living in his childhood home. What emerges is a sad portrait of a woman
who can't get over her husband’s death. So the three leads are all isolated people who yearn for a very specific kind
of compassion. The characters get along best when they function
as a surrogate family, but things fall apart when they place impossible burdens
on one another. And Rosemary’s relationship with
Herman ends because he can’t compare to Edward Appleby. [Edward has more spark and character and imagination in one fingernail than Herman has in his entire body.] Even though these characters fail to acknowledge
their own shortcomings, Anderson sends us some deeper messages through their interactions. He helps us relate to their need to connect,
belong and be appreciated, yet he shows the dangers of putting our happiness into someone
else’s hands, or expecting someone else’s love and appreciation to fix us. Ultimately, each of us is responsible for our
own emotional well-being. [And how long will you be staying with us Mr. Blume?] [Indefinitely. I'm being sued for divorce.] This is a key revelation of adolescence, when
we unrealistically expect that falling in love or being popular will be the answer to
our woes. Anderson has played with the coming of age tale throughout his career. But for Wes, coming of age isn’t a one-time
event that happens when we’re young. It's an ongoing process that, perhaps, never ends. In Rushmore, Herman and Rosemary must also
grow up in certain ways, as they adjust to new circumstances. By the end of the Rushmore, everything isn’t
resolved. Herman and Rosemary are no longer together,
and we don’t know if Max will thrive at Grover Cleveland High School. Rushmore succeeds because of this ambiguity,
reflecting that life is often messy and not everything works out in the end. Early in the film, Herman asks: [What's the secret Max?] [I think you just got to find something you love and do it for the rest of your life. For me it's going to Rushmore] Max’s answer is absurd and tragic, because
his words of wisdom about doing what you love sound pretty solid, but he obviously can’t
spend his entire life in high school. ‘Rushmore’ essentially becomes shorthand for a pipe dream - an unrealistic aspiration or a love that got away So in naming his film Rushmore Anderson
is getting at how we deal with the things we want and can’t have. [She's my Rushmore, Max.] [Yeah, I know. She was mine too] We have to become aware of our limitations,
and we have to accept that some things or people we love get away from us, and not all
good things can last. Yet Rushmore still leaves us with hope that, by adjusting
our expectations, we might be able to carve out a little bit of happiness for ourselves.
