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Writer/Director Wes Anderson is sort of a modern-day filmmaking hero of mine. From the opening few minutes of Bottle Rocket, I felt I had a socially awkward brother out there; another who grew up on Woody Allen films and knew too much about The Kinks for his own good. Yet, it was his sophomore film, the celebrated genius of 1998’s Rushmore that solidified our relationship; he as the beautifully brilliant bringer of quirk and charisma and me as the avid, rabid devotee. Fiercely, he satirized the coming-of-age narrative and established himself as a distinctive voice for my generation. The film, now celebrating its Criterion upgrade onto glorious high definition, would gross over $20 million and wind up on many a critical ‘Best Of’ list for that year.
The comedy-drama, co-written by close friend Owen Wilson, wraps itself in a thick coat of eccentricity as it presents an episode in the life of a quirky teenager named Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman) who establishes a friendship with the wealthy Herman Blume (Bill Murray) at the very moment they both fall for Rosemary Cross (Olivia Williams), an elementary grade school teacher.
Fischer, however, is a different sort of teenager. As a Rushmore Academy student, he is both the most exceptional and the laziest student; full of ideas that have nothing to do with his scholarly pursuits and everything to do with Ed Wood-like theatrics. He argues nonstop with headmaster, Dr. Guggenheim (Brian Cox), about random nonsense and, believing that his intelligence makes him older than he physically is, actively pursues the affection of Miss Cross.
What develops from a mutual admiration between industrialist Blume and the sure-footed Fischer is a humorous game of Spy vs. Spy as both vie for Cross’s attention. Remember that thin line between love and hate? Both Fischer, Blume, and Cross traverse it time and time again in Rushmore.
Rich in character and whip-cracking dialogue, Rushmore has a lot going on below its surface. It might keep itself bubbling along as hip indie comedy, but scratch a bit and you’ll sample the real brew. For all its adolescence dealings, there disappointment of the adult life seems to be on the line. There are a number of failures in the marriages of the adults that surround the campus like insects to a swamp. No one seems happy. To say that Blume is a little defeated is an understatement. Death seems to be more the meaning of the matter as well as a sharp stick to the eye of social class.
Schwartzman is perfect as the precocious teenager who can’t see reality from fantasy. He bubbles with a quirky spirit that keeps him almost as a staple in Anderson’s work. And why not? This was the film that truly established the charms and overall feeling of the Anderson we now fawn over. Every line of Anderson and Wilson’s script is delivered with a resounding need to be heard. Schwartzman got what Anderson was doing and delivered a great performance. Murray also took to the role and was able to use it as springboard for his now cult-like status as everyone’s indie go-to-guy. Here, his career-changing performance seems fresh and almost surreal; sometimes eclipsing what he did for Jim Jarmusch in the underappreciated Broken Flowers.
Still, Anderson’s overwhelming understanding of composition and its overall use to create tone is the real reason we celebrate this film. His shots are perfectly framed tools that work in unison to create a character all of their own. Solidified with his expert use of music as it matches image, Rushmore deliciously impacts every scene with an ancient wisdom of the craft that has blessed only the real masters. It’s an intelligence that defies his age and heightens the reality presented in the film to great affect.
Nominated for two Independent Spirit Awards, Rushmore celebrates the curious case of adolescent dislocation without the offensive self-referential material that isolates so many other coming-of-age narratives. It is a true delight of sound and vision.
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