"Of course it's dark, it's a suicide note": Anderson and all of his mastery.

For the second instalment of the newly appointed ‘Short Cut’, we will be looking to Wes Anderson’s cult classic The Royal Tenebaums (TRT). For anyone that is already familiar with the film, I think you already know the scene I’m talking about. TRT, like most of Anderson’s work, is known for both its charming and quirky story and its vibrant and symmetrical imagery.

As expected, and this is likely going to be a recurring feature of thus sub-section, there will be spoilers as it is impossible to discuss any scene without first knowing what’s going on in it. The Tenebaum Family are a dysfunctional and eccentric bunch. The three children of divorced Royal and Etheline Tenebaum, Chas, adopted daughter Margot and Richie are gifted but as flawed and broken as their parents and so their gifts seem insignificant in their adulthood. The siblings find themselves living together again in their mother’s home as their lives are gradually falling to pieces.

Richie’s achilles heel is his love for his adopted sister Margot. She knows this, but is already married. Her marriage, however, does not stop her infidelities. When Richie discovers Margot’s double life, along with her affairs, he is a broken man and sees ending his life as his only remaining option. This is where a brief but deeply impactful scene begins.

Everything in this scene is so purposeful. It both makes sense and yet no sense at all and, after all, isn’t that what being in the depths of despair is like; a void, a no man’s land. It is everything and nothing, where senselessness and clarity live together. This is Richie’s frame of mind in this scene. Anderson uses techniques that defiantly go against his conventional style, but reflect that split-second mentality often associated with suicide and mental breakdown. Many people dub this the ‘best suicide scene’ in cinema, which feels wrong to say, yet I know exactly what they mean.

Looking first to lighting, Anderson is known for his production design. It is what makes him an auteur. His films are filled with great colours, but chosen from specific palettes, achieving symmetry and depth. His films are like looking into a doll’s house. They are both real and staged. This scene is unlike most of his work. It takes place almost entirely in a bathroom. We leave a warm, musty academic office and we are suddenly in a dark and cold bathroom. Richie wears sunglasses for much of the scene and so you can imagine the darkness he sees. He only turns on the light halfway through the scene. It is a subtle change to Anderson’s style, but so purposeful. I can imagine how hard it must have been for Anderson to bring the gravity needed for such serious subject matter, but this simple switch of lightning and colour helps.

The magic of this scene is down to what we see and don’t see, and what we hear and don’t hear. Anderson is also known for his use of music in his films and, using Elliot Smith’s Needle In The Hay, he knew exactly what he was doing. It introduces itself slowly, but it is also an intrusion into this world. Lyrically and musically, it says everything. If nobody said a word or even did anything, this song would explain the mentality of everyone in the scene. Elliot Smith was a melancholic soul, who himself came to a tragic end. His songs don’t just carry their literal meaning or interpretations, they carry his story, his state of mind, his life and his death. The song builds in keeping with the action and when Richie’s bloodied wrists are discovered by a teenager, there is a cut and a silence. The scream is one that only the people in the room can heard. One can only imagine the scream someone would let out after discovering such a sight, so why even try to replicate it. The music bursts back into the scene as Richie is rushed to hospital in the hope of saving him.

I have said how Anderson departs from his typical style and this is what makes this scene so memorable. His use of music and lightning is atypical for him, but so is the imagery and cinematic techniques. As Richie makes a quick, but also planned, decision, Anderson uses flashback and slow motion, quickly showing some of the most important moments of his life, but also slowing down at the most important part of Richie’s life: Margot. For the viewer, this is jarring, it is new and it brings new meaning, making us wake up and pay attention.

The classic Wes Anderson style is still present in the scene, particularly before Richie makes his devastating decision. As he shaves his face, he does so cinematically; a perfectly straight, clean line down one side of his face. Of course, as soon as the blade is introduced, so is the suicidal thought and the decision is made. The actual suicide is the quintessential Anderson style; the colours are dark but vivid, the depth of field, the symmetry, all of the trademarks are there. Even in this darkness and seriousness, he is here with his style and humour.

It is the moments just after Richie’s attempt that are my favourite and make the scene so emotional. For a director that is so stylistic, charming and witty, it can be hard to bring the gravitas needed for something as serious as suicide, but Anderson manages it and I think it is these brief images that bring such solemnity. Richie’s frantic mother hangs up the phone. The shot is focused on her hands, which struggle to grab her coat quick enough so she can leave for the hospital. Then his brother, already speeding to be by his brother’s side, reaches for his seatbelt as his pensive face looks out the window and, lastly, his sister Margot’s heels hurriedly click down a hospital corridor. Here, there is little concern for dialogue or deep focus on facial expression. The

character’s decisions and their body language, particularly of their hands, speak volumes. For such a malfunctioning family like the Tenebaums, saying how you feel and expressing concern still do come naturally. Their care and their love is shown by what they do.

The scene ends on an amusing and hopeful note, in a classic Anderson manner. So, what makes this scene so great? Well, you have to look at multiple things. It’s the use of music, lighting, colour and various other cinematic techniques. All of these factors combine to make a truly captivating moment in this film and, indeed, cinema in general. However, I believe the true magic of this scene is down to the subtle but clever changes Anderson made to his typical approach. He arrests us, stops us and brings something new. He has created an emotional scene, but one that is so visually stunning that it totally seizes the viewer and lets us go when it sees fit.