Isle of Dog

Or: Red in Tooth

First thing’s first, this ain’t your typical Wes Anderson. The amiable framer of the enchanting tales Fantastic Mr. Fox, Moonrise Kingdom, and The Grand Budapest Hotel has always had a passion for blood and anguish that has been caged inside his picturesque and whimsical cut away worlds. But there is no whimsy to be found here (or not much, a sneezing dog is still adorable). From the first moments of the film, with its solum summoning of legend by the dogs Jupiter and Oracle (F. Murray Abraham and Tilda Swindon, respectively) and it’s ominous male chorus we are in for serious business. This is a story of conspiracy, murder, honor, mysticism, powerful poetry and yes, a boy and his dog.

Twenty years in the future, in a world ravaged by climate change and ententacled by corruption, Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura) cat loving despot of Megasaki city, Uni Prefecture, Japan, is finally ready to break his ancestral revenge. A canine flu has gripped the city’s dog population and the Mayor orders all dogs to be shipped to an abandoned island of the coast of the city where they will most likely starve to death (taking his cue from Istanbul and various other cities with a historically vicious animal control policy). But he has not reckoned on one thing: his twelve-year-old ward Atari Kobayashi (Koyu Rankin) an incredibly mechanically skilled youngster with a love for his guard dog and friend Spots (Liev Schrieber). Arriving on the island for a rescue mission Atari finds a pack of dogs, lead by the quarrelsome, man-hating stray Chief (Brian Cranston), who grudgingly sets out to help him set wrong to right.

Confusing? Possibly, but it invites us to a wonderful display of art. Stop Motion animation is not for the faint or indecisive of heart and after the crisp triumph of Fantastic Mr. Fox, Anderson and his team have learned enough to be artfully grungy. The wastes of trash island, skidding in and out of shadow, the slash and cut renderings of the news footage, even the baleful stares of the dogs themselves carry a tarnished beauty and inspire an awe. Anderson’s script isn’t nearly as laden with precise quirky witticisms (though they’re there, don’t fret. Wait till you hear about Oracle and her powers), but still carries a subdued crunch of eloquence to it. It’s fine and filling but doesn’t leave enough room for any one actor to shine, they have their paws full keeping the plot speeding under them. It’s the images that are left to shine: the trademark Anderson overhead shot of objects being prepared is all the more impressive (and slightly self-congratulatory) for being done in stop motion and with the cultural reverence for doing things perfectly, from slicing an octopus for sushi to prepping a kidney transplant.

Morally, Isle of Dogs is not quite as clean or sterling as it’s craftsmanship. I am certainly no judge of such matters but Anderson’s rendering of Japan and it’s people seems detailed and accurate (all characters speak their native language, with barks translated into English, and the handy guide of Interpreter Nelson (Frances McDormand) keeping us Americans up to speed). Yet there’s a painful exuberance in the way the film holds up the exotic as though to say, “This Japan! Ain’t it Awesome!?” The hunger to romp about also spills over in giving the movie more characters than it rightfully should have. Chief’s pack are adorable bumblers but largely indistinguishable from each other (and that’s a lot when you can’t tell who in the room Bill Murray), and they lose all importance about halfway through the picture.

 But the real sticking burr, that drags sparks on what is supposed to be a streamlined ship is Tracy Walker (played with decent vim by Greta Gerwig) the American exchange student pro-dog activist journalist out to get to the bottom of the conspiracy to silence those two-legged citizens who would come to the rescue of the four. If Anderson has a cardinal sin it’s that his women, like so many in fiction, are strong and intelligent and driven but largely just there so that his heroes can feel feelings. Walker though is worse; she’s driving on a quest with sound and fury, but it is painfully obvious that she won’t get anything done until she joins forces with Atari.

But all these doubts come up like guilt after the fine meal, when one considers what went into those sausages and what landless hands picked the strawberries. In the moment (Walkers shame aside) Isle of Dogs is totally engrossing. It requires of the viewer a level of attention that a storyteller demands of their audience, the need to sit up and pay attention, for these are solemn proceedings. Lovely and beautiful and with a few scraps of delight blowing about, Isle of Dogs may not be typical heart-soothing affair the framer provides, but it sure is entertaining.