Fuck Wes Anderson. Fuck, Wes Anderon. Fuck Wes Anderson. Anderson, Wes Anderson, fuck him. He’s not Wes Craven, like I used to think, he’s just some pretentious fucker that treats actors like dolls for his weird movies. I think they’re considered comedies, but I don’t find myself laughing at them. Unless we’re laughing at how bad they are. Only I laugh at how bad they are. Every other hipster praises them for being quirky. Fuck your quirks. I do absurdist humor and your shit isn’t absurdist. It’s more like uncanny valley. These actors don’t look real, and don’t talk like real people.
If you asked aliens to make a documentary about humans, and gave them half a week to write it, you’d get a Wes Anderson movie. A year later, I’m still pissed at Moonrise Kingdom. Even the name stupid. You’re stupid Wes Anderson. “Oh look at me, I’m a boyscout in the 50s, but I don’t like it. Bruce Willis is fucking my mom, and he looks like a dork. That’s funny, right? My troop leader that unintentionally looks like a pedophile is so quirky. I’m so quirky. My friends are quirky but I don’t have friends because it’s that kind of movie. We all talk like we’re not human.” Fuck you, Wes Anderson. Except the Fantastic Mister Fox. I want to watch that one, because even a blind dog finds a fucking bone, now don’t they Wes? Throw your shit at a wall enough times, like the typewriting monkey you are, and it’ll stick, won’t it Wes? MAKE ENOUGH MOVIES AND ONE WILL BE WATCHABLE, WON’T IT, WES?
Um, that’s all I guess. There was no point to this.