Moonrise Kingdom , Wes Anderson’s 2012 jewel, is the story of two misfit twelve-year-olds: Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman), a bespectacled, pipe-smoking Khaki Scout orphan, and Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), a brooding, bookish girl who keeps a kitten and a pair of binoculars in a vinyl record case. After a year of secret pen-pal letters, they execute a daring wilderness escape to an inlet they call Moonrise Kingdom.
What follows is less a simple runaway tale than a precise, poignant, and wildly whimsical symphony of deadpan comedy and aching sincerity. Moonrise Kingdom
The film is a coming-of-age story where the children act like adults (calculating routes, drafting treaties, using proper handshake techniques) and the adults act like children (throwing tantrums, fleeing responsibility, failing to listen). The climax—a literal lightning strike on a church roof, followed by a slow-motion rescue—feels both absurd and deeply moving. Moonrise Kingdom , Wes Anderson’s 2012 jewel, is
In the autumn of 1965, on the fictional New England island of New Penzance, a storm is brewing—and not just the hurricane named Looming off the coast. The film is a coming-of-age story where the
It’s a tiny, perfect thunderclap of a movie. Quirky? Yes. But never cold. It’s Anderson’s warmest film—a reminder that childhood’s fiercest feelings are often the truest.
Anderson frames every shot like a Victorian dollhouse: symmetrical, saturated with amber and moss-green, and filled with meticulous detail. But inside that box is a wildly beating heart. The adults—including Bruce Willis as the lonely Captain Sharp, Edward Norton as a hapless Scout Master, and Frances McDormand and Bill Murray as Suzy’s distracted, grieving parents—are lost in their own grown-up sadness. They don’t understand Sam and Suzy’s ferocious, logical, and utterly pure love. “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suzy tells Sam. He nods. They hold hands. And that’s that.
More than anything, Moonrise Kingdom captures the terror and glory of first love: the belief that two people can form a private world, armed with a pair of scissors, a camping stove, and a library book. It’s a film about running away to find a home. And by the final frame—as the recovered couple sits on a porch, waiting out the storm—you believe they’ve found it.
Moonrise Kingdom , Wes Anderson’s 2012 jewel, is the story of two misfit twelve-year-olds: Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman), a bespectacled, pipe-smoking Khaki Scout orphan, and Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), a brooding, bookish girl who keeps a kitten and a pair of binoculars in a vinyl record case. After a year of secret pen-pal letters, they execute a daring wilderness escape to an inlet they call Moonrise Kingdom.
What follows is less a simple runaway tale than a precise, poignant, and wildly whimsical symphony of deadpan comedy and aching sincerity.
The film is a coming-of-age story where the children act like adults (calculating routes, drafting treaties, using proper handshake techniques) and the adults act like children (throwing tantrums, fleeing responsibility, failing to listen). The climax—a literal lightning strike on a church roof, followed by a slow-motion rescue—feels both absurd and deeply moving.
In the autumn of 1965, on the fictional New England island of New Penzance, a storm is brewing—and not just the hurricane named Looming off the coast.
It’s a tiny, perfect thunderclap of a movie. Quirky? Yes. But never cold. It’s Anderson’s warmest film—a reminder that childhood’s fiercest feelings are often the truest.
Anderson frames every shot like a Victorian dollhouse: symmetrical, saturated with amber and moss-green, and filled with meticulous detail. But inside that box is a wildly beating heart. The adults—including Bruce Willis as the lonely Captain Sharp, Edward Norton as a hapless Scout Master, and Frances McDormand and Bill Murray as Suzy’s distracted, grieving parents—are lost in their own grown-up sadness. They don’t understand Sam and Suzy’s ferocious, logical, and utterly pure love. “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suzy tells Sam. He nods. They hold hands. And that’s that.
More than anything, Moonrise Kingdom captures the terror and glory of first love: the belief that two people can form a private world, armed with a pair of scissors, a camping stove, and a library book. It’s a film about running away to find a home. And by the final frame—as the recovered couple sits on a porch, waiting out the storm—you believe they’ve found it.