About six months ago the following conversation took place in Nowhere City, Florida:
“I’m really excited about Moonrise Kingdom,” stated my hip male friend.
“That’s the new Wes Anderson film, right? I’m not really up on his recent work, especially, after Fantastic Mr. Fox,” I retorted with a shrug.
“Oh, hmm,” hip friend said in a disappointed, oddly judgmental tone.
There it was. I was judged for not being keen to know and/or care about the newest film born from the kooky mind of Mr. Anderson. I could not make this up, as it actually happened to me, by someone who was supposed to be on Team Jenn. The broad hand of cultural coolness slapped me across the face and only made me want to avoid Moonrise Kingdom even more. I made a silent oath that forbade me from viewing this film. Externally, I would often dismiss this movie capturing two little kids falling in love in the twee-universe. As an adult, I would rather spend my time and money on more highbrow and intelligent fare, I would say to anyone who would listen. Clearly, I was protesting too much.
I broke the aforementioned oath during the Christmas holidays after my college graduation and between family gatherings. Having ample time on my hands and a mind in need of scrubbing from an exhaustive final semester of papers, blogs, and random fragments of embarrassing moments from the various group presentations that went well about half of the time. So really, who could blame me for staying in my pajamas all day catching up on all the stuff I missed over the past few months? I got bored of Netflix within a few days, and started branching out into newer releases and Moonrise Kingdom kept popping up, relentlessly, in fact. The universe was telling me something or perhaps my Google cache and former viewing/reading/cultural entertainment choices pushed me into viewing a film I openly talked shit about for months.
Damn you, Wes Anderson! You have won me back.