Wes Anderson never saw the beauty of
elevated surfaces until now.
While we all see the grimy, loud and
humid basement of a fraternity palace,
Wes sees poetry in motion. Crystal
Palace flows into a line of Dixie cups like a
fresh water fountain in Rome. Hawaiian
shirts and basketball jerseys float past a
large, Insta-famous American flag with
the grace and elegance of a bull in a china
shop that’s drunk off Natty Lite and
fragile masculinity. The sweat and heat
of the dance floor knock you into a state
of reverie.
But if I’m being honest, “Closer” for the
87th time and early 2000s throwbacks do
not fit into Wes Anderson’s filmmaking
checklist.
Swap out the current fraternity DJ
rotation with matching outfits from the
’70s, pastel lighting and tunes from every
decade except the one we’re in now —
that’s the recipe.
I’ve sat at home and in many theaters
watching
Wes’s
quirky,
symmetrical
set designs and smooth camera work
for years now, but the music he lays
underneath his scenes is the punctuation
mark of his films. It guides the emotion
and often exposes hidden truths. So who
can stop Wes from turning the hallmark
of the University of Michigan’s Welcome
Week
into
a
carefully
orchestrated
Anderson
classic
through
a
killer
soundtrack? No one, that’s who.
Enter: Matt, 19, slim build (more lanky
than slim, but this is my column so I can
afford to boost my ego a little).
As I walk past three Greek letters and
into the mansion, pushing past huge,
bouncers the color of traffic cones, a
jacked fella in a Knicks jersey sits in the
living room. He looks me dead in the eyes
as he strums his first, out-of-tune chord.
A Frat Brother Covering a Top 40 Hit
on His Acoustic Guitar
If Wes can get away with recording
a Seu Jorge cover of David Bowie in
Portuguese
for
“The
Life
Aquatic,”
why can’t Newest Pledge Ben or Chad
or Whatever perform Post Malone’s
“Congratulations” for a crowd of two or
three people in line for the bathroom?
He’s clearly the most talented in the
room. He can even do Quavo’s part, so
you know he’s cultured.
Anyway, Wes would want an authentic
sound for the opening of his pièce de
résistance. Even though the original is a
little too recent for his tastes, the cover is
in such a poor key and the brother’s vocal
range is almost nonexistent. Thus, a new
breed of soundtrack is born.
Well done, Wes. You always one-up
yourself.
My eyes slowly readjust to the dim
basement. My shoes stick to the floor as
if it were still-wet cement. The camera
pans to show a sea of bobbing heads, some
higher than others on platforms forming
waves. Love is in the air — battery-acid-
flavored vodka-induced love for sure, but
love nonetheless.
“Let’s Spend the Night Together” —
The Rolling Stones or David Bowie, take
your pick.
If you want a British Invasion rocking
and rolling undertone or if you’re going
for a glam rock vibe, “Let’s Spend the
Night Together” goes perfectly with the
back-and-forth cycle of modern collegiate
romance.
A
passionate,
love-infused
bond that rivals the sanctity of marriage,
dancing at a frat party is the pinnacle
display of affection we have here. Wes’s
lens glides over the multitude of couples
in slow motion
with
Bowie
or
Mick’s heavy-handed vocals moving us
along with him. His attention to detail
focuses on one couple and how invested
the dude is in this modern waltz and
how completely uninterested his female
counterpart is in the whole ordeal, her
eyes darting back and forth, looking for a
way out.
“Now I need you more than ever….”
The
elegantly
concerned
woman
breaks away, rejecting the sleeveless-T-
clad bro’s poignant offer to “get out of
here.” Loneliness ensues.
“Whiskey River” — Willie Nelson
Poor dude. He just wanted to treat this
woman to a lovely burrito buffet and have
some harmless fun. Who is she to reject
him like that?
As he wanders toward the bar, ready
to drown his sorrows, Willie Nelson’s
country twang fades in. A honky-tonk
instrumental marks this man’s lowest
point, a truly inspiring soundtracking
choice by Wes. A scene chock-full of
resentment and male pride, Willie’s plea
to not “let her memory torture me” really
hits home for the movie patron. A real
tear-jerker, if you ask me.
The heartbroken bro grabs a handle
of Kamchatka for himself. If you had
looked at him, you would have guessed
the bottle was filled with water. He
lies on the ground, perfectly lit in front
of the aforementioned American flag,
symbolizing his true conservative roots
(nice touch, Wes). Tunnel vision starts to
grip him as a subtle vignette effect fades
onscreen. Blacking out is inevitable at
this point.
“Death’s Black Train Is Coming” —
Rev. J. M. Gates
“I want to sing a song and while I sing,
I want every sinner in the house to come
to the angel’s seat and bow…”
A minor callback to his work on
“Fantastic Mr. Fox,” Wes selects an
a cappella gospel tune to signal the
collective mission of the people left
at
this
party:
blacking
out.
He masterfully turns a Lord’s song
about preparing for the Devil to catch
sinners into a completely new song
about preparing for off-brand cranberry
juice mixed with vodka to catch sinners.
Beautiful, as always. Gates’ preaching
fails to reach the mob as students crowd
the bar. A flustered new pledge attempts
to quench these intoxicated requests for
vodka shots and chaser. As the inebriated
run around him, the camera locks him
into place, directly in the center of the
frame. Another breathtaking shot for the
books.
Just then, the reverend’s sermon is
interrupted by the two words no one
wants to hear coming from behind the
bar. The last two words you hear before
you dive into mass hysteria. Two words
worse than “the horror” coming from
Conrad’s pen:
“We’re dry!”
“Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 60,
B. 112, III. Scherzo: Presto” — Antonín
Dvořák
Boom. A massive orchestra hits the
crowd as couples break and everyone
in the room makes a mad dash for
alcohol. Wes’s montage speeds up the
inebriated while keeping the guardians
of the elixir stationary and stoic. As the
camera moves behind the bar, looking
out on the horde, we see clean-cut guys
trying to barter with the bartenders
for their “secret stash” of Kamchatka.
Their failed attempts sync with the dark
violin crescendos. The night can’t be
over. It’s only 2 a.m. If you thought you
could get through a Wes Anderson film
without an orchestral selection, you’d
better think otherwise. Dvořák’s drama
marks the climax of our Greek cinematic
experience.
The lights turn on. The DJ leaves his
heavily-coveted post. Somehow, the
room looks even worse when well-lit
as opposed to brooding and dark. As
the frat troopers file out one by one, a
crackly acoustic guitar fades in.
“Dink’s Song” — Dave Van Ronk
“Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee
well…”
A sentimental departure to say the
least. There will never be a party like
this again until next week’s “Beach
Bums Blackout Banger.” Van Ronk
supplies the music for the final shot of
the humble frat abode exterior and for
the following credits. ’Tis bittersweet
but we shall all meet again at the huge
rager in the sky or awkwardly in Angell
for Tuesday lecture.
3B
Wednesday, September 6, 2017 // The Statement
Soundtracking: A frat party, were it directed by Wes
Anderson
BY MATT HARMON, DAILY STAFF REPORTER
PHOTO COURTSEY OF SYLVANA GROSS
DESIGN BY MICHELLE PHILLIPS