This past summer, I had an idea for a video I wanted to make. If you don’t know me, here’s some context: I make videos all the time, sometimes for work, sometimes for class but oftentimes, just as a creative exercise. I love to tell stories and I love to make videos. But this one, I never made. Why? Because I kept second-guessing myself. I doubted whether the script was compelling enough or clear enough. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to deliver the lines correctly. As a result, I never made it. Why am I telling you this? Hopefully, it will become clear.
Spoiler Alert: This piece is about a movie. There might be spoilers. To be honest, though, I’m not that worried about it because if you care enough to read this piece, I imagine you’ve already seen the movie. Let’s get into it.
If you’re unfamiliar with “Asteroid City,” here’s some vital details to get you caught up to speed:
- The movie is named after the fictional city where it takes place
- The story is told in Russian nesting doll fashion. In other words, it’s a story within a story (within maybe another story? The layers are hard to discern at times. Also they overlap).
- The central character of the movie is a playwright named Conrad Earp who is writing the play which turns into the movie for most of the runtime.
- The central character inside the play is Augie Steenbeck, a war photographer who gets stuck in Asteroid City with his children due to car trouble.
The trap I often fall into when it comes to watching movies is hyper-focusing on “meaning.” I do the same thing with music. I ignore a lot of practical and aesthetic characteristics in the name of finding out “what the movie means.” Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily, but sometimes I think I get less out of creative experiences than I could.
For example, on my first watch of “Asteroid City” in particular, I tried to pay as much attention to the dialogue as possible, hoping that something in the lines would tell me whether Anderson had delivered again. Watching “Asteroid City” like that, though, is like listening to a John Mayer song through a speaker that filters out the guitar. Do the lyrics have meaning? Sure but you’re getting only half of the impact at best.
This isn’t to say that there isn’t any meaning to be found in the dialogue of “Asteroid City.” I think the movie makes a lot of important points or at least hints at making a lot of important points. Here are a few I picked up on:
- The importance of community for processing grief (Seen in Augie Steenbeck’s relationships with the other inhabitants of Asteroid City)
- The American tendency to try to control anything we don’t understand (Seen in the governmental reaction to the alien visiting Earth)
- The complications of the adolescent struggle to fit in (Seen in Woodrow’s friendships with the other Junior Stargazers)
The thing about these themes, though, is that while they are present, they are not the focal point and they’re really not even what you’d call apparent.
What is apparent though, is that Wes Anderson is telling a story. A story with meaning, yes, but what’s more important is that he’s telling it. The moment that made the significance of this click for me was when the playwright was having a conversation with his lead actor (Augie Steenbeck in the play). Augie is expressing his frustration with the play, which at this point in the movie, has already opened and is running. To him, the lines are confusing and he’s struggling to grasp it.
“I feel like my heart is getting broken, my own personal heart, every night,” Steenbeck says. “Do I just keep doing it? Without knowing anything?”
“Yes,” replies the playwright.
“I still don’t understand the play,” Steenbeck says.
“Doesn’t matter,” Earp replies. “Just keep telling the story.”
When I saw this scene, I realized: this movie isn’t like the other Wes Anderson movies I’ve seen. It doesn’t pack the emotional gut-punch that they do and it doesn’t need to. It doesn’t have the strong family themes that the others do and that’s okay. It’s a story about telling the story.
This Wes Anderson movie, I think, is about his own creative process. He’s trying to say you have to just do it. You have to let go. You have to give yourself over to the process, uninhibited and trust that the result will take shape. You have to just keep telling the story. If you don’t agree that this is the central punch of the piece, I offer this—I ask you this—in the movie, when the playwright is experiencing his worst writer’s block, what happens?
Do you remember? Of course you do, it’s arguably the most memorable moment of the entire film. He gathers an ensemble crew of writers and actors into a small theater and we get maybe the most absurd and surreal scene from Anderson to date: one by one, a spotlight appears on each character’s face, and they say: “You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep.” The lines begin to cascade onto each other until they are all said in unison.
You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep.
You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep.
You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep.
What does that mean? Maybe that’s somewhat up to interpretation but here’s what I think. I think it means what the playwright thinks it means. It means keep telling the story.
I think Wes Anderson is telling us to create. To fall asleep, and to dream. You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep and in “Asteroid City,” Wes Anderson lulls us to sleep.
You also can’t fall asleep if you didn’t wake up.