I haven’t been in New York for three years,’ says Wes Anderson, surveying Manhattan from the 53rd floor of the Mandarin Oriental. It becomes clear that some of the skyscrapers are bothering him. ‘There are these very, very tall, very, very skinny buildings that have gone up that are very… Dubai or something.’ I sense Dubai is not a compliment here. Dubai does not strike me as very Wes Anderson. Wes Anderson is one of a select number of filmmakers to have made it to adjective status and it is partly because his meticulously constructed, instantly recognisable, improbably starry movies offer a refuge from such 21st-century brashness — like children’s stories for grown-ups, or those endless dreams involving everyone you’ve ever met, or pencil boxes with all the crayons arranged in rainbow order. He’s quite particular about these things. ‘Probably if we had a few people here who spend their lives dealing with me, they would say yes, there are some issues.’
Still, too-thin skyscrapers aside, the Houston-born director seems quite happy with the Wes Anderson Aesthetic Universe at present. The fiery orange skies that menaced New York a week ago have cleared and he has expertly toned his seersucker suit and shirt to the fresh, clear blue that has emerged. ‘It couldn’t be less apocalyptic,’ he smiles.
