Next month, Anderson's animated film The Fantastic Mr. Fox, an adaptation of a childrens book by Roald Dahl, hits theaters. It's a project that seems rife for Anderson overload, with room, it would seem, for his trademark cloying kookiness to be shoved into every frame, from the antiquated stop-motion effect, to the concept of a children's story for grown ups to the soundtrack listing also rang plenty of warning bells, with Anderson's repetoire still drawing heavily on the sort of affected, nostalgia numbers that gave an unearned sense of gravity to his past films.

A third flop in a row, however, might condemn Anderson to shooting Amex commercials full time, and this time being told to leave the irony at home.

Well, the first early reviews are in, and those hoping that November 2009 might mark the beginning of the end for Hoodie Nation's cinematic reign of terror are in for a bit of a letdown. Moderately appreciative seems to be the order of the day from the Trades' film critics; admiring but with clear warnings that quirky has Anderson has not in the least walked away from Quirky as his over-arching worldview.

Variety's Todd McCarthy writes of Mr. Fox:

But it's his true character that wins the day, and it's a trait Anderson clearly advocates through his own choices. Employing a deliberately unpolished, herky-jerky style that traces back specifically to Ladislas Starevich's 1941 "The Tale of the Fox" but also variously recalls the imperfect but imperishable stop-motion techniques in the silent "The Lost World," the original "King Kong," the work of Ray Harryhausen, Norman McLaren's "A Chairy Tale" and many others, the film achieves a feel that is at once coarse-grained and elegant, antiquated and the height of fashion.

That said, individual scenes often go off in irritatingly self-indulgent directions, especially when they brush upon lifestyle issues, meditation timeouts and too-cute observations.

And over at the Hollywood Reporter, Sheri Linden is even more appreciative of the film's over-all effect.

The screenplay sometimes overdoes the winking asides, and the film doesn't so much flow as jump from one set piece to the next. But with animation director Mark Gustafson, DP Tristan Oliver and production designer Nelson Lowry, Anderson has created a world as stylized and inventive as anything he's done. From the fox-red glow of a morning idyll to the noirish gutter scene where one character meets his end to the icy fluorescent glare of the film's closing scene — happy but not without compromise — "Fox" is a visual delight.

And so non-Hoodie America sits and waits that some day will come a pharaoh who will hear our pleas and bring the Age of Quirk to an end.

The cinematic blogosphere has been resounding today with calls of "What ho!" and "Top o' the morning, govn'r!" since a fair number of America's leading film bloggers have boarded planes courtesy of 20th Century Fox for Jolly Olde England to attend the premiere of The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

This morning, The Fantastically Cranky Mr. Jeffrey Wells gave us a glimpse into the hard-scrabble life of a junketeer with this peek inside the asylum that makes it sound not unlike a posting in Saigon circa 1969:

Arrived at Heathrow this morning at 7:40 am, bought an Oyster card, took the Underground to Hyde Park station and registered at the Dorchester by 10:30 am or so. (Things always take longer than you expect.) I then ordered a pricey breakfast in the salon, sharing a table with the Boston Herald's Stephen Schaefer, also here for the Fantastic Mr. Fox junket. I got about 90 minutes sleep on the plane, at most, and am consequently too fried to write anything. So the best I can do for now is simply post photos.

Later Wells blogged from the home of Roald Dahl, where the junketeers had been dragooned, earning their inter-continental transit with a forced visit (and presumed blog entries to follow) to the historic home of Mr. Fox's author. After posting pictures of the Mr. Fox merch-littered estate, Wells signed off with what seemed a slightly desperate cry for help from one trapped on a promotional bandwagon, saying of his schedule ahead, "Nothing of any substance until this evening, and even then..."

The forced frog-marching however, does not prevent Wells from giving Anderson a chance to respond to Sunday's Los Angeles Times piece in which the Mr. Fox crew filed some eye-raising complaints about the boy genius, including his propensity for staying in a separate country from his movie set. After opening his video interview with a bold compliment of Anderson's footwear, Wells puts it to Anderson of the gripers quoted in the piece, "When you're going to do a film somebody's way, you're obviously going to adhering to a very particular thing and that's all there is to it." (Anderson responded agreeing that one crew member in particular had said "a bunch of things that were a bit outrageous for someone to say about their boss.")

Elsewhere on the junket, things were a bit more serene. At firstshowing.net, blogger Alex Billington advertised a planned an escape for the PR-imprisoned bloggers to the freedom of a genuine, unmonitored pub.

Over at The Hot Blog, David Poland conducts a forthright soul-searching inspired by his own London voyage and a recent fracas sparked by the Tahitian Couples Retreat junket a few of his internet colleagues suffered through. After declaring his own fairly modest annual junketing schedule, Poland points out the conundrum facing entertainment reporters in what passes for the entertainment press today, noting that for many reporters, their jobs are dependent upon serving up a constant stream of timely celebrity interviews and reporting on upcoming films, the sort of interviews and reporting that can only be gotten in conjunction with the PR campaigns for movies and are thus only available on official trips or set visits.

For all but those few working for the dwindling number of publications with a travel budget, the thought of getting your employer to cover your trip to Tahiti is absurd. But nonetheless, that same employer will expect their reporters to provide them with the interview with Vince Vaughn that can only be had in Tahiti. So what's a poor schlub to do but swallow his doubts, and go to Tahiti.

To those who would argue that accepting junkets compromises the ability of a reporter to write critically of a film in production, Poland argues that horse has long since left the barn. The idea that a reporter from Entertainment Tonight or the NY Times would visit a set and come back with a less than approving story is as outdated a concept as a printing press itself. In fact, what was so startling about the LA Times' Mr. Fox story was how rare it was. When was the last time a story in a major paper, magazine, anywhere visited the set of a film and delivered a single remotely critical word? Farther back then we can remember, that is for sure...

With Rushmore and Being John Malkovitch under their belts, they had finally made the multi-plex safe for The Quirkies, and with that door open, a great era was born. Well this month, both the wunderkinds are back, and the question rings out whether they will make triumphant returns to their rightful glory or a last stand for the once proud Ur-Hoodies.

The intervening years have not been so kind to the young Orson Welleses. For Anderson, the past half-decade has seen his once beloved off-kilter pastiche derided as hollow and increasingly irritating shtick with The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou before he descended to the point of purest self-obsession in The Darjeeling Limited.

For Jonze, the burden of young genius seemed too much to bear. It has been a full seven years since he released his second and last film, Adaptation the mildy celebrated, repeat collaboration with screenwriter Charlie Kaufman. In the intervening near decade, Jonze has publicly wrestled and flailed with an attempted adaptation of the Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are, ultimately making what may ultimately be the last bad choice he ever makes, bringing on fellow wunderkind Dave Eggers to write the Wild Things script, after Eggers penned him a fan letter.

Early reviews are already very mixed at best. Variety wrote, boding ill for the Oscar trophy for which Eggers has no doubt already cleared out a spot on the mantle:

Where the Wild Things Are earns a lot of points for its hand-crafted look and unhomogenized, dare-one-say organic rendering of unrestrained youthful imagination. But director Spike Jonze's sharp instincts and vibrant visual style can't quite compensate for the lack of narrative eventfulness that increasingly bogs down this bright-minded picture.

However, at Hitfix, Drew McWeeny calls the film a "masterpiece." So don't break out the guillotine quite yet.

Meanwhile, in anticipation of his return with The Fantastic Mr. Fox, Wes Anderson is attracting the kind of attention boy geniuses typically attract from those little people who can't appreciate the true nature of boy genius. A startling LA Times profile of Anderson begins:

To be clear, Wes Anderson did not set out to direct his new movie via e-mail. Even if that's precisely how the writer-director's stop-motion animation version of Roald Dahl's beloved children's book "Fantastic Mr. Fox" — a jaunty visual joy ride that features voice characterizations by George Clooney, Meryl Streep and Jason Schwartzman — ultimately came to be, Anderson never intended to become an in-box auteur.

That choice was made all but inevitable, however, by the Oscar nominee's unorthodox decision to hole up in Paris for most of the shoot's one-year duration while principal photography commenced across the English Channel at London's venerable Three Mills Studios. He wasn't working on another project, and nothing Paris-centric demanded he be there; Anderson simply "didn't want to be at Three Mills Studios for two years."

The piece goes on to quote the film's director of animation saying "He has made our lives miserable." Just to put that quote in perspective, in Hollywood when you are on the crew of a film and you are asked about the director, if that director happens to be a tyrannical no-talent hack, the way you express that sentiment in the following words: "He was an incredible inspiration to work with. We looked forward to shooting every day." If the director spends the entire shoot in his trailer snorting coke and sexually harassing extras, the code for that is, "He knew how to get the best out of each and every one of us."

In Hollywood publicity-ese then, "He has made our lives miserable" is the real world equivalent of: this is the single biggest jerk-off anyone associated with this film has ever seen on or off the set. Hitler in the bunker would have been more fun to be around and this discarded Pringles tube understands moviemaking better.

In any event, judging by the trailers, Mr. Fox actually looks to be the most interesting film Anderson has made since....before he started making films, so perhaps the boy genius has actually stumbled upon a magic formula; perhaps Anderson on another continent from his movies is exactly the little something his films needed to make that leap to greatness. Hoodie directors take note!

Anderson recruited George Clooney, Meryl Streep, and Bill Murray to voice the characters from Roald Dahl's cherished kids' story. Though it looks a little jerky, there are some lush visuals. Take a look!

Ok, time for some real talk! With Aquatic Life and Darjeeling Anderson's once precious characters became irritating because they lost their spontaneity — whimsy is not a substitute for insight, you guys. But maybe Fantastic Mr. Fox will force Anderson away from the smug hipster trope and we'll be able to fall in love with him again. Unless of course, there is a romantic subplot involving a pan-ethnic possum who shows Mr. Fox the true beauty in an mundane life. Booo!

Richard LaGravenese, stalwart screenwriter who recently directed P.S. I Love You, has landed another helming gig. He'll both direct and write a romaaanncceeee called Man and Wife. Here's hoping there will be some sort of empowering karaoke or montage moment. [Variety]

Jon Hamm has signed on to star opposite Ben Affleck in a "romantic crime thriller" called The Town, which Affleck is also directing. No, sadly, Hamm and Affleck will not be romancing each other. Rebecca Hall, so lively and smart in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, will play the lady. Nuts. [THR]

Quietly masterful director Richard Linklater looks to have lined up his next project. He'll make Liars (A-E) for Scott Rudin and Miramax. The movie is about a lady on her way to the Obama inauguration who revisits old boyfriends on the way. So it's sort of like Broken Flowers, only instead of ending with a weary middle-aged man standing in a rainy intersection, bereft and alone, it'll end with Hope. [Variety]

Wes Anderson will unveil his latest work, a stop-motion animation movie based on Roald Dahl's The Fantastic Mr. Fox, will premiere at the London Film Festival. The movie sports voice work provided by small-time slouches like George Clooney, Meryl Streep, and Bill Murray. I really hope it's wonderful. [Variety]

Alcon has paid high six figures for Prisoners, a thriller spec about a man who goes vigilante and locks a dude in his basement. Awhile back Mark Wahlberg and Christian Bale had been attached to star (Wahlberg as the vigilante, Bale as a policeman investigating the incident), but now they're no longer aboard. Hopefully this will free Bale up to do a damn comedy, because... dag. [THR]

Hm. Josh Radnor, somewhat irksome star of How I Met Your Mother (about five young adults in New York tryin' to make their way), will make his film debut with HappyThankYouMorePlease, about six young adults in New York tryin' to make their way. Somehow he landed a pretty nice cast: Zoe Kazan, Kate Mara, Richard Jenkins (who will not play a young adult, I'm guessing), and Liev's theatre-lovin' younger brother Pablo Schreiber. [Variety]

Oh look. They're going to make a movie version of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. Well, they already made a version in the early 80s, but this will be bigger budget and fancy and all that! And probably done with computertrons. In other news, you no longer have a childhood. [THR]

Tell your little sister (or creepy older brother) to sit down and take deep breaths. Because her (or his) favorite show, ABC's gymnastics deep-dive Make It Or Break It, has been renewed for another 10 episodes. Because it's a hit! [Variety]

Nevertheless, here we have a Japanese ad for, uh, Volkswagens? Canary-yellow pith helmets? Oh, it's an ad for phones, we guess, Japanese phones, and Anderson directs Pitt in it as though the actor had just stepped off a Jacques Tati set. Aniston, your move. Might we suggest lining up David Lynch in a hallucinatory commercial for pachinko?

[Us]

This is not mere self-mockery, or even Bay spinning his appeal. The ad is not a celebration of the epic, but Bay clearly intends it to be so. It's not just that Michael Bay "demands things to be awesome," but that he believes he can achieve this with explosions and constantly shouting at himself, "awesome!" He congratulates himself four times in 31 seconds. And for what? He's made some flames and a waterspout and bought a tiger. To Bay, this is what awesome means.

Don't say it's just a joke for a commercial. When Bay wanted to add character to the non-speaking car in Transformers, he made it talk through radio songs. To raise the tension in a movie where an asteroid is about to wipe out humankind, he added a father-redeems-daughter's-boyfriend scene. In space. This is a man who rewrote the bombing of Pearl Harbor so one man shot down the entire Japanese air force. Michael Bay's definition of awesome is the opposite of epic. It's 2 Fast 2 Furious. The only impressive things about Bay movies are how carefully he can build up for an obvious plot twist, then even more obviously not twist anything.

The ad also reveals the man's service to commercial interests, wherein entire plots are constructed around product placement and merchandising. Bay calls himself awesome, calls his work awesome (note that up to this point, no third party, except possibly a tiger, is credited with any awesomeness), then calls Verizon awesome, blessing it with his holy power. Like God, the awesomeness of Bay is axiomatic; it needs no defense, for Bay has declared it so.

Contrast with Wes Anderson, who elegantly parodied his style in an American Express ad that drew not only on self-reference but on the classic film Day for Night, the whole genre of arch drama, and filmmaking itself. He's shown as a sloppy spendthrift making a bad film. Someone completely unaware of Anderson could appreciate this ad. And he does it all without even showing the card.

Bay, though, attempts no self-parody. The idea that he'd blow up his swimming pool (I assume he's really installed explosives on the shallow end) is just a half-joke on the level of a Dane Cook "punchline," providing no self-deprecation; he tells you right away to think he is awesome. And even Bay, with the help of footage from his own movie and a giant Transformer, can't keep it up for more than half the ad's length; the second half hard-sells the product. Someone unaware of Bay could appreciate the Verizon ad — because Verizon didn't have enough confidence to sell the product using Bay's aura alone.

So the ad proves: Bay is powerless. He can only feed off the power of an already cataclysmic plot: Earth-destroying asteroid, earth-destroying robots, earth-destroying Japanese. He can't even convince me to switch Internet providers.

• Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson [MySpace]

But in an attempt to keep the conversation regarding the unpleasant reality of having tragedy impinge upon art from getting too heavy, Peter Bart shares an amusing anecdote about how the death of Jim Carrey's career during the first week of shooting the 2003 Fun with Dick and Jane remake forced him to try and "cut around" his star, a tough decision that ultimately could not salvage the doomed project.

• Shootout [AMCtv.com]

(We're not sure of the details, but we imagine that a considerable amount of heavy breathing into a Darth Vader voice-changing helmet is involved, as well as filthy boasts about "filling up the naughty little princess with twins who will one day save the galaxy.") As expected, the images of an unclothed Portman have made an impressively speedy transition from Quicktime movie files to still photos that will soon be ubiquitous on blogspots like this one. However, those who need to view the Portman side-boob shots in the artistic context in which Anderson intended in order to achieve manual catharsis will need to spend a few minutes downloading the entire 13:00 minute short from the iTunes store, at least for now.

• Hotel Chevalier [iTunes]
• Natalie Portman Nude in Hotel Chevalier! [Egotastic]

One of the Times movie reviewers (who shall remain nameless, but who happened to review The Life Aquatic and Royal Tenenbaums), has a summer timeshare with Wes Anderson.

For one, typically this would be old news, but given the Times' near-hysteria lately about conflicts of interests (cf. Lola Ogunnaike's suspension over her appearance on The View), we decided it might be fair game. Another caveat, and one which makes us more suspicious than usual about this tip: Wes Anderson has a summer timeshare? Surely at this point he can afford his own summer house, no?

Oh, and the reviewer? None other than A.O. Scott, who said of Life Aquatic:

As someone who was more annoyed than charmed by "Tenenbaums," I should have been completely exasperated with "The Life Aquatic," with its wispy story and wonder-cabinet production design, but to my surprise I found it mostly delightful.

Update: A.O. Scott has e-mailed to indicate that he does not have a summer share anywhere, and has never met Wes Anderson.

Unlike Anderson, whose film vocabulary is impressive but top-heavy with auteurs—Jean Renoir, Truffaut, Michael Powell—Owen Wilson draws on the rich mine of the American middlebrow. When Max, facing expulsion from Rushmore Academy, asks his headmaster: "Can you get me off the hook? You know, for old times sake?" Wilson points out that it's a Godfather reference. When Max, alone in a classroom with his love object, the beautiful young teacher Ms. Cross, gets up, mid-conversation, to stick a pencil into an electric sharpener, Wilson recalls a moment in Terms of Endearment when Jack Nicholson, driving in a convertible across the beach, runs his fingers through Shirley MacLaine's hair and shouts, (according to Wilson): "Wind is in the hair, lead is in the pencil!"

While no one but Wilson and Anderson can pin down exactly what Wilson's role in their joint creative process was, we think we can all agree that everything seems a little bit more fun with some Butterscotch Stallion in it.

• The O Factor [Slate]