To say that I am up Wes Anderson's ass is a total understatement. I adore his work (again, I am a sadboi AND a softboi), and will see just about anything he has created or has contributed to. Granted, being a woman and a person of color, I cannot look past his tokenism of POC and his use of women as props more than characters.
The Darjeeling Limited and some choice words from Gene Hackman to Danny Glover in The Royal Tenenbaums bring to mind (and really every one of his films treats POC and other cultures are more of a prop or background deeply rooted in harmful stereotypes, in order to appear "quirky" and "irreverent"). That's not to be overlooked, no matter how talented or beloved the creator of the content is (I have a "Directed by Wes Anderson" banner above my bed, if you were doubting my allegiance to the director and his work).
I digress. If you are interested in my "unique" perspective (not that unique, just underrepresented) opinions on popular culture and the arts, then maybe I will start another blog, but this is not the place (at least for today).
Back to my queen, my hero, the beloved Margot Tenenbaum. Honestly, I still find some bizarre comfort in watching Gwyneth Paltrow interviews, even to this day, no matter how much of a quack she is (because she is, and I don't condone Goop at all, but some of their recipes are tasty). Margot, without Gwyneth's astute acting, could've easily slipped into a one-dimensional "female lead" that inhabited movies during that time (and really, just about every other time).
But there are a lot of moving parts as to why I am STILL enamored with this enigmatic supporting character from a movie that came out 19 years ago. The obvious reasons, as to why every hipster gen x and millennial has encountered a Margot costume at at least one Halloween party over the years (I have contributed to this statistic, note attached photo), is majorly due to Gwyneth's intense focus and charm inhabiting the character. She is swanlike, a classic beauty with a contrasting personality that can only truly be pulled off by women that look like Gwyneth. Then it's the compelling fashion. The polo dress, the Birkin bag, the heavy eyeliner, the FUR COAT. All of it is a hodgepodge of specific pieces that create the iconic wardrobe.
As with any WA film, it is kitschy yet impossibly cool, and while each of the Tenenbaum children have their own style, it's Margot's that has seemingly stood the test of time. Her undeniable brilliance and extreme secrecy are alluring, both inspiring those who want it and want to be it.
What stood out to me, like a shining beacon of kinship (and also unearthing some of my own pain in the process), is her adoption storyline. It is played for a few dark laughs, but what I appreciate and found empowering in Margot is that she (on the surface) takes it in stride, and there's more to her than that cheap punchline.
I don't openly talk about my adoption (unless it's in stand up, where others cannot weigh in on their thoughts), and it's hard to find anyone at all (I was also homeschooled, so I only knew like five non-familial people until 2011), let alone pop culture references, that could accurately depict a character as such. Or, on a more depressing side, characters who aren't featured as the butt of the joke, because they're adopted.
The first time I saw TRT, I immediately knew what Margot was thinking, feeling, and her thought process. All from that throwaway line from Alec Baldwin's opening narrative explaining she was adopted, and she never had a chance to forget. Her secrecy from her loved ones, the pain in her face, the spiky, blunt, seemingly indifferent way she tells Chaz's sons, "I'm adopted, did you know that? Well, I am." It pierces my heart every time I watch that scene.
Most people don't know how to react or handle when they find out that piece of information about you, and, until I moved out of my parent's home, I was constantly reminded by family, family friends, acquaintances, strangers who happened to see us together, of my unconventional origin story. You (me) have to learn how to present as if it doesn't bother you, in hopes that people will drop the subject sooner than later. Which, her deadpan and blunt responses to everyone, seeming void of emotion on the surface, and her indifference to missing her fucking finger, plays into that narrative.
Margot, as I am sure she is meant to be depicted, can represent any of us at any part of our lives. The angst, the heartbreak, the desire to belong, the fear of failure. All of Wes Anderson's characters and worlds feel as if they are animated films, but are carried out with human beings.
In some ways, Margot served as a cautionary tale for young Cortney. You see that Margot carries all her pain, emotions, and trauma with her and her alone, and is not willing to open up to anyone (sans maybe Ritchie). She fills the void with secret chain smoking, soaking in the bathtub, and infidelity.
I felt myself going down this same path (in my own way-sans chain smoking and infidelity), and recently I have been worried that I am closing myself off from expression and sharing with people (because it's painful and being vulnerable can come back to bite you). A friend and I were on the phone recently, and I said the very same thing. She wisely told me that I am seemingly on the path to work towards not becoming that way, since I acknowledge my feelings, and am actively working to not close people out (hence the phone call).
Maybe that's where Margot and I diverge in our stories, which is fine with me. She forever will remain a heroine and great love of mine, and served as a comfort and lighthouse to project onto, to not feel so isolated in times when I so very much (and still do). Thank you, Margot, I will always love you.
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