Moonrise Kingdom - review

The sight of Bruce Willis as a cop with his eyes on another man’s wife may lead you to expect a sweaty, manly adventure flick, possibly involving our hero stripped down to his grubby vest. But think again.

We’ve entered the world of director Wes Anderson, territory that allows, for example, a 12-year-old boy (about to snuggle down for the night with his young sweetheart) to whisper, “It’s possible I may wet the bed later...”

Anyone who’s seen Anderson’s raw and giddily enchanting first films (Bottle Rocket and Rushmore) or the more sleek romps that followed (The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic, The Darjeeling Ltd or, most recently, Fantastic Mr Fox) will know roughly what to expect from this period comedy’s plot.

In Moonrise Kingdom, the under-parented geek in search of love and validation is called Sam (Jared Gilman). One day, in 1964, during a performance of Benjamin Britten’s Noye’s Fludde, Sam spots Suzy (Kara Hayward). She’s the daughter of out-of-love, dilapidated, New England lawyers (Bill Murray and Frances McDormand, both excellent). A year later, while Sam is at summer camp with a vicious group of boy scouts, the pair elope. Naturally, a host of adults, including the woebegone scout leader (Ed Norton) and a formidable figure known simply as “Social Services” (Tilda Swinton), follow in hot pursuit.

It took me a while to warm to these shenanigans — so perfectly choreographed and knowing, so fatally lacking in zip. Yet, once the kids go on the lam and violence erupts (don’t worry, Sam and Suzy aren’t Natural Born Killers, more like Natural Born Injurers), everything improves.

The young actors are engaging, Hayward especially so. Physically, she resembles brittle It girls Kristen Stewart and Emma Watson. And, somewhat disturbingly, we get to see an awful lot of her twiglet-sized ribs and thighs. But there’s an intensity to her eyes that makes her character’s rich and troubled interior life blaze.

There’s a moment towards the end of the film when this peculiar wild child reads aloud to Sam and a bunch of boys and the penny drops: she’s Wendy, taking care of the Lost Boys...

It’s more than a little tempting to view Anderson himself as her Peter Pan. The 43-year-old director — give or take the odd, retro-chic detail — keeps making the same movie, which is why critics often urge him to stray outside his comfort zone. To grow up.

But why should he? When he’s on form, as here, his melancholy never-never land offers the perfect escape.