Isle of Dogs (Dir Wes Anderson, 1h 41m)

At the heart of Wes Anderson's ninth film, and his second animated film after 2009's Fantastic Mr Fox, is a film about a boy looking for his lost dog, with the help of five dogs who are themselves lost, thrown away like the rest of (the fictional Japanese metropolis of) Megasaki's caninekind on a trash-strewn, pollution-ridden island. However, like every Wes Anderson film, the plot's simplicity is illusory, as once again Anderson serves up a veritable visual banquet of beautifully composed scenes, wry but bittersweet comedy, artful cinematic allusions and the typical Andersonian heart and love for the outsider.

For such a canine-centric film, it is only fair that the dogs are front, centre, and indeed voice of this film-the canine cast of this film are beautifully rounded and individually striking characters, from Bryan Cranston's street-dog stray, Chief, a bedraggled loner that calls to mind Japanese superstar, Toshiro Mifune's wandering characters of Kurosawa's samurai epics, to Jeff Goldlum's gossipy Duke, and Edward Norton's grumbling second-in-command, Rex. Even the minor dogs, from F Murray Abraham's St Bernard, rum-drinking adviser, Jupiter, to the two female dogs, Scarlet Johansson (who has more charm and character in her few appearances here than in the entire of Ghost in the Shell), and Tilda Swinton's Oracle, whose prophetic visions are simply astute observations made by watching a nearby TV, are excellently designed, and perfectly cast characters-each is perfectly designed, from the generally scruffy appearance of the dogs as a whole, to specific details Sport (Bill Murray, continuing his collaboration with Anderson)'s baseball jersey to the refined and show-ready despite the dirt, of Johannson's Nutmeg. Even without the voices to distinguish them apart, each puppet is an excellent piece of character creation in a film full of dogs.

The humans themselves, aside from Greta Gerwig's foreign exchange student, Tracy, and Frances McDormand's interpreter, speak Japanese, unsubtitled for great stretches of the film. Whilst something of a repeat of the furore around the whitewashed Ghost in the Shell has embroiled Anderson's film, with a particular criticism surrounding the plot point of Tracy rallying a passive Japanese populace to eventual action, there is far more respect in Anderson's parable, a greater sense of an understanding, and an attempt to make this feel as Japanese as it can be, whilst still telling a story that is universal-the film's language barrier seems a deliberate choice, a little parlour trick that Anderson shares with the Japanese audience, though the quality of the human puppets is such that any audience, Japanese or otherwise, gets the message of scenes even when the dogs, McDormand or Gerwig are not on hand to interpret.

Moreover, Anderson does not, it is fair to say, tell a story that simply uses Japanese culture as a setdressing, not co-opts elements from Japanese culture purely to tell a story involving Western characters (ironically unlike the Murray and Johannson starring Lost in Translation). Instead, this feels like Wes Anderson telling a Japanese story, in Japan (the film's prologue of a boy samurai fighting a villainous, cat loving ancestor of chief villain, Mayor Kobayashi, is straight out of Japanese legend), that just happens to star English speaking dogs, and be directed by an American. Indeed, Isle of Dogs' Japanese characters, despite their language barrier to much of the audience, are as developed and as interesting a set of characters as their canine companions. Atari, (Koyu Rankin), is a headstrong but determined character, dedicated to his cause, determined to be reunited with his beloved Spots, which leads him on a path of heartwarming, if unusual friendship with Chief, and eventually leads to him confronting his uncle, and the Kobayashi Clan's hatred of dogs. Mayor Kobayashi, (Kunichi Nomura), meanwhile, is a character out of the best of Japanese cinema, a man torn between caring for man's best friend and his own personal path of revenge against the dogs that wronged his clan; even with the language barrier, his final scenes, and his struggle between these two halves are excellently voiceacted.

The isle itself and indeed the miniature Japan that Anderson creates, is a marvel. Even without the equally exquisite puppets that populate it, the attention to detail is truly staggering, from the myriad props, including rubbish sacks, miniature televisions and paperwork, to entire newspapers, to the, at times, colossal sets, ranging from towering piles of rubbish to the inside of a beached ship, to the jaw dropping Megasaki itself, with all of Anderson's visual tricks on display, from the painterly framing of shots, to the symmatry that has almost become a parody of itself as of late, to the 21/2D sense of some of the larger sets, the background and foreground compacted into a strangely childlike view of the world. All of it, from the taiko drumming that bookends the film, to a full sized Japanese temple, to the painstaking sushi making process that the film lingers on for a good minute or so, feels, despite its miniaturisation, utterly authentic. Even the way that the film's titles, and inter titles are designed brings to mind the work of Kurosawa, and the classic age of Japanese cinema, whilst the sound design, including the excellent score by Alexandre Desplat, is punctuated by scores from classic samurai films, including Seven Samurai itself.

Yet, despite all these flourishes of a decidedly Japanese taste, all its sense of a mix of classic Japanese fable, samurai film, anime epic, and even a subplot surrounding corruption and the Yazuka, this is a singularly Andersonian flick, from the deadpan dialogue, to the charming stop-start animation, to the thematic heart of the film focusing around that most personal relationship of a young boy's life, that of him and his dog. The best scenes, and certainly where the film feels the most universal, the most honest, is in the short scenes where Chief and Atari finally bond, where Chief finally realises what being a dog with an owner is like, and where Atari seems to grow as a character from an angry and  scared boy to a hero. It's something that chimes with the experiences of not just any dog owner but any pet owner, period, and it's done in such a charming way that one cannot help but be moved, where no dialogue or translated dialogue is needed, where the film becomes a classic.

What we thus get, in Isle of Dogs is , despite the Japanese serving style and preparation, a typical Anderson dish, but even for Anderson, one better than many he's cooked the audience up for a while. Kampai!

Rating: Must See