My initial encounter with Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City was, to put it mildly, underwhelming. The characters felt distant, more like quirky sketches than real people. The nested narrative structure—a story within a story within a story—struck me as overly convoluted, style triumphing over substance. Walking out of the first screening, I was prepared to dismiss it as peak Wes Andersonian eccentricity, devoid of the emotional depth that characterized his best films.
Intending to solidify these thoughts into a scathing review, I was swayed by the allure of a comfortable bed and a quiet morning. Procrastination, it turned out, was the best thing I could have done.
Later that morning, my partner Rae noticed my unusual delay in my review writing routine. My normally clockwork schedule was disrupted, and she inquired about the reason. Confessing her own curiosity about Asteroid City—having been excluded from the press-only screening—she checked showtimes. A mid-morning screening at the Cedars Alamo, coupled with the promise of brunch, sealed the deal for a second viewing.
This second viewing was transformative. The film unfolded in ways I hadn’t even glimpsed before. It was as if I were watching an entirely different movie.
From the very opening scene, my perception shifted. The film begins with a 1950s-style television announcer ushering us into Anderson’s world. He introduces us to a TV production of Conrad Earp’s play, Asteroid City. This anthology format, reminiscent of CBS’s Playhouse 90, doesn’t just present the play itself but also delves into the behind-the-scenes story of its creation, casting, and stage premiere.
This whirlwind introduction showcases the cast of Asteroid City, giving us brief glimpses into their characters. While drawing inspiration from Playhouse 90, it also evoked for me the iconic trailer for Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane. In that trailer, Welles himself narrates, introducing his Mercury Theatre on the Air actors as they pose for the camera.
Anderson’s version features Tom Hanks, in a director’s chair, cigarette in hand, hat rakishly tilted back. The announcer’s voiceover provides context, and in those fleeting seconds, Hanks embodies a Gable-esque or Joseph Cotton-like persona—a recognizable 1950s celebrity.
This moment in the second screening was the key that unlocked Asteroid City for me. Having already seen the film once, I wasn’t preoccupied with following the plot details and allowed my mind to wander. Tom Hanks, an instantly recognizable star, was portraying a fictional, yet equally recognizable, celebrity of the 1950s, who then transitions into his character within the play, Stanley Zak. The subtle shift in Hanks’s demeanor, the transformation into Stanley Zak, was a revelation, vividly illustrating the art of acting. As viewers, we navigate the layers of familiarity—Hanks the actor, playing an actor, playing a character.
My initial assessment of Asteroid City lacking emotional depth was also completely wrong. The heartfelt moments are there, woven into quiet conversations, unspoken understandings, and subtle gestures.
Conrad Earp’s play centers around a group of tourists converging on Asteroid City, a small desert town named for the giant crater at its heart. They’re there for a Junior Stargazers convention, where young inventors are to be honored. A humorous undercurrent emerges as parents confess their children’s endearing eccentricities.
The convention culminates in a stargazing event, perfectly staged with cardboard boxes over heads—a charmingly retro image evoking 1950s Americana.
Then, a UFO appears. In an homage to classic stop-motion animation, a whimsical alien emerges and steals the meteorite. A quarantine is declared, trapping the stargazers in Asteroid City.
Among those stranded is Augie Steenbeck, a war photographer and father of Woodrow, a Junior Stargazer. Augie’s plan to drop off Woodrow and then take his daughters to their grandfather, Stanley Zak (played by Tom Hanks), is derailed when his car malfunctions shortly after arriving in Asteroid City. A phone call summons Stanley, who comes to Asteroid City to collect his granddaughters. The cause of the car trouble? A tiny, 75-cent car part. Anderson stages this breakdown with a touch of Terry Gilliam-esque absurdity, highlighting how something so small can bring everything to a halt. This seemingly insignificant Asteroid City Car Part becomes a catalyst for deeper connections.
The strained relationship between Augie and Stanley becomes a focal point. The loss of Augie’s wife, Stanley’s daughter, hangs heavy between them. Their initial phone call underscores their lack of common ground, save for her memory. Stanley’s coldness towards Augie is palpable, reciprocated in kind. Yet, in their shared grief, they find a fragile understanding.
Augie also connects with Midge Campbell, a famous actress attending the convention with her daughter Dinah. Midge, played by Scarlett Johansson, carries echoes of Marilyn Monroe – a talented yet troubled soul, hinting at a precarious existence. Augie and Midge recognize a shared existential unease, forging a meaningful connection.
Johansson’s performance adds another layer of meta-narrative complexity. She portrays an actress playing an actress, grappling with fame and career anxieties. But Anderson pushes deeper. In the behind-the-scenes segments, we see Mercedes Ford, the actress portraying Midge, in a poignant scene with the play’s director, Schubert Green. While the specifics remain vague, it hints at the historical mistreatment of women in Hollywood by powerful men.
Anderson further pays tribute to marginalized voices through Conrad Earp, the playwright, a thinly veiled nod to Tennessee Williams. In a tender scene depicting Earp finding love with one of his actors, Anderson celebrates the enduring contributions of the LGBTQ+ community, especially poignant given the historical erasure of their experiences.
Even minor characters in Asteroid City are given depth and backstory. General Grif Gibson, the convention host, recounts his life through signature Wes Anderson blocking and camera movements. Jeffrey Wright’s gravitas lends weight to this brief yet impactful character sketch.
Tilda Swinton’s Dr. Hickenlooper, a local scientist, mirrors this approach. Her origin story prioritizes her passion for science, highlighting Anderson’s appreciation for diverse perspectives and the multifaceted nature of the world.
Asteroid City is visually quintessential Wes Anderson. The behind-the-scenes segments are shot in black and white, academy ratio, evoking 1950s television. The play itself bursts onto the screen in widescreen, vivid color. While the technicolor aesthetic might seem anachronistic for a 1950s TV broadcast, its sheer beauty is undeniable.
This is just scratching the surface. Asteroid City, like much of Anderson’s filmography, is a richly layered work exploring human emotion and connection. The teenage characters, reminiscent of Moonrise Kingdom, hatch their own plan to reveal the truth of the quarantine. Their budding romance is as touching as the connection between Augie and Midge.
A deleted scene within the play becomes a moment of self-awareness. A character, seeking clarity, breaks character mid-performance.
The film’s climax, revolving around the cryptic phrase, “You can’t wake up if you don’t go to sleep,” is both mysterious and profound. Asteroid City is among Anderson’s most significant works, and I am grateful for the second viewing that allowed its beauty and complexity to fully emerge, all starting from a missed alarm and a tiny asteroid city car part that set off a chain of unexpected events and deeper understanding.
