What Wes Anderson demands of his actors—and how three broke the mold

Wes Anderson films have a unique look and tone. They are visually stunning with immaculate detail given to costumes and production design. That uniqueness extends to his dialogue, which demands something different from his actors. His scripts are wordy and many of his characters tell long winded stories where emotion is kept as a minimum. That requires the performers to have a way with words and to say the lines as written, as any variation might disrupt the flow of the language and the rhythm of the film. The actors’ performances are in sync with what they are wearing and the sets they are working on. All of these elements constitute the careful tableau that fills the frame and tells a Wes Anderson story.

Associated with Anderson are a merry troupe of actors that includes Tilda Swinton—who has appeared in five Anderson films—Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, Willem Dafoe, Anjelica Houston, Adrien Brody, Owen Wilson, and Jeff Goldblum. There are a few who appeared in just one of his movies including Cate Blanchett (The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou), Bruce Willis (Moonrise Kingdom), and Timothy Chalamet (The French Dispatch). What all of these actors have in common is that they stuck to the Anderson way. They made themselves part of the many elements that formulate his particular aesthetic.

Sometimes an actor breaks free from the mold to give the audience something extra. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) featured a particularly melancholy Gwyneth Paltrow, while Gene Hackman added a dash of gravitas to the film’s reprehensible father. But there are three performers who best showed how it’s possible to honor Anderson’s aesthetic while still breaking free from it: Ralph Fiennes in The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), Jeffrey Wright in The French Dispatch (2021), and Scarlett Johansson in Asteroid City (2023). Although none are an Anderson regular—neither Wright nor Fiennes had worked with Anderson previously, while Asteroid City is Johansson’s first live-action performance for the director—all found ways to make their respective performances unique within the established framework of a Wes Anderson film.

Fiennes brings the funny

In The Grand Budapest Hotel, Fiennes is Monsieur Gustave H., a concierge who leads a charmed but complicated life. He runs the titular hotel but gets entangled in a quest for a rare painting bequeathed to him by one of his paramours (Swinton). He also mentors the new lobby boy (Tony Revolori) who becomes more like a surrogate son. Gustave is unique among Anderson characters in that he’s central to the story. The film is populated by many characters yet the story is all about Gustave. That gives Fiennes ample screen time to craft his wonderful performance.

Like all Anderson characters, Gustave’s ways are very particular. He likes his women older, even octogenarian. When someone says of him that he’s “liberally perfumed,” we believe it because Fiennes makes us almost smell him. That’s because his performance is made of specific movements and gestures that suggest more than what’s on the character’s tightly controlled surface. His walk is funny and when he cocks his head to the side as he speaks—beautifully centered in Anderson’s frame—the audience understands him. There’s a mischievous glint in Fiennes’ eyes that tells how Gustave is always thinking ahead of everyone around him. He also has a way with a phrase, whether an oddly comedic insult like, “candy ass,” or the mere announcement of himself, “that’s me, darling.” Fiennes’ delivery elevates the dialogue and makes something special out of it. Anderson’s films have included many comedic performances, but Fiennes’ might be the funniest of them all.

The Wright stuff

Jeffrey Wright in The French Dispatch is quite different from Fiennes. For starters he’s not the lead of the film but part of an ensemble. Yet his work is no less distinguished and unique. The movie is an amalgam of short stories inspired by The New Yorker. Wright appears in the third of the three major stories. His character, Roebuck Wright, is a food writer influenced in equal measure by James Baldwin, Tennessee Williams, and A.J. Liebling. Yet despite this historical context, The French Dispatch, like all Anderson films, is stripped of all ideological framework. He creates a wholly original and intricate new world that only nods to its original inspiration. So it’s up to Wright to bring authenticity to Anderson’s faux world.

When first seen, he’s being interviewed by Liev Schreiber on a TV show. From the way he sits, holds his cigarette, and talks with utmost confidence, he recalls Baldwin—whose interviews are included in a few well-regarded documentaries and available to watch online so it’s easy to spot the connection. Wright evokes Baldwin’s spirit and makes an indelible impression stopping just short of full-on mimicry. As the story veers away from Baldwin, Wright adapts his performance. He uses his mellifluous voice to recite one of Anderson’s many long stories, making the audience understand why this man is such a charismatic storyteller. Later, he infuses his character with sincere emotion when Roebuck faces an injustice. Wright manages to add all this warmth while still remaining true to Anderson’s stylized and cerebral aesthetic.

Johansson mines the actress within the actress

If Fiennes and Wright go bigger by adding comedy and emotion to Anderson’s restrictive framework, Johansson in Asteroid City goes the other way. Her performance is one of even less emotionality than Anderson usually requires. She plays Midge Campbell, a mid-20th century movie star. Yet she’s also Mercedes Ford, the actress playing Midge in the play within the film that constitutes Asteroid City. Perhaps being an actress playing an actress who’s playing another actress made Johansson lean entirely into artificiality.

It’s a performance that’s all about the pose, one where the usual deadpan delivery that Anderson requires comes out almost dead in Johansson’s hands. At the very least she’s always calling attention to the visual presentation of her character rather than the emotional. Of course, Anderson frames her beautifully and she’s styled like an Italian movie star of the 1950s, with black hair and sunglasses. She is Gina Lollobrigida incarnate. Yet she’s transfixing not just because of how breathtaking she looks but because all this stillness hints at the character’s tragedy. She’s grieving and looks like she’s tired of how much she’s been cajoled and abused by those in her life. Johansson looks like a painting but she’s no less human.

And that’s the challenge for any performer in a Wes Anderson film; to add humanism and emotionality to a setting carefully constructed to be as artificial as possible. It means making small choices that allow the actor to foreground their efforts just enough to connect with the audience but still blend in. Wes Anderson films are not performance driven, they are environment driven with the actor being the primary element that propels the story forward. So consider it no small feat that Fiennes, Wright, and Johansson have given some of their best performances working with a director who puts the biggest constraints on their artistic choices.