Film Review: Isle of Dogs. Leave Patriarchy on Trash Island.

I recently went to see Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs, and thought it was brilliant. I was charmed by the characters, captivated by the animation, and pleased to see Anderson’s continued inclusion of strong female characters. Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig) is the feisty editor of the school newspaper, speaking the truth to power as she fights to expose the lies upholding President Kobayashi’s canine ban. The Bechdel test is passed as Tracy and scientist, Yoko Ono (Yoko Ono) put their heads together to confirm their suspicions of a conspiracy.

However, as our story crosses to the exiled colony of dogs on Trash Island - it seems it’s not just the rotting food that leaves a stench, but the distinct scent of a thriving patriarchy. Curiously, despite Anderson’s portrayal of empowered womankind, our canine sisters do not possess the same agency as their two-legged female counterparts. Only three females, Nutmeg, Peppermint, and ‘The Oracle’, hover at the periphery of the story, and have little influence on the trajectory of the adventure. They serve only as objects of the male gaze, sexual pleasure, and as fertile receptacles for offspring. They never meet, let alone have a chance to converse, falling at the first hurdle of our canine Bechdel test.

First of all, our story is very male-dominated; centring on an all-boys dog pack: Duke, King, Rex, Boss, and Chief. The irony that the members of the pack are mild-mannered, hesitant, and softly spoken, despite their alpha-male names is not lost on me. Anderson’s tongue-in-cheek quip at the masculine archetype is telling - his is aware of, and lightly pokes fun at gender roles and how they are perpetuated in films. This is what makes his portrayal of female dogs so curious; why then, do they all fall so helplessly into the tropes that he is so adept at subverting?

Let’s start with Nutmeg. Voiced by none other than Scarlett Johansson, with a coat of luscious caramel, Nutmeg is undoubtedly a foxy, erm, dog. Accordingly, she is perfectly cast for her role as the object of our male protagonists’ desire. As she prowls around Chief, enveloping him in her husky voice - the sexual tension between them is palpable. “Good for Nutmeg, she’s an empowered sexy lady!” I imagine I hear you cry, so that I can make my next point. Well, yes, go Nutmeg - own your sexuality, girl! However, I am hesitant to celebrate Nutmeg’s sexual empowerment when she’s confined to just being a sexual object. This is evidenced most strongly with her introduction; when her curvaceous silhouette appears atop a mountain of trash, the packs’ minds, too, remain in the gutter - upon seeing her they gossip about how she is apparently mating with some guy Felix, and after gazing at her body, the conversation unsubtly segues to one about the dogs’ own sex lives. Despite glimpses of her physical talent and emotional intelligence, she has little impact on the story - and is defined only by the fact she’s apparently fornicating with Felix, or if he’s lucky, it could be Chief… the bottom line is: that provocative pooch has got to be having sex with someone.

Now, am I blaming these dogs for their simple virile instincts? Well...Yes. This is a pack that has proved capable of organising themselves into an egalitarian democracy, participated in a resistance movement, and have demonstrated their consciousness of prickly socio-political issues - namely, Chief’s status as a stray. As man’s best friends tiptoe deftly around this taboo, is it so wrong that I ask for them to show a similar awareness and respect for women too?

Next, we have Peppermint. Poor, poor Peppermint. There’s not much to say about her because she barely has a speaking role. She appears in one scene, and the next time we meet her she’s knocked up. She is merely a vessel to bear the young of our prized male protagonists. Finally, ‘The Oracle’ is a deranged old pug, who is revered as a prophet due to her comprehension of her venerated television set. She is mercifully spared objectification.

The final confounding incident of this film is the use of the word bitch, which feels a lot less innocent than the above criticisms. Towards the end of the film, Chief refers to Nutmeg as a bitch. Evidently, as a female dog, the words are technically appropriate. However, after anthropomorphising the characters to such an extent that our four-legged friends feel human, and in the context of the charming, family friendly film, the use of the word to describe Nutmeg stings. It feels gratuitous and there’s a sense that Wes Anderson leapt at the opportunity to take advantage of the vaguely appropriate context to indulge in the use of the word, reminiscent of Tarantino’s exploitation of the N-word under the guise of historical appropriateness.

What makes the poor treatment and exclusion of female dogs in this film so striking is the fact that it feels so clumsy and thoughtless, particularly by a director whose love of cinema, and painstaking care for his craft leaves such a distinct mark on his films, evident in every last beautiful frame. I am confident that Anderson is keenly aware of every detail in his films, which can only mean that his peculiar portrayal of female pooches did not occur by mistake. This is what makes the above observations so baffling. Perhaps I have missed the point, and, just as he pokes fun at the ‘ideal’ male archetype by subverting it with uncertain, gentle, and physically feeble men, he has chosen to highlight toxic depictions of females through the amplification of well-worn tropes. However, I am hesitant to accept this speculation, as I’d expect Anderson’s characteristic playfulness to accompany this approach.

To conclude, I don’t have a damning condemnation of Wes Anderson, or this otherwise sweet and charming picture. So, from an armchair feminist to an intelligent director who should know better: ‘Wes - WTF was that?’. Talking dogs are cute, misogyny isn’t. As films are a reflection of the society they come from, this article hopes to point out that the cumulation of sexist tropes underlying such a family friendly film shows just how insidious these ideas are. So, Wes, do better next time, and if you need a little help, some women in the editing room might be able to point you away from trash island.