I have mixed feelings on the Wes Andersen film I just saw. It's mostly because I have mixed feelings on Wes Anderson's filmic vibe, insistent adorableness, how his characters are oblivious to everything but their feelings, how they profess righteousness and innocence with annoying immaturity, their detachment, and the whole tweeness of it all. But that very much captures the zeitgeist of this generation. Maybe I dislike his films because I dislike his characters because they remind me of half the people of my age in this part of Brooklyn.
Grand Budapest Hotel was a little darker, a little more grim than the other Andersen films I've seen. It's the first of his movies I've seen where the storyline isn't set in a fantasy sandbox. This one had the context, the second world war. There was a scene of hand to hand combat in which a character is stabbed and killed. I think that scene brought me around to appreciating the film. However, that scene drew less reaction from the crowd than the scene of a cat being killed. And that brings me down on the civilization I live in.
What I'm trying to say is that I don't know what to make of the thing, and I don't know what to make of this photo or my motivation for taking it, but I think I took the photo because it was better than not taking the photo, because it gave me somthing else to think about other than Wes Andersen for a moment, and in case there was something to see here. I thought the isolated obsidian mannequin propped up by it's inability to do much else, in the darkness, trapped in a gated storefront, looked interesting for some reason. That reason is still not known to me.