Wes Anderson’s later films have a way of pushing things to the brink — diorama sets, deadpan performances bordering on the surreal, pacing so fastened it barely breathes. But if you give them your attention, and then maybe give them another shot, something often clicks. There’s order in the chaos, heart behind the composition.
I’ve been with Anderson since the beginning. “Rushmore” and “The Royal Tenenbaums”weren’t just formative — they were personal. I’ve been chasing the feeling those films gave me ever since. There was a looseness to them, a human messiness that went beyond stylized precision. His characters were broken in a way that felt honest. Their worlds were eccentric but recognizable. That era of Wes — raw, odd, a little wounded — might be gone.
These days, that version of him feels like a ghost. The warmth has been replaced with polish, the vulnerability with control. I’m not delusional about where he’s at now.
Anderson’s recent work has become increasingly insular. Films like “The French Dispatch” feel more like elaborate showcases than emotionally driven narratives. Beautiful? Absolutely. Intricate? Sure. But often distant; more concerned with architecture than atmosphere. And yeah, I wasn’t exactly blown away by his latest one, “The Phoenician Scheme.” It’s as if he’s talking to himself now more than to the audience.
But here’s the thing: I’m still here. I’m still watching. Because even when Wes Anderson stumbles, he stumbles with more creativity and control than most filmmakers can ever manage. His attention to detail, his commitment to his vision — it’s something to admire, even when it can sometimes frustrate.
People like to draw a line at everything he’s done since “The Grand Budapest Hotel” — the “last great one,” they say, as if everything since has been diminishing returns. I don’t totally buy that. Yes, the later films are more self-referential. Yes, the style is louder. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing left to say. It just means we may have to watch them differently — on rewatch, “Asteroid City” might just be the deepest and most philosophical film he’s ever made.
Do I wish he’d shake things up? Sure. Do I think there’s still another version of Wes Anderson we haven’t seen yet? I really do. He’s too smart, too self-aware not to pivot at some point. It’s just a matter of when, but if that never happens, if he keeps walking deeper into his own cinematic dollhouse, I’ll still be there — watching, sometimes scratching my head, but always curious.
Here are his 13 films ranked.
1. The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)
The peak. Anderson’s stop-motion adaptation of Roald Dahl’s children’s classic remains his most complete and inspired work. George Clooney voices Mr. Fox, a clever but reckless patriarch who pulls his family into a series of heists against three nasty farmers. It’s Anderson at his most playful, but also most controlled — the animation frees him to lean into his visual precision without losing emotional depth. Everything works — script, score, tone. He’s never topped it.
2. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
The film that solidified Anderson’s voice. Gene Hackman is great as Royal Tenenbaum, the estranged patriarch of a family of former child prodigies who reunite under false pretenses. The film’s deep melancholy, vibrant visuals, and iconic soundtrack gave Anderson his emotional breakthrough. This is where all his signature quirks — title cards, slow-motion, obsessive design — crystallized into something timeless. It’s his most heartfelt film, and arguably still his most culturally influential.
3. Rushmore (1998)
The foundation. A coming-of-age film that doesn’t follow the usual rules. Jason Schwartzman stars as Max Fischer, an eccentric high school student with too many extracurriculars and a hopeless crush on his teacher. Bill Murray, in one of his finest roles, plays the disillusioned industrialist who becomes his rival. It’s sharp, funny, and deeply melancholic — the kind of film that feels effortless but grows richer with age. The soundtrack, featuring The Kinks and The Faces, is practically its own character.
4. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
A meticulously constructed caper told through nested narratives and diorama-like set pieces. Ralph Fiennes stars as the fastidious concierge Gustave H., who gets entangled in murder, inheritance disputes, and war-era politics. Underneath the pastel veneer is a surprisingly bleak meditation on the fall of European elegance and the looming threat of fascism. It’s Anderson’s most structurally ambitious film — and maybe his most politically potent.
5. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (2023)
Does this count as a film? Fine, I cheated. Wes Anderson’s “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” and its accompanying shorts are bold, invigorating experiments that push the limits of cinematic storytelling. But ‘Henry Sugar,’ at just 37 minutes, stands out as a mini-masterwork—spiritually rich, stylistically daring, and emotionally resonant, with death subtly lurking throughout. Even Anderson skeptics may be charmed by this spellbinding tale. Embracing a stage-like aesthetic, using every word of Roald Dahl’s text, inventively inserting fourth-wall breaks, long takes, and meticulous art direction — ‘Henry Sugar’ feel truly cinematic.
6. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)
Set on a fictional New England island in the 1960s, this is a whimsical yet deeply sincere story about two young misfits who run away together, prompting a search party and a small-town crisis. It’s a fable about love, rebellion, and the loss of innocence, all told with a painter’s eye and a poet’s heart. The film’s use of Super 16mm gives it a nostalgic warmth, and Anderson’s clear affection for his characters turns this into one of his most touching works.
7. Isle of Dogs (2018)
A dystopian stop-motion film set in a fictional Japanese city where all dogs are exiled to Trash Island after a canine flu outbreak. A young boy travels there to find his lost pet, uncovering a government conspiracy along the way. Visually, it’s one of Anderson’s richest works — each frame feels handcrafted. While it stirred debate over cultural appropriation, the film’s detailed world-building, clever language choices, and sheer ambition earn it a spot near the top half of his catalog.
8. Asteroid City (2023)
Anderson’s most formally experimental film to date. Set in a retro-futuristic desert town during a 1950s junior stargazer convention, the story interweaves two narratives — one in vibrant widescreen color, the other in 4:3 black-and-white. Initially, it feels like Anderson repeating himself. But on second viewing, its deeper layers — about science, religion, grief, and performance — start to emerge. It’s one of his most conceptually daring films, and also one of his most self-aware.
9. The Darjeeling Limited (2007)
Three estranged brothers — played by Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, and Jason Schwartzman — board a train across India in an attempt to reconnect after their father’s death. What begins as a spiritual journey devolves into petty squabbling, drug-fueled misadventures, and, eventually, a kind of emotional reconciliation. Often dismissed as slight or indulgent, it’s actually one of Anderson’s most personal films, full of unresolved grief and quiet catharsis.
10. The French Dispatch (2021)
Structured as a series of vignettes inspired by The New Yorker, this one suffers from its own overambition. While individual segments shine — particularly the black-and-white prison chef tale — the whole lacks cohesion. It’s the most overwhelming example of Anderson’s maximalism: rapid-fire editing, shifting aspect ratios, and dense voiceover that rarely pauses to breathe. Technically dazzling, but emotionally distant.
11. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)
Bill Murray stars as Steve Zissou, a washed-up oceanographer on a revenge mission to hunt the elusive jaguar shark that ate his partner. It’s a bizarre and melancholic odyssey, part Jacques Cousteau parody, part existential drama. Upon release, critics didn’t know what to make of it — the humor often feels forced, and the tone swings wildly. But over time, it’s built a dedicated cult following for its world-building, soundtrack (Seu Jorge’s Bowie covers), and oddball charm.
12. Bottle Rocket (1996)
The one that started it all — and it shows. Owen and Luke Wilson star as naive friends who attempt a life of crime with increasingly absurd results. There are glimpses of Anderson’s offbeat sensibility, but the film feels thin and visually flat. The dialogue is sharp in places, and you can see the seeds of his later work, but it lacks the control and vision he’d soon become known for. Important historically, but one of his weakest efforts.
13. The Phoenician Scheme (2025)
Anderson’s latest is a visual feast set in the 1950s, but beneath its immaculate compositions and dry humor lies a film that struggles to connect on an emotional level. Benicio del Toro stars as Korda, a man on a path toward redemption. The journey feels more procedural than poignant. Gorgeously designed but emotionally inert, “The Phoenician Scheme” is another example of Anderson leaning further into form over feeling.