Wes wobbles under the weight of his own wimsy.

For a filmmaker that’s relied so heavily on the endearing power of affable whimsy throughout his lengthy career, it’s somewhat surprising that Wes Anderson has gone on to become one of cinema’s most polarising figures.

In a career that’s spanned decades, Wes Anderson’s signature style has grown to become one of the most recognisable in all of cinema. From flat space camera movement to purposely limited colour palettes, for better or worse his films stick out, however, when you’ve approached thirty years utilising the same overtly quirky filmmaking style, things can turn on you in the blink of an eye.

Of course, like any auteur, Wes Anderson’s stylistic choices define him. They are his brand, and a trademark that’s made him one of the few modern directors able to put bums on cinema seats through his name alone. Yet, despite such success, it’s fair to say this distinct style has begun to tip over into self-parody.

All of this came to a head with The French Dispatch, perhaps the most Wes Anderson a Wes Anderson film has ever been. A scattered collection of impossibly eccentric vignettes drenched in his one-of-a-kind idiosyncratic style, the film had its moments, yet it did very little to cater to anyone but the hardcore Wes Anderson fans out there.

While it’s more than likely Wes Anderson will only ever do Wes Anderson for the rest of his career, there’s undoubtedly going to come a point where his scope will require widening to save him from disappearing in a puff of whimsy altogether. Whether Asteroid City is that point, we shall see.

In a fictional American desert town circa 1955, the itinerary of a Junior Stargazer/Space Cadet convention is spectacularly disrupted by world-altering events. What was intended as a celebratory event bringing together students and parents from across the country for fellowship and scholarly competition takes an odd turn as the assorted group – including recently widowed photographer Augie Steenbeck (Jason Schwartzman) and Hollywood starlet Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson) – experience something altogether more life-changing.

There’s always a worry that certain directors with strong filmmaking styles will eventually find themselves slipping into an inescapable pit of self-parody, and nowhere does this seem more pertinent than with Wes Anderson. The line between charming and irksome that Anderson so frequently traverses has been getting thinner and thinner for some time now, and with Asteroid City, he may have finally crossed it altogether.

Just one look at Asteroid City and you know precisely what you’re getting. Complete with an aggressively saturated colour palette, forcefully flat camerawork, and determinedly deadpan ennui throughout, this film is about as Wes Anderson as you could possibly hope for (or not, depending on your inclinations).

Whether it’s the fiddly meta narrative or the overindulgent script, Asteroid City sees its director doubling down on his most irritating affectations with wistful abandon, and while there’s plenty there to praise the film for, the result is a real Wes Anderson mixed bag.

Immaculately put together, for all its faults, the film truly is stunning, with heightened, dreamlike cinematography that’s at once admirably grounded and fetchingly fantastical. Undeniably among its director’s most beautiful work to date, Asteroid City looks every inch the stage-show-within-a-tv-show-within-a-film it is and while these startling visuals never truly atone for the film’s issues, they certainly offer some rest-bite from them.

Using every inch of the frame in a way only he can, Anderson’s attention to detail has never been more on-point. As overtly manufactured and immaculately constructed as ever, both the sun-bleached widescreen of “Asteroid City” itself and the 4:3 black and white of the faux fifties television special that frames it are among the most visually arresting pieces of cinema Anderson has crafted.

In what feels like a commonplace occurrence these days, you really do have to take the rough with the smooth with a Wes Anderson joint, and Asteroid City is perhaps the epitome of this. Much like the vividness of the film’s visuals, Asteroid City’s excesses everywhere else is utterly overwhelming at times.

With a finnicky, convoluted narrative that revels in its own cleverness, a script that’s far too overindulgent for its own good, and an ensemble that’s far more overstuffed and underutilised than any Wes Anderson film to date, there’s just too much about Asteroid City that misses its mark.

It’s a cocktail of idiosyncrasies that we’ve seen across all of Anderson’s work before, however, never quite to this degree, and it’s one that imbues Asteroid City with a lingering sense of emptiness. Touching on themes of loneliness, isolation, grief, abstraction, and otherness, there’s a lot to unpack with what Asteroid City is doing, however, it’s approach just leaves you cold.

Despite the best efforts of the film’s leads, Jason Schwartzman and Scarlett Johansson (and ensemble standout Jeffrey Wright), Asteroid City’s lack of energy and heart is palpable throughout. For all their quirks and deadpan whimsy, Anderson’s filmography has rarely been found wanting in either the dynamism or emotion department, however, in the filmmaker’s attempt to outdo himself here, both elements have gone AWOL.

When Anderson’s script briefly sparks into life, there’s much to enjoy with the pinpoint humour and cutting wit that’s as dry as Asteroid City’s desert locale. As it is, these remain brief glimpses of what could’ve been if the film were able to back up its wonderful visuals in any substantial way.

A real Wes Anderson mixed bag, Asteroid City showcases both the best and the worst habits of its director. Immaculately put together and visually stunning, Asteroid City certainly has its moments, however, the fiddly meta narrative, overindulgent, self-important script, and the distinct lack of both energy and emotion leave it flatter than a Wes Anderson camera setup.

Asteroid City is in cinemas now.