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With each mile marker on our way to Texas, the first stop in a journey that would propel him to New York and beyond, came reports from theaters on both coasts. Anderson’s quirky story of a love triangle between a rich industrialist played by Bill Murray, an eccentric prep-school rebel played by newcomer Jason Schwartzman, and a first-grade teacher touched a nerve with a certain audience that appreciated its postmodern updating of , had crashed and burned so badly that his panicked writing partner and muse, Owen Wilson, suggested they put as much distance as they could between themselves and the now-beloved cult classic.“When 85 people get up and leave the theater, you kind of get the message that something’s wrong,” says Anderson, remembering a particularly bad screening.That all changed in a day: would soon be nominated for Independent Spirit and Golden Globe awards and placed on many critics’ year-end Top 10 lists, not to mention relaunch Bill Murray’s career. ” Anderson managed to talk, drive and wolf down his burger, fries and vanilla shake without missing a beat or a lane change. The guy driving the Ford Explorer had soft features, unstylish glasses and a schoolboy haircut. Either way, one of Wesley Mortimer Wales Anderson’s four names didn’t make the cut.Suddenly, we were driving into a landscape of endless possibilities — terrifying in some ways, or so I imagined. Besides, the white Ford Explorer he had apparently convinced Disney to rent for him in perpetuity was stocked with a cooler full of sandwiches, sodas and various snacking items. It wasn’t yet noon when he asked if I wanted a sandwich from the cooler. ” I asked, worried we were going to blow past one of the few reasons to stop in Barstow. He dressed in an oxford shirt and corduroys that looked like they were bought during a back-to-school sale at Kohl’s. His suit is a made-to-order burnt-orange corduroy number. Sure, he looks a little overly art-directed, but who’s to begrudge him?The guy across the booth at Kate Mantilini has a leaner body and a sharper face. He’s 40 now, in love, lives in France and is one of the singular voices in American cinema. But his eyes, arch then behind those nerd glasses, now seem like they’re on the lookout, giving way only occasionally to the bursts of mischief that punctuate his often dolorous movies. Anderson can still talk a blue streak while simultaneously gulping coffee and mashing up Texas-size gobs of food.
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If we were back in Wes Anderson’s native Texas, the plate of food he’s showing little mercy might be called the Morning Roundup or the Wildcatter’s Special.
Unfortunately for my wallet, we’re in a booth at Kate Mantilini on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills and here it’s called Barry’s Breakfast and costs about four times more than it has any right to.
Anderson spears an Italian sausage link (butterflied and grilled), bites off a chunk, holds the remains in the air for a moment and confesses, “It’s my second breakfast.” Despite that, he’s more than game when I suggest splitting a side order of pancakes.
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The thin man’s unexpected voraciousness reminds me of the last time I saw him.