Telling the Story Anyway: A Lesson Buried in Wes Anderson’s "Asteroid City"

Photo by Itadaki on Unsplash

“I still don’t understand the play.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story.”

These are the two lines that, I’d argue, make up the climax of Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City. At first glance, it’s an odd little film. It’s the story of a group of people in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Western USA, making contact with an alien and dealing with grief in their lives, but it’s also the story of the actors playing these people in a stage play. It is a baffling framework story that’s visually stunning and emotionally complex.

The film reaches its high point as one of the principal actors stops in the middle of the play’s climax and leaves through desert sets and alien costumes to find the director.

Is he doing this right? he asks. He doesn’t get the play. Why is he performing what he’s performing? And what the heck does it all mean? The director doesn’t have an answer for him. Instead, he tells him it doesn’t matter. He’s doing the character right. He just needs to keep telling the story.

That struck me.

In the context of Anderson’s film, this is probably a metaphor for grief and our lives. We may not understand why things happen, but it’s up to us to keep living our lives regardless.

But as a storyteller, I am doomed to see things through a writer’s lens, and I believe it’s an allusion to storytelling, too.

There are days when I stare at my work-in-progress and wonder what on earth I am doing. There are days I don’t understand why I’m writing at all. And there are days when I just don’t get the point.

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story.”

There are times when it is reasonable to give up and try something new. There are stories that are just a conduit for growing us and will never see the light of day.

But the stories that speak to your soul? The ones that came to you because they pressed on your mind and begged to be let out? The characters, stories, and experiences that imprinted on your heart? I think there’s nothing we can do with stories like these but keep telling them.

Maybe you don’t know all the answers right now. Maybe you’ve been working on a piece for weeks or months or years or even decades, and you can’t help but wonder why. Why was it this story you felt the need to tell? What does it really mean? Will anyone else care? Why can’t you understand everything? Shouldn’t you? It’s the story you’re telling, after all.

I don’t think you need to know all the answers. I don’t think anyone actually does. But there are lives your storytelling will impact down the line. Sometimes, that’s the only answer I have, and it has to be enough.

You still don’t understand the play?

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story.”