I know a woman who has seen “Fantastic Mr. Fox” five times (so far), and she’s so devoted to this newly minted stop-action animated classic that she’s been lingering by the Christmas windows of Bergdorf Goodman, where some of the original, gorgeously intricate figurines from the movie are being displayed, in their enviably tailored tweed suits and their sleek hooves. Her dearest Christmas wish was to somehow take one of these sophisticated foxes home with her, and I understand the impulse. “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” as directed by Wes Anderson, who co-wrote the script with Noah Baumbach, is a marvel of verbal wit and obsessive visual invention. For a movie featuring farmers, chickens and pigs, it’s shockingly and elegantly sexy. “Mr. Fox” is a glorious, not altogether wholesome, toy box for moviegoers and fetishists of all ages, and I hope that Bergdorf’s has beefed up its security.
Paul Rudnick is author of the recently published book “I Shudder, and Other Reactions to Life, Death and New Jersey.”