Absolutely, I’ve noticed that Anderson’s pastel bunnies and mustard‑y streets become a shorthand for “I’m making a quirky, nostalgic story.” It’s like a ready‑made filter you can slap on any scene and instantly feel like you’re in a storybook. Artists love that because it gives them a safe color code to signal a particular mood—think bright turquoise for a whimsical vibe or deep maroon for a melancholy twist. But the flip side is that it can feel a bit… rehearsed. Every time you see a saturated teal, you think, “Another Anderson vibe,” and it starts to blur the line between original storytelling and recycled aesthetics. Still, it’s a fascinating conversation between film and visual art—just don’t let the palette decide the plot.

You hit the nail on the head, literally—colors as scaffolding, not the house. When the palette starts stealing the plot, you’re watching a painting narrate a story instead of a film telling one. Keep the hues as sparks, not the engine.