Of course, that begs the question of what that message is. I don't want to trivialize it by reducing it to one thing or boil it down to a sentence but if I had to I would go back to the idea of acceptance and forgiveness. All of Anderson's protagonists are either energetic, ambitious dreamers who want what they cannot have (Dignan in Bottle Rocket, Max in Rushmore) or have already gained a measure of success only to find their fame and fortune in decline (the Tennenbaum family, Zissou in Life Aquatic). Even those who have managed to achieve and maintain a certain level of success (like Blume in Rushmore and Eli in Tennenbaums) come to realize that it has not brought them the happiness they crave.

The films conclude with a series of communal events in which all of the surviving characters, even antagonists and minor characters, are brought together. Max's antagonists and rivals; Blume, Dr. Guggenheim, even the doctor Ms. Cross briefly dated, all attend the performance and enjoy the show. Max's schoolyard nemesis and his estranged best friend are the stars of his play. In this sense, the ending of Anderson's films remind me of curtain calls. Even if a play is downbeat, curtain calls are always a celebratory release in which the audience applauds the efforts of all involved.

By the end, Max has put aside his obsession of winning Ms. Cross, allowing him to appreciate and at last reciprocate the affections of a fellow, and more age-appropriate student, Blume has reconciled with Ms. Cross, and perhaps most importantly, Max is able to truthfully introduce his father without shame. Max's obsession with Rushmore is entirely tied up with issues of class and fulfilling the wishes of his dead mother. Even his relationship with Ms. Cross suggests an attempt to fill a void left by the absence of his mother. Relationships between children and their parents; especially fathers are another huge theme in Anderson's works.

Now I do have ONE nitpick and it's the one thing that would allow me to consider your interpretation and that is the final play that Max puts on. All of Anderson's films are, in a sense, fantasies. That's why his stories can wrap up so neatly by the end. In reality, most of these people, especially after what some of the characters have done to them, would not be expected to forgive and get along with the others. There is a level of unreality, or heightened reality in his films, what with their fictional islands, awards, institutions, animals (Dalmation mice, Leopard Sharks) even diseases ("He's got Crazy Eye!"). If the world Anderson films depict skewed more towards reality we might instinctually reject his endings or at least feel cheated by them. By creating an alternate world for his characters to inhabit Anderson is able to play by his own rules, not that of the world we know. Yet there are enough similarites that we can still relate to the characters and situations portrayed.

The problem with the play (a barely disguised pastiche of scenes from Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and others) is that it breaks with Anderson's, by now, well established pattern. It's very clear that Max has little to no actual talent nor is he possessed of any great intelligence. Although he daydreams of being acknowledged for his intelligence, it's clear that he does not excel academically, nor even artistically or athletically. His talent, if it can be called that, is enthusiasm coupled with a boundless energy and a willingness to confuse quantity with quality. Max fancies himself a renaissance man but the fact is that he is without a single original thought in his head. The plays, the one thing he does seem to show a genuine aptitude for, illustrate that perfectly.

Max certainly isn't the first person to adapt a screenplay for the stage, but his slavish imitations only serve to illustrate the difference between the two mediums. Max doesn't really know much about theater, nor does he ever attempt to stage an actual play. It's doubtful he's ever been to a play. What he has seen are movies and his choices of projects to adapt are telling. He's chosen films that are critically and commercially succesful. He picks projects that, in his own deluded way, he's convinced will bring him maximum praise and admiration ("I directed a hit play!") and will lend him an air of depth and sophistication. Max's one directorial strength is showmanship. His devotion to spectacle is another aspect of his need to win favor and his stage effects are surely the most extravagent ever seen on a school stage. Again, this is a fantasy so we accept it.

That Max is still doing the same thing with his last play suggests that he has not fully found himself or changed his ways yet. He's still out to impress by imitating others or by using empty spectacle to mask his own deficiencies. That lends a further sense of surrealness to the proceedings and, in spite of Anderson's highly stylized world, may cause us to mistrust what we're seeing. Earlier in the film it would seem perfectly in keeping with Max's character, but to see any hint of his former self-aggrandizing delusions still manifesting themselves at the end leave room to doubt Max's supposed reformation. I would argue that it's that one little chink in the script, that one little puncture in Anderson's otherwise hermetically sealed fable that allows one to suspect that Max is not entirely sincere by the film's end and introduces an undesireable element of cynicism to the proceedings.

I don't think that's the ending Anderson had in mind and it's certainly not the ending I want to see. In retrospect, I think I would have loved the film even more had Max's last play been something original, something that came from within him. Perhaps it wouldn't have been a great piece of work (I'm not convinced that Max has greatness in him, few of us do) but it could have been something honest and true to himself. Perhaps a play inspired by the events of Max's own life would have been deemed too meta of an approach although Anderson would take that very same idea at the end of The Royal Tenenbaums when we see the premiere of Margot's new play, the one she writes after coming to terms with her failed marriage, setting aside her obsessive love for her adopted brother, and making peace with her adopted father.

To wrap up, I prefer the straightfoward interpretation. I think it's more in keeping with Anderson's body of work but I think this one flaw in the final few minutes of the film invites your interpretation even though I don't believe that's what Anderson intended. I concede that my interpretation might be skewed by my desire to believe in a world, albeit a fictionalized one, where forgiveness and acceptance are possible and relationships can be salvaged, even if it's only as friends. On a personal note, just last night I went to see a show and bumped into an old girlfriend. She looked positively stunning and she was with her current boyfriend who is a really great guy. There was a time leading up to and after the break up when I handled things with my usual tact and maturity (I trust the sarcasm is obvious). It was really nice to be able to talk to them and get along without having any of that negative crap overwhelm me like I once allowed it to. I can't really afford to alienate the few friends and loved ones I have. It's an effort sometimes, but it's still worthwhile.

Perhaps the one character who most touches on all of Anderson's themes is Royal Tenenbaum so I'll let him sum up for me with a line of dialogue that I think comes closest to being in the voice of Anderson himself:

"Can't someone be a shit their whole life and want to repair the damage. I mean, I think people want to hear that."