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| Courtesy of Fox Searchlight |
For
me, the truth is somewhere in the middle. Many of Anderson’s films are an
overload of twee: bizarrely dressed characters speaking in unique cadences,
prancing around sets that look like they were designed by a preternaturally
mature eight-year-old.
While
his distinctive sensibilities are still evident, the filmmaker has demonstrated
surprising maturity over his last three films, making me question my initial
opinion of him. I absolutely adored The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Moonrise
Kingdom, while initially striking me as a relapse into showboating, grew on me
after repeat viewings.
But
it’s Anderson’s latest, The Grand Budapest Hotel that has me on the verge of
becoming a full-fledged convert. The rich, densely layered tale is easily the
best film he’s ever made, mostly because his eccentric visual style and
narrative form are finally used in service of the plot, rather than as a
distraction from it. Everything works together to create a hilarious, achingly
romantic ode to storytelling.
Ralph
Fiennes gives one of the best performances of his career as Gustave, a
legendary concierge at the Grand Budapest Hotel, one of the most luxurious
establishments in pre-WWII Europe. He’s beloved by the staff and guests alike,
particularly wealthy old ladies. It seems Gustave goes above and beyond the call
of duty for them, so to speak.
As
he’s bidding goodbye to one of his elderly paramours (Tilda Swinton, in the
most realistic age makeup I can recall), he encounters the hotel’s new lobby
boy, Zero Moustafa (newcomer Tony Revolori, going toe-to-toe with Fiennes in
every scene). He’s dismissive of the young lad at first, but they quickly
become great friends.
That’s
when the movie takes a sinister turn: Swinton’s character dies soon after she returns
home and her shady son (Adrien Brody) seems more concerned with what’s in her
will than his beloved mother’s demise. When he and the rest of the greedy
family learn that she left a priceless painting to Gustave, they don’t exactly
take it well. He tasks his creepy associate (a genuinely scary Willem Dafoe)
with framing the concierge for murder and eliminating any evidence that might
point back to someone else as the culprit.
What
follows is a dazzling mix of heists, prison breaks, young love and a world torn
apart by war. It’s an epic that spans generations, revealing its complexity piece
by piece until you suddenly realize you’ve been watching the cinematic version
of a Russian nesting doll.
Anderson
is working on a completely different level with The Grand Budapest Hotel. His
films have always had something of a European sensibility, both narratively and
aesthetically, so I suppose it only makes sense that his vision seems fully
realized when it’s actually set there. The mystery plays out against the
backdrop of fascism spreading across the continent, which continually adds dramatic
weight to the story. The stakes keep increasing until there’s a real sense of real
danger, meaning the madcap comedy transforms into a tragedy so gradually that
you barely register that it’s happening. The result is a heartbreaking but
beautiful experience.
Fiennes’
phenomenal performance anchors the film’s potentially tricky material. Most people
acknowledge that Fiennes is a great actor, but few know he’s also incredibly
funny. He’s got impeccable comic timing, transforming Anderson’s rapid-fire
dialogue into hilariously ribald music. Gustav’s two primary character traits,
refined tastes and foul-mouthed insults, seem contradictory by nature, but
Fiennes makes it seem totally natural.
Revolori
is impressive as well, though he’s got the less showy role. Most of the time he
just has to stand back and watch Fiennes go, delivering once priceless reaction
shot after another. But when’s he called to deliver some of the story’s
emotional beats, he does it wonderfully. He’s got terrific chemistry with the
always-intriguing Saoirse Ronan, who plays Zero’s quiet but sharp love
interest.
The
Grand Budapest Hotel is also seasoned by brief, but vital, work by a host of
famous faces. Jude Law and Tom Wilkinson appear for a few moments as the same
writer at different ages – it’s confusing at first, but it’s a poignant choice
once it becomes clear what’s happening in the story. The same holds true for F.
Murray Abraham as an older version of Zero.
The
other standout if Jeff Goldblum, who makes a lasting impression with minimal
screen time as executor of the recently deceased’s will. Anderson regulars Bill
Murray, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson also turn up for a little while, as
do more recent collaborators like Edward Norton and Harvey Keitel.
I’ll
be the first to say Wes Anderson’s style isn’t always the most accessible. But
I’m probably going to be singing the praises of The Grand Budapest Hotel for
the foreseeable future. I know it’s only March, but it’s the first serious
contender for my 10 Best List in December. Let’s see if it makes the cut.
The
Grand Budapest Hotel is rated R for language, some sexual content and violence.
Grade:
A
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