I’ve just written about Rushmore and touched on the great stylistic difference between Wes
Anderson’s earliest films and the techniques he uses in his latest. The Grand Budapest Hotel is a great
example of how Anderson’s stylized world, whimsical flights of fancy, and
self-conscious artifice have grown and joined together to blend into a
harmonious vision.
I was a true Anderson enthusiast through The Royal Tenenbaums, but he lost me
until Fantastic Mr. Fox, which struck
me as the absolute perfect representation of what he has always tried to
accomplish. The Grand Budapest Hotel
has brought him back completely into my good graces and though it contains moments
that are so previously Wes Anderson-y that it risks becoming a parody of his
own style, it somehow reached me in surprising and new ways.
There are few American filmmakers and fewer still who have
anything close to the mainstream success Anderson enjoys, who manage to achieve
such unique visionary storytelling. Grand
Budapest suggests that Fantastic Mr.
Fox, rather than being a logical next step for a man obsessed with
artificial reality, was a mere prelude and experiment for new combinatory ways
of telling a story. Here he employs elements of stop motion animation,
miniature models, rear projection, and other method that call attention to the
artifice of motion pictures. There are few, if any, practical locations
featured in the film a la the Tenenbaum house. The exterior of the hotel and
the funicular train to get there are models. Even the setting is a fictional
country overrun by fictitious fascists, however much they resemble Nazis.
The story is told as a flashback within a flashback
beginning with an author (Tom Wilkinson) in 1985 recounting a time twenty years
earlier when, as a young man (played by Jude Law), he met the Mr. Moustafa,
owner of the famed hotel (F. Murray Abraham), who proceeds to tell the story of
how he cam into such ownership. We then jump back a further thirty years to
when this man, known as a lad as Zero
(and played by Tony Revolori), was a brand new lobby boy under the tutelage of
the great concierge M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes).
The yarn he spins is a grand adventure full of intrigue,
murder, mystery, imprisonment, romance, fascists, and an impending war that
will change everything. Recounting the plot, even summarizing the story, is
sort of beside the point, It could be about anything really. It’s the
presentation that matters. That and Fiennes’ brilliant acting. His eloquence
with language is breathtaking and perhaps no other actor has ever brought so
much to a role in one of Anderson’s movies. Well, maybe Tilda Swinton in Moonrise Kingdom. She makes an
appearance, albeit brief, here as Madame D, a wealthy old crone who occasionally
takes M. Gustave to bed. When she turns up murdered, Gustave goes to prison,
where Harvey Keitel turns up as a fellow inmate and helps him escape and then
Edward Norton, playing Henckels the faux-SS officer, tracks him down. Bill
Murray, Bob Balaban, and Fisher Stevens are fellow concierges at other renowned
hotels who band together to aid him. Saoirse Ronan is Zero’s love interest,
Agatha. The villains are Adrien Brody as Dmitri, Madame D’s son, who wants a
large inheritance, and the family muscle, played by Willem Dafoe. Jeff Goldblum
is the executor of the estate, too strict about following the letter of the law
for Dmitri’s taste.
That I’m merely listing off these recognizable actors is
to reflect the way Anderson tosses them into, in some cases, fairly minor
roles. This demonstrates the desire of so many talented people to work with
him, but also fits further into the artifice he’s building. Every celebrity
appearance brings with it a moment of recognition that forces the viewer to
remember that he’s watching a construct. That’s the real pleasure of the film
is simultaneously being drawn in to such a fantasy with all its drama and high
stakes (always played for much less significance than you would expect) and
being constantly aware that you’re watching a fiction unfold. Anderson has
developed and matured into a unique voice. Rather fittingly I’m simultaneously
annoyed, perplexed, and enthralled that he still makes the same kinds of films
again and again.
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