The Grand Budapest Hotel Review

As I watched The Grand Budapest Hotel, I was reminded of something author Stephen King said about the rock band AC/DC.  Although he is aware of the criticism that all their music sounds the same, he dismisses it with a “What’s your point?”  Wes Anderson is a similar artist.  His films are stuffed with eccentric characters, showy cinematography, unique set design and a sense of melancholy.  His quirkier instincts have been more pronounced in his recent films, but his films rarely deviate too far from that auteur vision on which Anderson has made his name.  His style isn’t for everybody, and it’s unlikely to change with this film.  Generally I have enjoyed his work, unchanging as it may be, because I won’t get that style anywhere else, and any time I can spend more time in his world is time I look forward to.  While it doesn’t reach the levels of his previous films Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a solid entry into his canon.

The film is a weird set up, as the bulk of the story is under a few layers of flashbacks: a girl (layer 1) reads a book by an author (layer 2) who remembers a time when he interviewed a man (layer 3) who remembers the times he spent as a Bell Boy to a concierge of a legendary hotel (layer 4).  Layer 4 is the bulk of the story, with layer 3 serving as a framing device.  It gets a little more complicated from there, as concierge Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes) takes the young Zero (Tony Revolori) under his wing after swiping a piece of art from one of Gustave’s departed friends.  His psychotic family gets wind of this, and whimsy and madcap antics ensue.  I’m not sure why the first two layers are here, maybe it’s meant as some critique of films that rely on the person reminiscing about the past structure.  It just made the beginning a little cumbersome.

As expected, Anderson’s cast—and all-star one—delivers.  Fiennes, showing again he has a gift with comedy as well as drama, proves to be very compatible with the regular Wes Anderson players.  Similarly, Anderson newbies Revolori and Saoirse Ronan work well inside the world Anderson has created, which has its difficulty considering the stable who know how Anderson works.  It’d be shorter to list of the Wes Anderson regulars who aren’t in the film and part of the fun for fans is spotting them as they pile through.  One segment later on in the film feels like an excuse just to trot them out for cameos (not that I minded too much).

His art direction shows no sign of waning.  The film is set in the fictional country of Zubrowka and Anderson’s eye for detail helps make this place feel lived in and real.  With a cinematic world so covered in movies tinted blue and orange, Anderson’s color palate is a refreshing change of pace.  Grand Budapest is more violent than typical Anderson, with significant bump in body count as the characters face the creeping Second World War.  It never goes near Tarantino level gore, but it may turn off some of his fans.

It is a Wes Anderson film through and through.  The thing that I gravitate towards Anderson’s films is that no matter how hard others have tried to imitate his style, it seems to always come naturally from him.  Copycats wouldn’t think to shoot some scenes the way a silent film director would, down to the slight camera shakes, as Anderson does several times.  Each segment is signified by a change in aspect ratio too!  Of course his critics will likely find stuff like that infuriating, but for his fans, doing what he knows and doing it well and unlike anyone else is enough.

Grade: B

Miscellaneous Notes:

-The birthmark shaped exactly like Mexico right on her cheek?  That feels more like something that would appear in a parody of Wes Anderson.

-I hope in his next film he can use some pop music needle drops, since he’s done so well with that in the past.