“An enchanting old ruin.”
The H-Bomb: Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), owner of the decaying Grand Budapest Hotel, located in the picturesque and entirely fictional European Republic of Zubrowka, recounts the events that led to his acquisition of the hotel. The year was 1932, and young Zero (Tony Revolori) worked as Lobby Boy under the direct supervision of The Grand Budapest’s concierge, M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes). A strict perfectionist who takes his position with the utmost seriousness, M. Gustave instills in his staff a military-like discipline to provide the absolute finest in guest service.
Gustave is also known for providing a special kind of service to the elderly, widowed ladies who frequent the hotel. The kind of service that requires a bit of a… personal touch. One such recipient of his “special services” was Madame D (Tilda Swinton), a wealthy old hag who kicked the bucket recently and apparently wrote Gustave into her will, bequeathing unto him “Boy with Apple,” a famed and valuable painting.
Gustave and Zero hop a train across the wilds of Zubrowka to the home of Madame D., to pay their respects and collect the painting. The news of Madame D. amending her estate does not sit well with her son, Dimitri (Adrien Brody), a rather devious individual, who wanted the “Boy with Apple” for himself. Despite Dmitri’s efforts to prevent him from doing so, Gustave manages to smuggle the prized artwork out of Madame’s mansion.
Upon their return to The Grand Budapest, with the priceless painting in tow, Gustave and Zero face an all new dilemma: Gustave is arrested for the murder of Madame D. and shipped off to prison. Gustave knows he’s innocent, but he has to prove it, and he can’t very well do that from the inside of his prison cell. So, he enlists the help of his trusted and devoted Lobby Boy in order to break out of jail and clear his name. All the while, Dmitri and his vampire-like goon (Willem Dafoe) are hot on their trail, looking to reclaim the painting that Gustave gave to Zero for safe keeping.
I’m starting to come around on Wes Anderson. Used to be I couldn’t stand the guy’s films, save for Rushmore, but that started to change around two years ago, when I checked out Moonrise Kingdom, and enjoyed it immensely. I go into it in more detail in that review, which can be found somewhere around here, but everything in that flick just clicked for me. Still, I wasn’t ready to call myself a fan of Anderson’s, because as much as I liked Moonrise Kingdom, I had the inkling that it was merely a fluke.
Well, perhaps from here on in, I should just ignore my inklings, as they are proving to be completely worthless as of late. After taking in Anderson’s latest, The Grand Budapest Hotel, I didn’t simply like it… I absolutely loved it. “Inspired” by the workings of Stefan Zweig, Anderson has created a picture of pure, mad genius. A screwball comedic fantasy art film of the highest order, it is about as close to perfect as a film can get, and it is, dare I say, Anderson’s masterpiece.
With his acute attention to every conceivable detail, from the sets, to the costumes, to the shot compositions, to the fine tuned characterizations, Anderson has shaped his own whacky little world of weirdness, and it is truly wonderful. To me, and perhaps to me alone, this seems like the culmination of all of Anderson’s films, as though every movie he has made has been leading up to this one, even turkeys like The Life Aquatic and The Darjeeling Limited.
What separates The Grand Budapest Hotel from those previous, and truly lesser works? Well, aside from it not seeming so self-satisfied with its own quirkiness, there is also the story’s engaging zaniness; the humor, which is laugh-out-loud funny, instead of just funny-weird; and that one thing that made Moonrise Kingdom and Rushmore so good… heart. The genuine bond that develops between M. Gustave and Zero is what endeared me to them as characters and made for a surprisingly poignant finale.
Much of the film’s success hinges on the shoulders of Ralph Fiennes, and man, does he stand and deliver. Fiennes isn’t exactly known for his comedic chops, but he is drop dead hilarious as the exceptionally O.C.D. Gustave. Devoted to his beloved hotel, yet slightly slimy, and a complete bullshit artist when he needs to be, Gustave manages to be ingratiating in spite of his faults, and Fiennes embodies him flawlessly. This is an inspired comic performance for the ages, and one that puts the more recent outings of so-called comedic actors to shame– yeah, I’m typing that in your general direction, Adam Sandler.
Holding his own next to Fiennes is Revolori, who is revelatory as Zero, a more typically deadpan Anderson protagonist, who proves to be the perfect foil for the high-strung Gustave. Many, many, many famous faces (Bill Murray, Harvey Keitel, Owen Wilson, to name a few), appear in supporting roles, but unfortunately, most of these appearances are rather fleeting, with the actors showing up just long enough to justify having their names on the poster. A few, such as Brody, Dafoe, and Edward Norton as a fascist police captain, do manage to make an impression. Most of the ensemble, sadly, has precious little to do.
In addition to the largely wasted supporting cast, I could go after the film for its overly labored framing story, which features flashbacks within flashbacks, as well as a fluctuating aspect ratio. I would’t say it’s entirely unnecessary, however, it goes on for too long and runs rampant with that pretentious, forced oddness that I used to hate Anderson for.
Setting aside those most minuscule flaws, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a madcap masterwork of cinematic splendor. I was so immersed in this bizarro alternate universe Anderson created, that at the end of the film’s brisk 100 minutes, I didn’t want to leave. The gorgeous set designs and flawlessly composed cinematography should be guaranteed Oscar wins, and if Ralph Fiennes isn’t nominated for Best Actor, I will be outraged. When I see a film that’s brimming with this much passion and imagination, I am reminded why I fell in love with film in the first place. There’s no other way I can put it, The Grand Budapest Hotel is pure movie magic.
