The Grand Budapest Hotel

**Spoiler Alert** Dir. Wes Anderson. Starring: Ralph Fiennes, et al.

It's difficult talking about my impression of Wes Anderson's new film because I want to celebrate his feverish imagination, which seems boundless. On the other hand, I tire of his stylistic tics and the whimsy that's come to typify his movies. I'm a huge fan of Rushmore; a film that announced a style and manner of storytelling that wasn't fantasy but wasn't reality either; a kind of universe only Anderson could craft and one that characterizes his work. Since Rushmore, Anderson has continued on this course; The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited, Moonrise Kingdom and now The Grand Budapest Hotel.

His latest has become a little more un-moored from reality (nothing wrong with that) but I wonder if Andersonian whimsy has become wearisome.

I always believed Van Gogh's work resembles no others. If one were asked to identify his work among a thousand other paintings, one could easily identify a Van Gogh; his style is that distinctive. The same can be said of Anderson's films. No other filmmaker's work matches Anderson's in look, tone and characterization and that is something to be commmended. But that uniqueness can sometimes get in the way of one being fully immersed in his stories. So many images and quirky camera movements often draw attention to themselves in a way that distracts the viewer from the story. The Grand Budapest Hotel is no exception.

There is so much to admire and like about his new film; the set designs, the rich, striking visual aesthetic and Ralph Fiennes' comic performance, around which everything in the film orbits. I also liked the hotel lobby; a vast interior often seen in a long, wide-shot; a visual that calls to mind the lobby in The Shining with its exaggerated dimensions, which reduces all human activity to insectile proportions. It is also interesting how the hotel's cake-like exterior is recalled in the pink confectioner's boxes later in the film and the pastry devoured by prisoners.

The story is a story within a story as Tom Wilkinson the author tells the story of the hotel's owner and former bellboy (F. Murray Abraham as an adult, Tony Revolori in the past), who in turn tells the story of the erstwhile concierge of the once grand hotel. It is a clever narrative approach, which Anderson handles deftly.

Ralph Fiennes plays the concierge; Gustav H, whose demanding attention to detail and client satisfaction makes him the consummate role model for the young lobby-boy he takes on as a protege. Gustav's habit of romancing elderly guests of the hotel takes a dangerous turn when he is accused of murdering Madame D.; an elderly customer Gustav has seduced for many seasons. Hi-jinks and mayhem ensue, involving many--an incredible cast Anderson assembled for the film. Gustav first avoids capture then is apprehended, subsequently serving time in prison.

I found some scenes amusing but as the film wore on, the fairy-tale setting and Anderson's odd-ball characters all wear out their welcome. A scene where soldiers billeted in the hotel shoot at one another from hotel room doors is something that should have been funny but falls flat as an old joke.

The preview promised much; I thought Anderson would finally bring me back into his fan-fold but half-way through the film, I realized I was in for another disappointment.

I've met many people who believe Anderson is a genius--a claim I can't entirely deny. Watching his film, one recognizes his fierce intelligence; a creative brilliance running through every scene. Unfortunately I believe him to be a genius without a masterpiece. He may reward my patience with something otherworldly and magnificent someday. The Grand Budapest Hotel offers intimations of greatness; a summit he has yet to reach. I'm sure he'll get there eventually.