Wes Anderson's latest movie, under thinly disguised names, supposes that Harold Ross, instead of going to Manhattan to found THE NEW YORKER, had moved to France. There, with the same writers and cartoonists, he turned out essentially the same magazine, but with, understandably, more of an emphasis on France than on Broadway. We are then graced with Bill Murray as the editor dealing with his writers, as Tilda Swinton narrates her tale of insane prisoner Benicio Del Toro inventing a new movement in art; Frances MacDormand covering a student uprising while bedding leader Timothée Chalamet, while editing and writing an appendix to his revolutionary manifesto; and Jeffrey Wright covering the novelties of "cuisine policier" with the commissioner, which turns into a hot pursuit as the commissioner's child is kidnapped, and his chef must take the lead in the recovery.
I am a great fan of Anderson's cartoonish, highly detailed cinematic worlds, in no small part because he is constantly winking at the audience, letting them know they are in on the joke, as he manipulates aspect ratios, colors, timelines, and moves walls aside in plain sight, His actors seem to enjoy themselves. This is Bill Murray's ninth appearance in an Anderson movie, Owen Wilson's eighth. Other well-regarded performers include Lea Sedoux, Mathieu Amalric, Bob Balaban, Henry Winkler, Christopher Waltz, Willem Dafoe, and a dozen others. Nor do they come for the big parts; they seem to be happy to show up. When the show ended, two men in the audience began to discuss how the aspect ratios and moving walls had some significance to the underlying meaning. Perhaps I lack the depth to understand such things, but I think Anderson tells his little tales and wants us to have a good time. Does that make it great art? Perhaps not. Sometimes it's enough for us to smile.
I am a great fan of Anderson's cartoonish, highly detailed cinematic worlds, in no small part because he is constantly winking at the audience, letting them know they are in on the joke, as he manipulates aspect ratios, colors, timelines, and moves walls aside in plain sight, His actors seem to enjoy themselves. This is Bill Murray's ninth appearance in an Anderson movie, Owen Wilson's eighth. Other well-regarded performers include Lea Sedoux, Mathieu Amalric, Bob Balaban, Henry Winkler, Christopher Waltz, Willem Dafoe, and a dozen others. Nor do they come for the big parts; they seem to be happy to show up. When the show ended, two men in the audience began to discuss how the aspect ratios and moving walls had some significance to the underlying meaning. Perhaps I lack the depth to understand such things, but I think Anderson tells his little tales and wants us to have a good time. Does that make it great art? Perhaps not. Sometimes it's enough for us to smile.