Did I Check In or Check Out at "The Grand Budapest Hotel"?

Wes Anderson certainly has a bag of tricks that he puts in all of his films, and saying that is a cliche. His style has become so distinct, he makes for a strong case for auteur theory. (Check out the SNL spoof, The Midnight Coterie of Sinister Intruders, the Wes Anderson horror film. It's pretty spot on.) The mise-en-scène in his films are composed to hell, perfectly framed, and contains so much character to the backgrounds that it becomes campy. The Grand Budapest Hotel is the screenplay that Anderson wrote by himself, a first for him, and it seems that having a co-writer caused him to edit down, because in TGBH, he throws all of his devices in there, and guess what! It worked. TGBH turned out to be my favorite of his films.

A part of this is because there isn't a clash between aesthetics and story. The characters are distinct and likable, not common in other films like Rushmore and Moonrise Kingdom. Many of the main characters in Anderson's other films I would describe as capable losers. They're depressive, smart, and egotistical, while the tone is less than serious. 

That is not the case here. Ralph Fiennes portrays legendary concierge M. Gustave at the titled hotel. Gustave is loved by everyone and anyone who he has met, particularly rich, older widows (who happen to also be blonde.) He develops a mentor/pupil bond with the new lobby boy, Zero, played purposely flat by newcomer Tony Revolori. They are connected by the fact that they are both orphans, and fall into a grand misadventure involving a prison break, World War II, Communist, and a fictitiously famous painting Boy with Apple, who is bestowed to Gustave after one of his eldest, um, "customers", Madame D, is mysteriously killed. 

I have to mention Tilda Swinton, who played Madame D, and she was completely unrecognizable in probably the greatest old lady make-up I've seen. It's humorous when you figure out who it's her, but it also irked me a bit because I know that it's hard for older actresses to get work, and I don't know why they would spend so much time and money on transforming Swinton unless it was for a laugh, and it's more of a chuckle at most. 

The other Anderson players show up in various ways, but the story here is pretty much focused on Gustave and Zero, and there is little time for extra character development, which is fine. It's always nice to see Bill Murray, but I don't need to know much about M. Ivan, a member of a secret club of concierge. That's all you really learn, and that's all your really need to know. Still, every character that shows up is fleshed out and play their part in the evolving story.

This madcap of a story is shockingly Anderson's most violent film, involving lacerated fingers, heads in boxes, and cats being thrown out windows. I have to say that I love this kind of light-hearted macabre ever since watching the short lived TV series Pushing Daisies. The film never falls into a depression despite it's dark nature. Yet, despite the lightheartedness and straight up goofy nature of the presentation, TGBH holds up some universal themes, and is Anderson's most profound piece of work. By the last two minutes, I began to get choked up, and as the credit rolled, I began to cry: a new trick to add to Anderson's repertoire.