Slick, stylish and ferociously funny

Rating: 9/10 (19 February 2019)

Wes Anderson is perhaps one of the most delightfully unusual filmmakers working today, his films characterised by picturesque symmetry, wry humour and more than a hint of the macabre. The Grand Budapest Hotel is no different and actually stands as one of Anderson's finest films; it's precisely choreographed, gorgeous to look at and, above all, an intelligent comedy that pays homage to bygone cinema whilst adding its own unique spin.
Though the action may jump time periods (whether it's from Tom Wilkinson's direct narrator or F. Murray Abraham's narrator within the story), it centres around The Grand Budapest Hotel, an elite establishment for the rich and pampered in the fictional state of Zubrowka. Our attention is immediately turned to M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), the hotel's concierge, who tends to the guests with a managed slickness... that is when he isn't courting dowagers into his room. The film takes off on a race of storytelling, as Gustave is framed for the murder of an old lover (a prosthetic-clad Tilda Swinton) and must flee the law and who knows else with only the help of his protégé, lobby boy, Zero (a suitably boyish Tony Revelori, when not played 30 years down the line by a mellow F. Murray Abraham).
The film is a delightful farce, Anderson and Hugo Guiness' script providing intelligent and subtle comedy that delivers even amid such a frenetic and occasionally scatty pace. For the most part though, The Grand Budapest Hotel is as tightly wound as one could expect from Wes Anderson; even amid the absurdity of ski chases and severed fingers, there's a remarkable level of control to the madness, helped along by Anderson's assured writing and direction.
Employed in the cast is a who's who of star-studded spectacle; Ralph Fiennes, Willem Dafoe and Saoirse Ronan are plot-central, but around them are bit cameos from the likes of Bill Murray, Jeff Goldblum and Lea Seydoux. Fiennes leads with rapier-sharp timing as Gustave, his performance radiating clipped composure, all complete with an irresistible charm. The supporting cast are admittedly largely one-note (occasionally the abundance of celebrity proves a little distracting) but are earnest enough to drive the film through.
Where the film has perhaps received the highest praise, however, is its design. The Grand Budapest hotel is a visual treat, its design vibrant yet avowedly architected. There's almost a sense of the characters having been painted on screen; from the bright colours, sharp angles and miniature set pieces, the film feels as much a spectacle of art as an espionage romp. Alexandre Desplat's score is perfectly judged, the musical voice established by the distinct and innovative use of the balalaika. The film is shot with equal verve, snapping from camera ratios incessantly to produce an energised and unexpected cinematography that boosts the narrative. At points, the movie may be a case of style over substance, but the film's unusual design only seems to enhance one's enjoyment of it.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is a strange film, a comedy full of black humour and gentlemanly profanity. Thoroughly entertaining and visually enchanting, this is certainly a gem from Wes Anderson.