Fantastic shaggy dog story that is colourful, off-kilter & epic.

Rating: 8/10 (18 April 2014)

Wes Anderson's latest offering is perhaps his most accessible, perhaps his most polished, perhaps his most downright enjoyable. And, unlike many, this one even has a tangible McGuffin. Welcome to The Grand Budapest Hotel.
The Grand Budapest Hotel contains a tale within a tale. The Author (Tom Wilkinson) recounts his memoirs, which includes the time when as a younger man (Jude Law) he dined with the mysterious Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham). Mr. Moustafa in turn, tells the story of Gustave (Ralph Fiennes) the former womanizing concierge of The Grand Budapest Hotel, who satisfies his elderly female guests in more than merely professional matters. When one such patron, Madame D. (Tilda Swinton), pops her clogs, the adventure kicks off in earnest with Gustave on the run with his bellboy Zero (Tony Revolori).
The Grand Budapest Hotel is unlikely to divide audiences, simply because those who savour Anderson's work will find this as delightful and engrossing as the best in his canon and those who don't 'get' him, won't part with cash for this. Like his 2009 gem, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Grand Budapest Hotel variously meanders in a carefree manner before kicking of with a rampant chase depicted in part with deliberately clumsy animation befitting Monty Python.
As one has come to expect from Anderson, The Grand Budapest Hotel is packed full of deadpan, angular and quirky characters inhabited by an eclectic band of Hollywood's finest. Anderson regulars Owen Wilson (in a brief cameo) and Bill Murray play alongside newbies Fiennes, Law, Harvey Keitel, Saorise Ronan, Adrien Brody and Jeff Goldblum and at every turn there is another feast of performers and peculiarities to revel in.
The sets are spectacular both in their grand scale and simplistic nature whether the hotel itself (in both incarnations) or the almost cardboard cutout cable car, and the costumes and make-up give anything Tim Burton can dream up a run for its money.
There was a time when it looked as though Anderson's inventiveness was dwindling but with Fantastic Mr. Fox and, more recently, Moonrise Kingdom he has proved there is plenty more off-kilter gold to be mined yet, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is testament to that.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is less like watching a film than listening to a magnificent story with moving pictures. It is a shaggy dog story, a ripping yarn, a splendid fiction played out by the cream of leftfield Hollywood. And like all the best bedtime stories, it can, and surely must, be enjoyed over and over again.
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